For the first time, Kahlan wasn’t afraid of the witch woman. If Shota didn’t swear to leave Richard alone, to let him have his own life, Shota was going to be dust before this day was out.
At the bottom of the cliff, Kahlan followed behind Samuel as he bounded along the road among tree-dotted hills and green fields. Snow-capped peaks all around soared up past a scattering of clouds. Blue deepened in the sky as the sun rose over those peaks.
Kahlan felt as if she had enough power blazing within her to level those peaks. Shota had only to say or do the wrong thing—to prove herself a threat to Richard—and she would be no more.
The road led up a gentle rise from which Kahlan could see the spires of the palace through the trees ahead. Samuel glanced back to make sure she was still following, but Kahlan didn’t need his direction; she knew that Shota waited in the grove of trees below.
The witch woman was the last person Kahlan ever wanted to see again, but if it was to be, then, this time, she intended it to be on her terms.
Samuel halted and pointed with a long finger. “Mistress.” Yellow eyes glowered back at Kahlan. “Mistress wants you.”
Kahlan lifted a warning finger to his face. Threads of blue light crackled around the finger.
“If you get in my way, or interfere, you will die.”
He glanced from her finger back into her eyes. His bloodless lips drew back as he hissed, and then he skittered off into the trees.
In a cocoon of seething magic, Kahlan advanced down the slope toward the waiting witch woman. The breeze was spring-warm, the day bright and cheerful. Kahlan felt no cheer.
Sheltered among the towering maples, ash, and oak, sat a table covered with a white cloth and set with food and drink. Beyond the table, atop three square white marble platforms, stood a massive throne carved with gold-leaf vines, snakes, and other beasts.
Shota sat regally, one leg crossed casually over the other, her ageless almond eyes watching Kahlan’s approach. Shota’s arms rested on the chair's high, widely spaced arms, with her hands draped arrogantly over gold gargoyles. The gargoyles nuzzled her hands, as if hoping to be stroked. A rich canopy draped with heavy red brocade and trimmed with gold tassels shaded the throne’s occupant from the morning sun, yet her luxuriant auburn hair shimmered as if touched by streamers of sunlight.
Kahlan halted, not far away, under the witch woman’s rock-hard, penetrating gaze. The blue lightning screamed for release.
Shota clicked her lacquered fingernails together. A self-satisfied smile spread across her full red lips.
“Well, well, well,” Shota said in her velvety voice. “The child assassin arrives at last.”
“I am not an assassin,” Kahlan said. “Nor am I a child. But I have had enough of your games.”
Shota’s smile slipped away. She put her hands to the chair’s arms and stood. Points of her wispy, low-cut, variegated gray dress lifted in the gentle breeze. Her gaze never left Kahlan as she gracefully descended the three white marble platforms.
“You’re late.” Shota held a hand out to the table. “The tea is getting cold.”
Kahlan flinched when a bolt of lightning struck from the blue sky, hitting the teapot. Amazingly, it didn’t shatter.
Shota glanced down at Kahlan’s hands, and then back to her eyes. “There, I believe it’s hot, now. Please, won’t you have a seat? We will have tea and… conversation.”
Knowing Shota had seen the ominous blue light, Kahlan returned the self-assured smile in kind. Shota drew out a chair and sat. She again held out a hand in invitation.
“Please, have a seat. I imagine you have things you wish to discuss.”
Kahlan slid into a chair as Shota poured tea, holding on the white top with her other hand as she did so. Steam rose from the cups. The tea was indeed hot. Shota lifted a gold-trimmed platter, offering Kahlan toast. Kahlan warily pulled a golden-crisp slab from the platter. Shota slid a bowl of honeyed butter across the table.
“Well,” Shota said. “Isn’t this unpleasant.”
Against her will, Kahlan smiled. “Very.”
Shota picked up her silver knife and spread honeyed butter across her slice of toast. She took a sip of tea.
“Eat, child. Murder is always best accomplished on a full stomach.”
“I have not come to murder you.”
Shota’s sly smile returned. “No, I suppose you have managed to justify it to yourself. Retribution, is it? Or perhaps self-defense. Punishment? Recompense? Justice?” The smooth smile widened. An eyebrow arched. “Bad manners?”
“You sent Nadine to marry Richard.”
“Ahh. Jealousy, then.” Shota leaned back as she sipped her tea. “A noble motive, were it justified. I hope you realize that jealousy can be a cruel taskmaster.”
Kahlan nibbled her crunchy toast. “Richard loves me, and I love him. We’re engaged to be married.”
“Yes, I know. For one who professes to love him, I would think you would be more understanding.”
“Understanding?”
“Of course. If you love someone, you want them to be happy. You want what’s best for them.”
“I make Richard happy. He wants me. I’m best for him.”
“Yes, well, we can’t always have what we want, now can we?”
Kahlan sucked honeyed butter from her finger. “Just tell me why you wish to hurt us.”
Shota looked genuinely surprised. “Hurt you? Is that what you think? You think I am being spiteful?”
“Why else would you always try to keep us apart, to hurt us?”
Shota took a dainty bite of toast. She chewed for a moment. “Has the plague come, yet?”
The cup paused partway to Kahlan’s lips. “How do you know about that?”
“I’m a witch woman. I see the current of events. Let me ask you a question. If you visited a young child sick with the plague, and the child’s mother asked you if her child was going to recover, and you told her the truth, would you be guilty of causing the child’s death b
ecause you foretold it?”
“Of course not.”
“Ah. It is only I, then, who am to be judged by different standards.”
“I’m not judging you. I simply want you to stop interfering with Richard’s and my life together.”
“A messenger is often blamed for the message.”
“Shota, the last time we saw you, you said that if we stopped the Keeper, you would owe us a debt. You asked me to help Richard. We stopped the Keeper. It cost us dearly, but we did it. You owe us.”
“Yes, I know,” Shota whispered. “That is why I sent Nadine.”
Kahlan could feel the rage of power surge within her. “Seems a strange way to show your appreciation—sending someone to try to ruin our lives.”
“No, child,” Shota said gently. “You see things through blind eyes.”
Kahlan had to help Richard by finding out all she could, but she would defend herself and Richard if she had to. Until that became necessary, she could endure this wandering conversation, if it would help get the answers they needed. And they did need answers.
“What do you mean?”
Shota sipped her tea. “Have you lain with Richard?”
Kahlan was taken off guard by the question, but she recovered quickly. She shrugged one shoulder in an offhanded manner. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.”
Shota’s gaze rose from her tea. “You’re lying.”
Pleased by the smoldering tone in Shota’s voice, Kahlan lifted an eyebrow. “It’s the truth. You don’t like the message, and so now you hold malice toward the messenger?”
Shota’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze locked on Kahlan as if drawing a bow and aiming an arrow.
“Where, Mother Confessor? Where did you lie with him?”
Kahlan felt triumphant at Shota’s obvious displeasure.
“Where? What difference does that make? Have you turned from witch woman to gossip, now? I was with him… in that way, and that’s the truth, whether you like it or not. I’m no longer a virgin. I was with Richard; that’s all that matters.”