The same height and build as Richard, and with the handsome cast of Darken Rahl’s features, he cut a striking figure. His tumbledown blond hair made his tanned face look all the better. Kahlan couldn’t help staring at the flesh and blood twist of Richard and Darken Rahl.
Richard gestured toward all the candles. “What’s this?”
Drefan’s blue-eyed gaze stayed locked on Richard. “I was praying, Lord Rahl. Making my peace with the good spirits, should I be joining them this day.”
There was no timidity in his voice; it was a simple, self-confident statement of fact.
Richard’s chest grew with a deep breath. He let it out. “Cara, you stay. Raina, Ulic, Egan, please wait outside.” He glanced to them as they were leaving. “Me first.”
They returned grim nods. It was code: if Richard didn’t come out of the room first, then Drefan died on his way out—a precaution Kahlan used herself.
“I am Drefan, Lord Rahl. At your service, should you find me worthy.” He bowed his head to Kahlan. “Mother Confessor.”
“What did you mean about joining the good spirits?” Richard asked.
Drefan slid his hands into the opposite sleeves of the cloak.
“There is a bit of a story to it, Lord Rahl.”
“Take your hands out of your sleeves, and then tell me the story.”
Drefan pulled his hands out. “Sorry.” He lifted his cloak back with a little finger to reveal the long, thin-bladed knife sheathed at his belt. He pulled the knife free with one finger and a thumb, flipped it in the air, and caught it by the point. “Forgive me. I meant to set it aside before your visit.”
Without turning, he tossed the knife over his shoulder. The knife stuck solidly in the wall. He bent, pulled a heavier knife from his boot, and tossed that over his shoulder with his other hand as he straightened, sticking it, too, in the wall an inch from the first. He reached behind his back, under the cloak, and came out with a wickedly curved blade. Without looking, he stuck it, too, in the wall behind, between the two blades already there.
“Any other weapons?” Richard asked in a businesslike manner.
Drefan spread his arms. “My hands, Lord Rahl, and my knowledge.” He continued to hold his hands out. “Though even my hands wouldn’t be quick enough to defeat your magic, Lord Rahl. Please search my person to assure yourself that I am otherwise unarmed.”
Richard didn’t act on the offer. “So, what’s the story?”
“I am the bastard son of Darken Rahl.”
“As am I,” Richard said.
“Not exactly. You are the gifted heir of Darken Rahl. A distinct difference, Lord Rahl.”
“Gifted? Darken Rahl raped my mother. I have often had reason to consider my magic a curse.”
Drefan nodded deferentially. “As you would have it, Lord Rahl. But Darken Rahl didn’t view offspring the way you seem to. To him, there was his heir, and there were weeds. You are his heir; I am but one of his weeds.
“Formalities associated with conception were irrelevant to the Master of D’Hara. Women were… simply there to bring him pleasure and to grow his seed. Ones who conceived inferior fruit—those without the gift—were barren soil, in his eyes. Even your mother, having produced his prized fruit, would have been no more important to him than the dirt in his most coveted orchard.”
Kahlan squeezed Richard’s hand. “Cara told me much the same. She said that Darken Rahl… that he eliminated those he found without the gift.”
Richard stiffened. “He killed my siblings?”
“Yes, Lord Rahl,” Cara said. “Not in a methodical fashion, but rather on whim, or ill mood.”
“I don’t know anything about his other children. I didn’t even know he was my father until last autumn. How is it that you’re alive?” he asked Drefan.
“My mother wasn’t…” Drefan paused, searching for an inoffensive way to put it. “She wasn’t treated as unfortunately as your cherished mother, Lord Rahl.
“My mother was a woman of ambition and cupidity. She saw our father as a means to gain status. As I have heard it told, she was fair of face and figure, and was one of a few who was called to his bed repeatedly. Most were not. Apparently, she succeeded in cultivating his… appetite for her charms. To put it bluntly, she was a talented whore.
“She hoped to be the one who bore him a gifted heir, so as to raise her status in his eyes to something more.
“She failed.” Drefan’s cheeks mantled. “She had me.”
