“Kahlan, are you sure about this?” Richard whispered. “What about the wizard?”
Kahlan nodded and spoke softly to him. “We will see to her before I skin Giller.”
Rachel forced herself to swallow, so she could breathe. She knew it! She knew she shouldn’t trust a woman with long hair. She almost cried; she was just starting to like Kahlan. Richard was so nice. Why would he be nice to Kahlan? Why would he even be with a woman mean enough to hurt Giller. It must be like when she was nice to Princess Violet, so she wouldn’t get hurt. He must be afraid of getting hurt, too. She felt sorry for Richard. She wished he could run away from Kahlan like she was running away from Princess Violet. Maybe she should tell Richard about the box, and he could run away from Kahlan with her.
No. Giller said not to trust anyone. He might be too afraid of Kahlan, and tell her. She had to be brave for Giller. For all the other people. She had to get away.
“We can deal with it in the morning,” Kahlan said. “We better get some sleep so we can be off at first light.”
Richard nodded as he hugged her. “I’ll take the first watch. You get some sleep.”
He picked her up and handed her to Kahlan. Rachel bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Kahlan hugged her tight. Rachel looked down at her knife; even the Princess didn’t have a knife. She put her arms out to Richard with a whine. Richard smiled and put Sara in her hands. That wasn’t what she wanted, but she hugged Sara tight, and bit down on her foot to keep from crying.
Richard mussed her hair. “See you in the morning, little one.”
And then he was gone, and she was alone with Kahlan. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. She had to be brave, she couldn’t cry. But then she did.
Kahlan held her tight. Rachel shook. Fingers stroked her hair. Kahlan rocked her while Rachel eyed a dark gap in the boughs on the other side of the wayward pine. Kahlan’s chest was making funny little movements, and Rachel realized with wonder that she was crying, too. Kahlan put her cheek against the top of her head.
She almost started to believe… but then she remembered what Princess Violet said sometimes, that it hurt more to punish than to be punished. Her eyes went wide at what Kahlan must be planning that would make her cry. Even Princess Violet never cried when she dealt out a punishment. Rachel cried harder, and shook.
Kahlan took her hands away and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Rachel’s legs were too wobbly to run.
“Are you cold?” Kahlan whispered. Her voice sounded like there were still tears in it.
Rachel was afraid that no matter what she said she would get a slap. She gave a nod, ready for what might happen. Instead, Kahlan took a blanket out of her pack and wrapped it around the both of them, she guessed so it would be harder to get away.
“Come, lie close and I will tell you a story. We will keep each other warm. All right?”
Rachel lay on her side, her back against Kahlan, who curled all around her and put her arm over her. It felt nice, but she knew it was a trick. Kahlan’s face was close to her ear, and as she lay there, Kahlan told her a story about a fisherman who turned into a fish. The words made pictures in her head, and for a while she forgot about her troubles. Once, she and Kahlan even laughed together. When she was finished with the story, Kahlan kissed the top of her head and then stroked the side of her forehead.
She pretended Kahlan wasn’t really mean. It couldn’t hurt to pretend. Nothing had ever felt as good as those fingers on her, and the little song Kahlan sang in her ear. Rachel thought this must be what it felt like to have a mother.
Against her will, she fell asleep, and had wonderful dreams.
She came awake in the middle of the night when Richard woke Kahlan, but she pretended she was still asleep.
“You want to keep sleeping with her?” he whispered real soft.
Rachel held her breath.
“No,” Kahlan whispered back, “I’ll take my watch.”
Rachel could hear her putting on her cloak and going outside. She listened to which way Kahlan’s feet went. After he put some more wood in the fire, Richard lay down, close. She could see the inside of the wayward pine brighten. She knew Richard was watching her; she could feel his eyes on her back. She wanted so much to tell him how mean Kahlan really was, and ask him to run away with her. He was such a nice man, and his hugs were the bestest things in the whole world. He reached over and pulled the blanket up around her tighter, tucking it under her chin. Tears ran down her cheeks.
