“Then you ask!”

That would not be advisable,” the wizard offered quietly.

Cyrilla felt a fool. Everyone knew of her fondness for Drefan. Everyone saw now that she had been duped. No one would ever forget this midsummer festival.

“Do not presume to advise me!”

Kahlan leaned closer and spoke softly. “Cyrilla, we think he may be protected by a spell. When I asked his accomplice that question, he died before he could answer. But I believe I know the answer. There are oblique ways of getting the information that might possibly circumvent the spell. If I could take him somewhere alone and question him in my own way, we might be able to get the answer.”

Cyrilla was near tears with fury. “I trusted him! He was close to me! He has betrayed me! Me, not you! I will know who sent him! I will hear it from his own lips! You stand in my kingdom, in my home! Ask him!”

Kahlan straightened, her face returning to the calm mask that showed nothing. “As you wish.” She redirected her attention to Drefan. “Was what you intended to do to the queen of your own volition?”

He dry-washed his hands in anxious anticipation of pleasing the Mother Confessor. “No, Mistress. I was sent.”

If it was possible, Kahlan’s face seemed to become even more placid. “Who sent you?”

One hand rose, and his mouth opened, as if in an attempt to do her bidding. All that came from his throat was a gurgle of blood before he collapsed.

The wizard gave a knowing grunt. “As I thought: the same as the other.”

Kahlan picked up the knife and offered it handle-first to Cyrilla. “We believe there to be a conspiracy of great magnitude brewing. Whether or not this man was part of it I don’t know, but he was sent by Kelton.”

“Kelton! I refuse to believe that.”

Kahlan nodded at the knife in Cyrilla’s hand. “The knife is Keltish.”

“Many people carry weapons forged in Kelton. They are some of the finest made. That is hardly proof enough for such an accusation.”

Kahlan stood unmoving. Cyrilla was too upset at that moment to wonder what thoughts could have been going on behind those green eyes. Kahlan’s voice finally came without emotion. “My father taught me that the Keltans will strike for only two reasons. First out of jealousy, and second when they are tempted by weakness. He said that either way, they will always first test by trying to kill the strongest, highest-ranking, of their opponents they can. Galea is now the strongest it has ever been, thanks to you, and the midsummer festival is the mark of that strength. You are the cause of that jealousy, and a symbol of that strength.

“My father also said that you must always keep an eye to the Keltans, and never offer them your back. He said that if you thwart them in the first attempt, it deepens their hunger for your blood, and they will always lie in wait for any weakness so they may strike.”

Cyrilla’s smoldering rage at being beguiled by Drefan made her lash out without considering her words. “I would not know what our father said. I never had the benefit of his teachings. He was taken from us by a Confessor.”

Kahlan’s face transformed from the calm, cold blankness of a Confessor to a look of ageless, knowing benevolence that seemed well beyond her years.

“Perhaps, Queen Cyrilla, the good spirits chose to spare you the things he would have taught you, and had him teach me instead. Be thankful they have looked kindly upon you. I doubt the things he taught would have brought you any joy. They bring me none, save perhaps that they have helped me preserve your life this night. Please do not be bitter. Be at peace with yourself, and cherish what you do have: the love of your people. They are your family, one and all.”

Kahlan started to turn away, but Cyrilla gently caught her arm and drew her aside as men bent to carry the body from the hall.

“Kahlan, forgive me.” Her fingers worked a ribbon at her waist. “I have wrongly directed my anger over Drefan to you.”

“I understand, Cyrilla. In your place, I would probably have reacted the same. I could see your feelings for Drefan in your eyes. I would not expect you to be happy over what I have just done. Forgive me for bringing anguish to your home on a day that should be only joyful, but I greatly feared the results of delay.”

Kahlan had made her feel like the younger sister. She looked anew at the tall, beautiful young woman standing before her. Kahlan was of the age to have a mate. Perhaps she had already chosen one, for all she knew. Her mother must have been about this old when she took Cyrilla’s father as hers. So young.

Looking into those depthless green eyes, Cyrilla let go of some of her anger over Drefan. This young woman, her sister, had just saved her life, knowing full well it would bring no thanks, and would probably earn her only deeper fear, and possibly undying hatred, from her half sister. So young. Cyrilla felt shame at her own selfishness.

She smiled at Kahlan for the first time. “surely, the things Wyborn taught you weren’t all grim?”

“He taught me only killing. Whom to kill, when to kill, and how to kill. Be thankful you know no more of his lessons, and that you have never needed what he taught. I have, and I fear I have only begun to use what he taught me.”

Cyrilla frowned. Kahlan was a Confessor, not a killer. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“We believe we have uncovered a conspiracy. I will not speak of it until I know its nature, and have proof, but I think it may bring a storm beyond any you or I have ever seen before.”

Cyrilla touched her sister’s cheek, the only time in her life she had ever done so. “Kahlan, please stay? Enjoy at my side what is left of the festival? I would love to have you with me.”

Kahlan’s face returned to the calm mask of a Confessor. “I cannot. It would only ruin your people’s light heart to have me present. Thank you for the offer, but you should be able to enjoy your day with your people, without my spoiling it further.”

“Nonsense. It would spoil nothing.”

“I would like nothing more than that it were so, but it is not. Remember what our father said: keep a wary eye to the Keltans. I must be gone. There is trouble gathering and I must see that the Confessors find its cause. Before I return to Aydindril I will pay a visit to Kelton and deliver my suspicions, and a warning that what has happened not be repeated. I will inform the council of the trouble of this day, so that all eyes will be on the Keltans.”

What did they teach in Aydindril that could turn what looked to be porcelain to iron?

Thank you, Mother Confessor” was all she had been able to say, to offer her sister the honor of her office, as she watched her stride off, her wizard in tow. That had been the most intimate conversation she had ever had with her half sister. The midsummer festival had not held much joy for her after Kahlan had left. So young, yet so old.

At the council today, Cyrilla had been surprised to find that the Mother Confessor was not presiding over the council. No one knew where she was. It was to be expected she would have been absent when Aydindril fell; she was frequently gone in her capacity as a Confessor, and had probably been doing what she could to halt the threat from D’Hara. All the Confessors had fiercely fought the hordes from D’Hara. She was sure Kahlan would have done no less, using in part what her father had taught her.

But that she had not immediately returned to Aydindril when D’Hara withdrew was worrisome. Perhaps she had not yet had time to return. Cyrilla feared Kahlan might have been killed at the hands of a quad. D’Hara had sentenced all the Confessors to death, and hunted them relentlessly. Galea had offered refuge to the Confessors, but the quads, implacable, and without mercy, had found them anyway.

Worse, absent the Mother Confessor, there had not been a wizard overseeing the council meeting. Cyrilla’s flesh had prickled with apprehension at seeing no wizard. She recognized that the absence of a Confessor and a wizard created a dangerous vacuum in the council chambers.