Nicci ignored those protocols. She was Death’s Mistress, the emperor’s Slave Queen. She stopped for no one. No one challenged her.
Jagang’s tent was set back in a grouping of larger tents but, unlike all the other tents in the camp, it had ample space around it. Sisters patrolling the area took note of Nicci, as did the gifted young men she saw, but their gazes fell away when Nicci fixed them in her glare. The guards, too, all watched her but tried to be less obvious about it.
Nicci was encouraged to see that none of these people saw her as anything but what she had been when last among them.
She saw then a strange sight. Besides a cadre of Jagang’s personal guards standing to either side of the heavy hanging covering the opening into his tent, there were other soldiers as well—regular soldiers. Pacing back and forth, they, too, appeared to be guarding the tent. She couldn’t imagine why in the world regular soldiers would be inside the emperor’s compound, much less guarding his tent. Such men had never before been trusted inside the command area.
Ignoring the curiosity of regular soldiers being there in the compound, Nicci headed straight for the heavy hanging over the opening into Jagang’s tent. The two Sisters, already lagging behind, reluctantly followed Nicci toward the emperor’s tent. Color drained from their faces. No one, least of all a woman, was eager to enter Jagang’s private sanctuary. While he was sometimes pleasant to some of his trusted officers, he did not treat others indulgently.
Two big men, each holding a pike, their faces tattooed with animalistic designs, drew back the hanging. The small silver discs attached to the lambskin made soft metallic ringing sounds, letting the emperor know that someone was entering his tent. She recognized both men holding the hanging out of the way for her but didn’t acknowledge them as she lifted her skirts to step over the threshold and into the darkness beyond.
Inside, slaves were busy clearing plates and platters from the emperor’s table. The aroma of all the food reminded Nicci that she hadn’t eaten. The knot of anxiety in her middle masked her hunger.
Dozens of candles gave the place a dimly lit, cozy warmth. Thick carpets covered the floor so that footsteps of slaves going about their work would not disturb the emperor. Some of the slaves, all with heads bowed, were new. Some she remembered. Jagang appeared to have already finished his meal and was not in the outer areas.
The two Sisters, having entered behind her, edged their way into the shadows toward the far walls of the tent. This was apparently as far as they were to go, and within the outer room they wanted to be as far away as possible.
Knowing where Jagang would be, Nicci headed across the room. Slaves scurried to stay out of her way. At the hanging over the opening into the bedroom, she lifted the covering aside and ducked through.
Inside the emperor’s bedchamber Nicci at last saw him. He was sitting facing away from her on the other side of the plush bed covered with gold-colored silk. Points of light from the candles and oil lamps reflected off his shaved head. His bull neck spread into broad, powerful shoulders. He was wearing a lamb’s-wool vest, and his massive arms were bare.
He was occupied with thumbing through a book, absorbed in scanning the text. While easily given to violence, Jagang was, in certain areas, an intelligent man who prized the knowledge to be found in books or sifted from the minds he inhabited. Emotionally convinced of the veracity of his beliefs, he never troubled himself to subject those beliefs to reasoning. In fact, he viewed such questioning to be heresy. Instead, his efforts were spent collecting information in narrow areas. He knew that the right kind of knowledge could be a valuable weapon. He was a man who liked to be well armed—with every form of weapon.
Something caught Nicci’s eye. She looked to her left.
That was when she saw her, sitting on the floor, resting on one hip and leaning on an arm. She was the most sublimely beautiful creature Nicci had ever seen.
She knew without doubt who this woman was.
It was Kahlan, Richard’s wife.
Their eyes met. The intelligence, the nobility, the life in those green eyes was riveting.
This was a woman the equal of Richard.
Ann had been wrong. This was the only woman who could by right stand at his side.
CHAPTER 23
Nicci saw that there was a Rada’Han around Kahlan’s neck. That would explain why she seemed to be planted on the faded blue and beige carpet. Her gaze didn’t miss the collar that Nicci wore. Nicci didn’t think that this woman’s gaze missed much.
A tentative look haunted Kahlan’s green eyes as they stared at each other. It was a ghost of cautious encouragement brought about by her awareness that Nicci could actually see her. They were instantly sisters in more than one way, sharing more than just having collars around their necks.
How lonely and forlorn it must be to exist unseen and forgotten at the center of such a wicked spell.
Unseen, anyway, by anyone other than Sisters of the Dark—and, apparently, Jagang. It had to be a cause for hope that another person, even a stranger, could see her.
Looking at her now, Nicci could hardly believe that she could ever have forgotten this woman, even with the Chainfire spell. She could clearly see why Richard had never for an instant given up on finding her.
This woman, even discounting her exquisite beauty, had a presence about her, an insightful awareness, that Nicci instantly recognized from the statue that Richard had carved. That statue, called Spirit, had not been meant to look like Kahlan, but to represent her abiding strength, her inner courage. It did that in a way that, seeing the real thing, nearly took Nicci’s breath.
She was beginning to see why, even at her relatively young age, Kahlan had been named the Mother Confessor. Now, though, there were no other Confessors. She was the last.
