Stone of Tears

Outside her rooms, she waited until they were lined up before her doors. “If anyone comes into my room tonight, it had better be over your corpses. Do you understand?”

They all saluted to indicate that they did. Inside, Kahlan threw the white mantle around her shoulders and went out onto the balcony, into the bitter cold night. She stood with her back straight, near the railing, as she looked down on the scene in the courtyard below.

She wanted to run, but she couldn’t. She was the Mother Confessor. She had to do what all the Mother Confessors before her had done—protect the Midlands. She was alone, and had no one to help her in her duty.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched flames leap up from her bed; the bed she had promised Richard.

Chapter 58

The reflections of the Mother Confessor, in her white dress, rotated around the polished black columns as she marched down the gallery, the Mother Confessor’s private entrance to the council chambers. Kahlan was an hour early. She planned to be sitting in the First Chair as she watched all the councilors arrive. She didn’t want them talking among themselves before she was present.

She froze to a halt as she threw the doors open. The room was packed. Every council chair was occupied. The galleries were all packed with people—not only officials, administrators, staff, and nobility, but ordinary people: farmers, shopkeepers, merchants, cooks, tradesmen, wagon drivers, and laborers. Men and women of every sort. Every eye was on her as she stood before the doors.

Across the huge room, the councilors all sat in their chairs. No one made a sound. Someone was sitting in the First Chair. From this distance, she couldn’t see who it was, but she knew.

Kahlan touched her fingers to the bone necklace at her throat and prayed to the good spirits for protection and strength. Her boots echoed off the marble as she strode through patches of sunlight. There was something on the floor before the dais, but she couldn’t tell what it was.

When Kahlan reached the curved desk, the man sitting in the First Chair was not the one she expected. Stretched out on a litter before the dais lay the body of Prince Fyren. His skin was pasty. His arms were folded, his hands laid over the blood-soaked ruffles of his shirt. His sword rested across his body. Prince Fyren’s throat had been sliced open nearly to his spinal column.

Kahlan looked up to the solemn, dark eyes watching her. He came forward from the back of the First Chair and folded his hands together on the desk. A quick glance revealed what she hadn’t noticed before: a ring of guards around the room.

She glared up at the man with the dark hair and beard. “Get out of my chair, or I will kill you myself.”

The room rang with the sound of swords being drawn. Without taking his dark eyes from her, the man gestured with a flick of his hand. Every sword went hesitantly back into its scabbard.

“You are done killing people, Mother Confessor,” he said in a quiet voice. “Prince Fyren was your last victim.”

Kahlan frowned. “Who are you?”

“Neville Ranson.” Still, his eyes did not leave her as he turned his hand up. A ball of flame ignited above his palm. “Wizard Neville Ranson.”

Still, his eyes did not leave her as he cast the ball of flame skyward. It rose obediently toward the peak of the dome, where it broke, with a pop, into thousands of sparkles. Astonished gasps filled the room.

Wizard Ranson leaned back and drew open a scroll. “We have a great many charges, Mother Confessor. Where would you like to begin?”

Without turning her head, Kahlan’s eyes took a sweep of what she could see of the room. There was no chance of escape. None. Even if the man before her were not a wizard.

“Since they will all be invented, I guess it doesn’t matter. Why don’t we just dispense with the mockery, and simply proceed to the execution.”

The room remained dead silent. Wizard Ranson did not smile. His eyebrows lifted.

“Oh, no mockery, Mother Confessor, but serious charges. We are here to get to the truth of them. Unlike the Confessors, I refuse to put an innocent person to death. Before we are finished today, everyone here will know the truth of your treason. I want the people to know the full extent of your vile tyranny.”

Kahlan clasped her hands together as she stood with her back straight. She wore her Confessor’s face. The people all leaned forward a little.

“Since it is a long list,” Ranson said, “we might as well begin with the most serious charge.” He glanced down. “Treason.”

“And since when is defending the people of the Midlands treason?”