Faith of the Fallen

She was tired. The first night, he had not slept, she knew. She had felt his eyes on her back. She knew how much he hurt. Turned away from him, she had wept silently at the hate his eyes held, at the burden of being the one to have to do what was best. The world was such an evil place.

"Perhaps, Richard," she said in a soft voice, "you will someday teach me the difference."

She was so very tired. The night before, when he had succumbed to his weariness, and turned away from her to sleep, Nicci had in turn stayed awake all night, watching him in his sound sleep as she felt the connection of magic to the Mother Confessor. The connection brought Nicci great empathy for her, as well.

It was all for the best.

"For now," Nicci said, "let's get inside out of this foul weather. I'm cold and I'm hungry. We need to get some rest, too. And as I've told you, we have things to discuss, first."

She couldn't lie to him, she knew. She couldn't tell him everything, of course, but she dared not lie to him in the things she did tell him.

The dance had begun.

CHAPTER 26

Richard broke up the sausage Nicci gave him from her saddlebag and tossed it in the pot with the simmering rice. The things she had told him kept shouting in his mind as he tried to fit them into their proper order.

He didn't know how much of what she had said he dared to believe. He feared it was all true. Nicci just didn't seem to need to lie to him-at least not about what she had told him so far. She didn't seem as. . hostile, as he thought she would have to be. If anything, she seemed melancholy, perhaps because of what she had done-although, he had trouble believing that a confessed Sister of the Dark would suffer a guilty conscience. It was probably just some bizarre part of her act, some artifice directed toward her ends.

He stirred the pot of rice with a stick he'd peeled the bark off of.

"You said there were things to discuss." He rapped the stick clean on the edge of the pot. "I assume that means there are orders you wish to issue."

Nicci blinked, as if he'd caught her thinking about something else. She looked out of place, sitting prim and straight in a wayward pine, dressed as she was in her fine black dress. Richard would never before have ever thought of Nicci out-of-doors, much less sitting on the ground. The very idea had always seemed ludicrous to him. Her dress constantly made him think of Kahlan, not only because of it being so completely opposite that it evoked the comparison, but also because he so vividly recalled Nicci connected to Kahlan by that awful rope of magic.

That memory twisted him in agony.

"Orders?" Nicci folded her hands in her lap and met his gaze. "Oh, yes, I have a few requests I wish you to honor. First, you may not use your gift.

Not at all. Not in any way. Is that clear? Since, as I recall, you have no love of the gift, this should be neither a burden nor a difficult request for you to follow, especially because there is something you do love which would not survive such a betrayal. Do you understand?"

Her cold blue eyes conveyed the threat perhaps even better than her words. Richard gave her a single nod, committing himself to what, exactly, he wasn't entirely sure at the moment.

He poured her steaming dinner in a shallow wooden bowl and handed it to her along with a spoon. Nicci smiled her thanks. He set the pot on the ground between his legs and took a spoonful of rice, blowing on it until it was cool enough to eat. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she took a dainty taste.

Beyond her physical perfection, Nicci had a singularly expressive face.

She seemed to go cold and blank when she was unhappy, or when she meant to convey anger, threat, or displeasure. She didn't really scowl the way other people did when they felt those emotions; rather, a look of cool detachment descended on her. That look was, in its own way, far more disturbing. It was her impenetrable armor.

On the other hand, she was expressively animated when she was pleased or thankful. Even more than that, though, such pleasure or gratitude appeared genuine. He remembered her as aloof, and while she still possessed a noble bearing, to some extent her air of reticence had lifted to reveal an innocent delight in any kindness, or even simple courtesy.

Richard still had bread Cara had baked for him. He hated sharing that bread with this evil woman, but it now seemed a childish consideration. He tore off a piece and offered it to Nicci. She took it with the reverence due something greater than mere bread.

"I also expect you to keep no secrets from me," she said after another bite. "You would not like me to discover you were doing so. Husbands and wives have no need for secrets."

Richard supposed not, but they were hardly husband and wife. Rather than say so, he said instead, "You seem to know a lot about how husbands and wives behave."

Rather than rising to his bait, she gestured with her bread at her bowl. "This is very good, Richard. Very good indeed."