Stone of Tears

She turned down the hall at the far end, toward the corridor to the council chambers. In the Confessors” private gallery, groups of four glossy black marble columns to each side supported a progression of polychrome vaults. At the end, before the council chambers, was a round, two-story-high pantheon dedicated to the memory of heroines: the founding Mother Confessors. Their portraits, in frescoes between the seven massive pillars ranging to the skylight, were twice life size.

Kahlan always felt like a pretender to the post in the presence of the seven stern faces that overlooked the room. She felt they were saying, “And who are you, Kahlan Amnell, to think you could be the Mother Confessor?” Knowing the histories of those heroines only made her feel all the more inadequate.

Grabbing both brass levers, she threw the tall, mahogany doors open and marched into the council chambers.

A huge dome capped the enormous room. At the far end, the main vault was decorated with an ornate fresco celebrating the glory of Magda Searus, the first Mother Confessor. Her fingers were touching the back of the hand of her wizard, Merritt, who had laid down his life to protect her. Together, now, for all time in the colorful fresco, the two oversaw the Mother Confessors who followed and sat in the First Chair, and their wizards.

Between the colossal gold capitals of the columns thrusting up around the room were sinuous, polished mahogany railings at the edge of balconies that overlooked the elegant chamber. The arched openings, set at intervals around the room and leading up to the balconies, were decorated with sculpted stuccos of heroic scenes. Beyond were windows looking out over the courtyards. Round windows around the lower edge of the dome also let light into the glistening chamber. At the far end was the semicircular dais where the councilors sat, behind an elaborate, curved desk. The opulent First Chair in the center was the tallest.

A clump of men were gathered around the First Chair. By the numbers, Kahlan judged about half the council to be present. As she strode across long swaths of sunlight on the patterned marble floor, the heads began to follow her progress.

Someone was sitting in the First Chair. Although not enforced in recent times, it was a capital offense for a councilor to take the First Chair, as it was considered tantamount to a declaration of revolution. The conversation hushed as she approached.

It was High Prince Fyren, of Kelton, sitting in the chair. His feet were up on the desk, and he didn’t take them down as he watched her draw near. His eyes were on her, but he was listening to a man with smoothed-down dark hair and beard, streaked with a touch of gray, leaning over whispering to him. The man’s hands were in the opposite sleeves of his plain robes. Strange, she thought, for an advisor to be dressed so, like a wizard.

Prince Fyren lifted his eyebrows in delight. “Mother Confessor!” With deliberate care he took his polished boots down and came to his feet. He put his hands to the desk and leaned over, looking down. “so good to see you!”

Before, Kahlan had always had a wizard; now, she had none. No protection. She could not afford to appear timid or vulnerable.

She glared up at Prince Fyren. “If I ever again catch you in the chair of the Mother Confessor, I will kill you.”

He straightened with a smirk. “You would use your power on a councilor?”

“I will slit your throat with my knife, if I have to.”

The man in the plain robes watched her with unmoving dark eyes. The other councilors blanched.

Prince Fyren pulled his dark blue coat open and rested a hand on his hip. “Mother Confessor, I meant no offense. You have been gone for a long time. We all thought you were dead. There has been no Confessor in the palace for… what?” He looked to a few of the other men. “Four, five, six months?” Hand still on his hip, he held his other out and gave a bow. “I meant no offense, Mother Confessor. Your chair is returned to you, of course.”

Kahlan eyed the remaining men. “It is late. The council will meet in full session first thing in the morning. Every councilor will be present. The Midlands is at war.”

Prince Fyren lifted an eyebrow. “War? On whose authority? We have not discussed such a grave matter.”

Kahlan swept her gaze over the councilors, letting it finally settle on Prince Fyren. “On my authority as the Mother Confessor.” Whispering broke out among the men. Prince Fyren never let his eyes leave hers. When she glowered at the men who were whispering, it sputtered out. “I want every councilor here, first thing in the morning. You are adjourned, for now, gentlemen.”

Kahlan turned on her heel and marched from the room.

She didn’t recognize any of the guards she saw throughout the palace, but then she wouldn’t; Zedd had told her before how most of the Home Guard had been killed in the fall of Aydindril to D’Hara. She missed the old faces.