She could hear him lie on his back and pull his blanket up. Rachel waited until she heard his even breathing and she knew he was asleep before she slipped out from under the blanket.
36
Kahlan turned expectantly when he batted a limb out of the way as he pushed into the wayward pine and flopped down in front of the fire. He pulled his pack across the ground and started jamming things in it.
“Well?”
Richard shot her an angry glare. “I found her tracks, going west, back the way we came. They join the trail a few hundred yards out. They’re hours old.” He pointed to the ground at the back of the wayward pine. “That’s where she went out. She circled around you through the woods, well clear of us. I’ve tracked men who didn’t want to be found, and their trails were easier to follow. She walks on top of things, roots, rocks, and she’s too little to make a print where another would. Did you see her arms?”
“I saw long bruises. They are from a switch.”
“No, I mean scratches.”
“I saw no scratches.”
“Exactly. Her dress had burrs on it; she’s been through the bramble, yet she had no scratches on her arms. She’s tender, so she avoids brushing up against anything. An adult would just push past, leave a trail of disturbed or broken branches. She almost never touches anything. You should see the trail I left, going through the bushes trying to track her; a blind man could follow it. She moves through the underbrush like air. Even when she was back on the trail, I couldn’t tell for a while. Her feet are bare; she doesn’t like stepping in water or mud—it makes her feet colder—so she steps where it’s dry, where you can’t see her passing.”
“I should have seen her leaving.”
He realized Kahlan thought he was blaming her. He let out an exasperated breath. “It’s not your fault, Kahlan. If I had been standing watch, I wouldn’t have seen her go either. She didn’t want to be seen. She’s one smart little girl.”
It didn’t seem to make her feel any better. “But you can track her, right?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I can.” He reached to his breast. “I found this in my shirt pocket.” He lifted an eyebrow. “By my heart.” He pulled out the lock of Rachel’s hair, tied with the vine. He twisted it in his fingers. “To remember her by.”
Kahlan’s face was ashen as she rose. “This is my fault.” She pushed out of the wayward pine. He tried to grab her arm, but she tore away from him.
Richard set his pack aside and followed. Kahlan stood off a ways, her arms folded below her breasts, her back to him. She stared off into the woods.
“Kahlan, it isn’t your fault.”
She nodded. “It was my hair. Didn’t you see the fear in her eyes when she looked at my hair? I have seen that look a thousand times. Do you have any idea what it’s like to frighten people, even children, all the time?” He didn’t answer. “Richard? Cut my hair for me?”
“What?”
She turned to him, pleading in her eyes. “Cut it off for me?”
He watched the hurt in her eyes. “Why haven’t you just cut it yourself?”
She turned away. “I cannot. The magic will not allow a Confessor to cut her own hair. If we try, it brings pain so great, it prevents us from doing so.”
“How could that be?”
“Remember the pain you suffered, from the magic of the sword, when you killed a man the first time? It is the same pain. It will render a Confessor unconscious before the task can be accomplished. I tried only once. Every Confess
or tries once. But only once. Our hair must be cut by another when it needs trimming. But none would dare to cut it all off.” She turned to him once more. “Will you do it for me? Will you cut my hair?”
He looked away from her eyes, to the brightening slate blue sky, trying to understand what it was he was feeling, what it was she must be feeling. There was so much he didn’t know about her, still. Her life, her world, was a mystery to him. There had been a time when he wanted to know it all. Now he knew he never could; the gulf between them was filled with magic. Magic, designed, it seemed, explicitly to keep them apart.
His gaze returned at last to her. “No.”
“May I know why?”
“Because I respect you for who you are. The Kahlan I know wouldn’t want to fool people by trying to make them think she is less than she is. Even if you did fool some, it would change nothing. You are who you are: the Mother Confessor. We all can be no more, or less, than who we are.” He smiled. “A wise woman, a friend of mine, told me that once.”
“Any man would leap for the chance to cut a Confessor’s hair.”
“Not this one. This one is your friend.”