“That may be a failure in her eyes,” Richard said in a quiet tone, “but not in the eyes of the good spirits. You are no less than I, in their eyes.”
The corners of Drefan’s mouth curled in a small smile. “Thank you, Lord Rahl. Very magnanimous of you to cede to the good spirits that which was always theirs. Not all men do. ‘In your wisdom we are humbled,’” he quoted from the devotion.
Drefan was managing to be courteously respectful without being servile. He seemed honestly deferential, but without losing his air of nobility. Unlike the way he had been in the pit, he was scrupulously polite, but he nonetheless exuded the bearing of a Rahl: no amount of bowing could alter his aplomb. Like Richard, he carried himself with inherent authority.
“So, what happened then?”
Drefan took a deep breath. “She took me, as an infant, to a wizard to have me tested for the gift, hoping to present Darken Rahl with the gifted heir that would bring her riches, station, and the fawning adoration of Darken Rahl. Did I also mention that she was a fool?”
Richard didn’t answer, and Drefan went on.
“The wizard broke the bad news to her: I was born without the gift. Instead of bearing a pass to a life of ease, she had given birth to a liability. Darken Rahl was known to pull the intestines out of such women—an inch at a time.”
“Obviously,” Richard said, “you managed not to draw his attention. Why not?”
“My dear mother was responsible for that. She knew that she might be able to raise me, and never be noticed by him, never be killed, but she also knew it would be a hard life of hiding and worry over every knock at the door.
“Instead, she took me, when I was but an infant, to a remote community of healers, hoping that they would raise me in anonymity so that my father would have no reason to come to know of me, and kill me.”
“That must have been hard for her to do,” Kahlan said.
His piercing blue eyes turned on her. “For her grief, she prescribed herself a potent cure, which was in turn provided by the healers: henbane.”
“Henbane,” Richard said in a flat tone. “Henbane is poison.”
“Yes. It acts quickly, but has the unfortunate quality of being exquisitely painful at its task.”
“These healers provided her with poison?” Richard asked incredulously.
Drefan’s raptor gaze, shadowed with admonition, returned to Richard. “The calling of a healer is to provide the remedy that is warranted. Sometimes, the remedy is death.”
“That doesn’t fit my definition of healer,” Richard said, returning the raptor gaze in kind.
“A person who is dying, w
ith no hope of recovery, and in great suffering, can be no better served than by the benevolent act of assisting them in ending their suffering.”
“Your mother wasn’t dying with no hope of recovery.”
“Had Darken Rahl found her, her suffering would have been profound, to say the least. I don’t know how much you knew about our father, but he was known for his inventiveness at giving pain, and making it last. She lived in shuddering fear of that fate. She was driven nearly insane with dread. She fell to tears at every shadow. The healers could do nothing to prevent that fate, to protect her from Darken Rahl. Had Darken Rahl wanted to find her, he would have. Had she remained with the healers, and been found, he would have slaughtered them all for hiding her. She gave up her life to give me the chance at one.”
Kahlan started when a log in the fire popped. Drefan didn’t start, nor did Richard.
“I’m sorry,” Richard whispered. “My grandfather took his daughter, my mother, to Westland to hide her from Darken Rahl. I guess that he, too, understood the danger she was in. The danger I was in.”
Drefan shrugged. “Then we are much the same, you and I: exiles from our father. You, however, would not have been killed.”
Richard nodded to himself. “He tried to kill me.”
Drefan’s brow twitched with curiosity. “Really. He wanted a gifted heir, and then he tried to kill him?”
“He didn’t know, as I didn’t, that it was he who fathered me.” Richard turned the subject back to the matter at hand. “So what’s this about you making peace with the good spirits in case you are to join them today?”
“The healers who raised me never kept from me the knowledge of who I was. I have known since I can remember that I was the bastard son of our master, of Father Rahl. I always knew that he could come at any moment and kill me. I prayed each night, thanking the good spirits for another day of life free from my father and what he would do to me.”
“Weren’t the healers afraid that he would come and kill them, too, for hiding you?”
“Perhaps. They always discounted it. They said that they were not in fear for themselves, that they could always say I was a babe abandoned to them and they didn’t know my paternity.”