At first surprised to find Kahlan there, Nicci realized that it only made sense. Sister Armina had been one of the Sisters who had captured Kahlan and ignited the Chainfire spell. Sister Tovi had told Nicci that they had managed to evade Jagang by using the bond to Richard. While she supposed that Jagang might have somehow managed to get past that bond, Nicci thought that it made more sense that the bond had never actually protected them in the first place.
If Jagang had captured Sister Armina he would have Sisters Ulicia and Cecilia as well. That had to be why Kahlan was there; she had been held by those Sisters so she, too, would have been swept up in Jagang’s net.
Nicci saw that Jillian was there as well. The girl’s copper-colored eyes blinked in surprise to see Nicci standing there before her. While it made sense for Kahlan to be there, Nicci couldn’t fathom why Jillian was.
Jillian leaned in close to Kahlan, cupped a hand to her ear, and whispered something—undoubtedly Nicci’s name. Kahlan responded only with a slight nod, but her eyes revealed a great deal more. She had heard Nicci’s name before.
When Jagang tossed the book he was studying on a bedside table, Nicci quickly pointed with two fingers between Kahlan’s eyes and her own, then used one to cross her lips, urging silence. Nicci didn’t want Jagang knowing that she could see Kahlan, or even that she knew Jillian. The less he knew, the safer those two would be—if being a captive of Emperor Jagang could in any sense be said to be safe. Without waiting for confirmation, Nicci looked away from Kahlan and Jillian to face Jagang.
When he turned around, fixing his black gaze on her, Nicci thought she might faint. It was one thing to remember him, quite another to be standing there before him.
To once again find herself under the scrutiny of those nightmare eyes crushed her courage.
She knew what lay ahead for her.
“Well, well,” Jagang said as he made his way around the bed, his gaze fixed on her. “Look who has returned at long last.” He smiled broadly. “You are as beautiful as every dream I’ve had of you since you were last here with me.”
Nicci wasn’t surprised by the approach he’d taken, nor did it indicate anything meaningful. Never knowing how he would react kept
those around him in a state of constant dread. His anger could be sparked at any time by the smallest thing, or nothing at all. Nicci had seen him strangle a slave to death for dropping a breadboard, and yet on another occasion she’d seen him pick up a dropped plate of lamb and casually hand it back to the servant who had dropped it without missing a beat in his conversation.
In no small sense, this capricious quality in the emperor only reflected the same irrational, unpredictable, incomprehensible behavior of the Order itself. The virtue—the very adequacy—of one’s self-sacrifice for the cause was measured against unseen, inscrutable, unknowable standards. Fortune or misfortune always seemed to hang on a whim. For a population, that perpetual gnawing doubt was debilitating. The deadweight of constant tension left people ready to accuse anyone of sedition—even friends or family—if only it would keep the talons of fate at bay.
Like any number of other men, Jagang also thought he could win Nicci’s affection with a little empty flattery. He liked to imagine that he could be charming. The form his praise took, though, revealed more about his values than hers.
Nicci did not bow. She was acutely aware of the metal collar around her neck that prevented her from using her gift. While she had no defense against this man, she wasn’t going to pretend respect by bowing, nor would she fawn at his finely framed lust.
In the past, despite her ability to use her Han, her real safety had always been her indifference to what he might do to her. During those times when he had been able to enter her mind, and she’d had no collar around her neck, her abilities as a sorceress had been of no help to her, just as his other captive Sisters were now helpless despite the fact that none of them wore a collar.
Her protection had always been in her attitude, not her gift.
Before, Nicci simply hadn’t cared if he hurt her, or even if he might at any time decide to kill her. She thought she deserved any suffering he might inflict and she didn’t care if she died. That left her indifferent to the ever-present possibility that the whim of murder might strike him.
Even though all of that had changed because of Richard, she couldn’t allow Jagang to know how much it had changed. Her only chance, her only defense, was to make him think that nothing had changed in her attitude, that she cared no more about what might happen to her now than she had in the past.
Death’s Mistress would not care if she could use her power or not. To Death’s Mistress a collar meant nothing.
Jagang lightly drew the long braided hair growing under his lower lip between his finger and thumb. His gaze took in the length of her. He let out a deep breath, as if considering what he would do with her first.
She didn’t have long to wait.
He abruptly backhanded her hard enough to send her flying. When she landed her head hit the floor but, fortunately, the thick carpets cushioned the impact. It felt as if the muscles of her jaw had been ripped and the bone shattered. The shock of the blow stunned her senseless.
Even though the room seemed to be spinning and tilting, she was determined to make herself return to her feet. Death’s Mistress did not cower. Death’s Mistress faced death indifferently.
Once up on her knees, she wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with the inside of a wrist as she worked to find her balance. Her jaw, despite the pain, seemed to be intact. She struggled to get her feet under her.
Before she managed to stand, Jillian rushed up between Nicci and Jagang.
“You leave her be!”
As Jagang planted his fists on his hips, glaring at the girl, Nicci stole a glance at Kahlan. Nicci recognized the glaze of pain in the woman’s eyes. By the way her fingers trembled, Nicci knew exactly what kind of pain Jagang was giving her through the collar. Such preemptive agony was meant to keep her where she was, keep her from interfering.
