His eyes finally found hers, found hers so intently it nearly took her breath away. “Kahlan Amnell, will you marry me?”

Quite unexpectedly, she found she couldn’t speak. She closed her eyes and kissed his soft lips as a tear rolled down her cheek. His arms closed around her, hugging her tight against the heat of him. She pulled back breathlessly. Her voice at last returned. “Yes.” She kissed him again. “Please, yes.”

Kahlan laid her head against his shoulder. Richard gently stroked her hair as she listened to his breathing and the crackle of the fire. He held her tenderly and kissed the top of her head, there being no need for words. She felt safe in his arms.

Kahlan let loose her pain: the pain of loving him more than life itself and thinking he had been tortured to death by the Mord-Sith before she could tell him how much she loved him; the pain of having thought she could never have him because she was a Confessor and her power would destroy him; the hurt of how much she needed him, how uncontrollably she loved him.

As her anguish expended itself, it was replaced by her joy in what lay ahead: a lifetime, together. The breathless excitement of it seeped into her. She clutched at him, wanting to melt into him, wanting to be one with him.

Kahlan smiled. That was what being married to him would be: being one with him, as Zedd had told her once—like finding the other half of herself.

When she finally looked up, there was a tear on his face. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, and he did the same. She hoped his tears meant he had let his demons go, too.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Richard pulled her tight against him. His fingers traced a trail down the bumps of her spine.

“I feel so frustrated that there aren’t any better words than “I love you,’” he said. “It doesn’t seem enough for the way I feel about you. I’m sorry there aren’t any better words to tell you.”

They are words enough for me.”

“Then, I love you, Kahlan. A thousand times, a million times, I love you. Forever.”

She listened to the snap and pop of the fire, and to his heart beating. To her own heartbeat. He rocked her gently. She wanted to stay there in his arms forever. Suddenly the world seemed a wonderful place.

Richard grasped her shoulders and held her away to better see her. A wonderful smile spread across his face. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you.” He ran a hand down her hair. “I’m so glad I didn’t cut your hair that time. You have beautiful hair. Don’t ever change it.”

“I’m a Confessor, remember? My hair is a symbol of my power. Besides, I can’t cut it. Only another can do that.”

“Good. I would never cut it. I love you the way you are, power and all. Don’t ever let anyone cut it. I’ve liked your long hair ever since the first day I saw you, in the Hartland Woods.”

She smiled as she remembered that day. Richard had offered her help in escaping from the quads. He had saved her life. “It seems so long ago. Will you miss that life? Being a simple, carefree woods guide?” She smiled coquettishly. And single?”

Richard grinned. “single? Not with you as my wife. But a woods guide? Maybe a little.” He stared off at the fire. “I guess that for better or worse, I am the true Seeker. I hold the Sword of Truth, and the responsibilities that go with it, whatever they are. Do you think you can be happy being the wife of the Seeker?”

“I would be happy living in a tree stump, if you were there with me. But Richard, I’m afraid I’m still the Mother Confessor. I have responsibilities, too.”

“Well, you told me what it meant to be a Confessor, how when you touch someone with your power it forever destroys who they were, replacing it with absolute, magical devotion to you, to your wishes, and in that way you can have them confess the truth of their crimes, or for that matter you can make them do anything you would wish, but what other responsibilities do you have?”

“I guess I never told you about everything else that it means to be the Mother Confessor. It wasn’t important at the time; I didn’t think we could ever be together. I thought we would die, or even if we somehow won, you would go home to Westland and I would never see you again.”

“You mean the part about it mea’ning that you are more than a queen?”

She nodded. “The Central Council of the Midlands in Ay-dindril is made up of representatives of the more important lands of the Midlands. Together, the Central Council more or less rules the Midlands. Even though the lands are independent, they still bow to the word of the Central Council. In that way, through the Confederation of Lands, common goals are protected and peace is maintained. It keeps people talking instead of fighting. If one land were to attack an-other, it would be viewed as an attack against unity, against all, and all would put the aggression down. Kings, queens, rulers, officials, merchants, and others come to the Central Council to petition for what they want: trade agreements, boundary treaties, accords dealing with magic—an endless list of wants and wishes.”

“I understand. It’s something like that in Westland. The council rules in much the same way. Although Westland isn’t nearly big enough to have kingdoms, there are districts that govern themselves, but are represented by councilors in Hartland.

“Since my brother was a councilor, and then First Councilor, I was around the dealings of government. I saw the councilors coming from different places to ask for things. Being a guide, I was always leading them to and from Hartland. I learned a lot about it from talking to them.”

Richard folded his arms. “so what is the Mother Confessor’s part in it?”

“Well, the Central Council rules the Midlands…” She cleared her throat as she looked down at her hands in her lap. “… and the Mother Confessor rules the Central Council.”

His arms came unfolded. “You mean to say that you rule all the kings and queens? All the lands? You rule the Midlands?”

“Well… yes, in a way, I guess. You see, not all the lands are represented on the Central Council. Some are too small, like Queen Milena’s Tamarang, and the Mud People, and a few others are lands of magic, the land of the night wisps, for example. The Mother Confessor is the advocate for these lesser lands. Left to their own wishes, the council would decide to carve up these smaller lands. And they have the armies to do it easily. Only the Mother Confessor stands for those who have no voice.

“The other problem is that these lands are often in disagreement. Some have been bitter adversaries for as long as anyone can remember. The council is often deadlocked as rulers or their representatives each stubbornly demands his own way, to the detriment of the greater interests of the Midlands. The Mother Confessor has no interest but the good of the Midlands.

“Without leadership the different lands, through the Central Council, would only be interested in vying for power. The Mother Confessor counters these parochial interests with a larger view, with direction and leadership.

“Just as the Mother Confessor is the final arbiter of truth through her magic, she is also the final arbiter of power. The word of the Mother Confessor is law.”

“So it is you who tells all the kings and queens, all the lands, what to do?”

She took one of his hands and held it. “I, and most of the Mother Confessors before me, let the Central Council decide for themselves what they wish, how they want the Midlands ruled. But when they fail to come to agreement, or to a just agreement, it is to the disadvantage of those not represented. Only then do I step in and tell them how it shall be.”

“And they always do as you say?”

“Always.”

“Why?”

She took a deep breath. “Well, they know that if they don’t bow to the Mother Confessor’s leadership, they will be alone and vulnerable to any stronger neighbor who craves power. There would be war until the strongest among them crushed all the rest, as Darken Rahl’s father, Panis Rahl, did in D’Hara. They know that ultimately it is in their own interest to have an independent council leader, who sides with no land.”