Nicci judged it to be, from Jagang’s perspective, a wise decision.
As far back as she could remember, Nicci had been able to appraise people and to do so quickly. It had become a valuable talent, since survival in violent encounters often depended on the accurate evaluation of those she faced. Nicci could tell just by looking at Kahlan that she was a dangerous woman, a woman who was used to interfering.
Jagang snatched Jillian by the back of her neck and lifted her like a troublesome kitten. She squealed—more in fright than pain—as he held her aloft and marched her across the room. She clawed at his big hands to no effect. Her feet kicked at empty air. Jagang lifted aside the heavy, padded wool hanging covering the opening into his bedchamber and tossed Jillian out.
“Armina! Watch the child. I want to be alone with my queen.”
Nicci could just see Sister Armina corral Jillian in her arms and draw her back into the darkness. A quick glance revealed Kahlan still in the same place on the rug, her whole body trembling slightly. A tear of agony ran down across her cheek. Nicci wondered if Jagang was even aware of how much pain he was giving Kahlan. He didn’t know his own strength—in more ways than one. His unchecked anger tended to be universal, encompassing not just his muscle, but his mental ability as well.
In the past he’d frequently beat Nicci more severely than he’d intended or, in a blind rage, used his ability as a dream walker to inflict what could easily have been a lethal dose of pain. Later, after he realized how close he’d come to killing her, he would apologize but eventually end up by saying that it had been her own fault for making him so angry.
As Jagang dropped the hanging, closing off his bedchamber, Kahlan’s tense muscles suddenly slackened. She sagged, panting in relief, looking hardly able to move after the silent ordeal.
“So,” Jagang said as he turned back to Nicci, “do you love him?”
Nicci blinked. “What?”
His face went red with rage as he closed on her. “What do you mean, what! You heard me!” He seized a fistful of her hair as he leaned to within inches of her. “Don’t try to pretend you didn’t understand me or I’ll rip your head off!”
Nicci smiled, lifting her chin as best she could, exposing her throat to him. “Please do. It will save us both a great deal of trouble.”
He glared a moment before releasing her hair. He smoothed it down, back into place, before he turned and moved off a few paces.
“Is that what you want? To die?” He turned back. “To abandon your duty to the Creator and the Order? To abandon your duty to me?”
Nicci shrugged indifferently. “Doesn’t matter much what I want, now, does it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know very well what it means. Since when has it mattered to you in the least what I want? You’re going to do what you want regardless of what I might have to say about it. After all, I am just a subject of the Order, am I not? I’d say that what you want is what you’ve always wanted—to finally kill me.”
“Kill you?” He spread his arms. “What makes you think I want to kill you?”
“Your self-indulgent actions.”
“Self-indulgent?” He glared at her askance. “I am hardly self-indulgent. I am Jagang the Just.”
“Are you forgetting that it was I who gave you that title? I did so not because it reflected any truth, but to counter the truth—to create an image that would serve the purposes of the Order. I am the one who created that image for you, knowing that unthinking people would believe it simply because we proclaimed it. You wouldn’t know how to fill the role if your life depended on it.”
The cloudy shapes in his eyes shifted in an inky darkness that reminded her of the underworld-black box of Orden she had put into play in Richard’s name.
“I don’t know how you can say such things, Nicci. I have always been more than just with you. I have given you things I have given no other. Why would I do that if I wanted to kill you?”
Nicci sighed impatiently. “Just say what you want to say, or bash in my skull, or send me off to the torture tents. I’m not much interested in playing this game with you. You believe what you wish to believe rega
rdless of reality. You know and I know that what I might have to say about anything is not really going to make any difference.”
“What you say has always made a difference.” He lifted a hand toward her as the heat in his voice also rose. “Look at what you just said about naming me Jagang the Just. That was your idea. I listened to it and used it because it was a good idea. It served our ends. You did well. I told you before that when this war is won you will sit at my side.”
Nicci didn’t answer him.
He clasped his hands behind his back as he took a few steps away.
“Do you love him?”
Nicci stole a glance to the side. Kahlan sat on the carpet, watching her. Kahlan’s face was etched with concern for the sense of threat in the air. It looked as if she would like to tell Nicci to stop provoking the man. Yet, while she obviously looked worried for what Jagang was going to do, she also looked interested in the answer to the emperor’s question.
Nicci’s head spun as she tried to think of how to respond—not out of concern for what Jagang might think of the answer, but out of worry for what Kahlan might. There was the Chainfire spell to consider, the need for a sterile field that Nicci had to take into account. The way it now seemed she would likely be dead by then, but if Richard ever somehow managed to get a chance to use Orden to counter the Chainfire event, Kahlan had to remain a sterile field if he was to have a chance to restore her to who she once had been.
“Do you?” Jagang repeated without looking back at her.
Nicci finally concluded that, for the purpose of maintaining a sterile field, it wouldn’t make any difference how she answered the question. It would not introduce any emotional precondition on Kahlan. It was Kahlan’s emotional connection with Richard, not Nicci’s, that mattered.
“My feelings have never burdened you before,” Nicci finally said, irritably. “What difference could it make to you?”