“Horses love this. Give him a piece, tell him what a good boy he is. The idea is to change his feelings about having the reins on. Let him know it’s going to be pleasant, instead of that bit he hates.”

“Pleasant,” she repeated in a flat tone.

“Sure. You don’t need to show him how much you can hurt him to make him do as you wish. That’s counterproductive. Just be firm but gentle. The idea is to try to win him over with kindness and understanding, even if it isn’t sincere, and not by using force.”

Richard’s smile vanished, and he let his features slide into a glare. He leaned closer to her as she stood looking up at him. “You should be able to do that, Sister Verna; you seem pretty good at it. Just treat him like you treat me.”

Her stunned expression hardened. “I swore on my life to bring you back to the Palace of the Prophets. When they see you at last, I fear I may be hung for doing my duty.”

She turned and gave the melon rind to the eager horse, stroking his neck and encouraging him with motherly pats. “There’s a good fellow. Good boy. You like that, Jessup? Good boy.”

Her voice was heavy with compassion and tenderness. The horse liked it. Richard knew it lacked sincerity. He didn’t trust her, and wanted her to know it. He didn’t appreciate people thinking they were so easily fooling him. He wondered if her attitude toward him would change, now that he had let her know he hadn’t swallowed her act.

Kahlan had told him that Sister Verna was a sorceress. He had no idea what she was capable of, but he had felt the web she had thrown around him in the spirit house. He had seen the fire she started with a thought. She could have easily started a fire the night before, without telling him to do it. He had the strong feeling she could break him in half with her Han, if she so chose.

She was just trying to train him; get him accustomed to doing as she said, without thinking. Just like training a horse.

Or a “beast,” as she had called it. He doubted she had any more respect for him than she did for her horses.

But instead of using a spade bit to control him, she had the Rada’Han around his neck, and that was much worse. But he would have it off, when the time came. Even if Kahlan didn’t want him and had sent him away, he would have it off.

While Sister Verna was making friends with Jessup, Richard started saddling the horses. “How far to the Palace of the Prophets?”

“It is a long way to the southeast. A long and difficult way.”

“Well, then we will have plenty of time to teach you how to handle Jessup without a bit. You won’t have as hard a time as you think. He will defer to and follow Bonnie. Bonnie is the dominant horse.”

The male is dominant.”

Richard lifted the saddle up onto Bonnie. “A mare is always at the top of the hierarchy. Dams teach and protect the foals; their influence lasts a lifetime. There isn’t a stallion a mare can’t intimidate and chase away. Mares can run off any unwanted stallion. A stallion may drive a predator away from the herd, but a mare will chase it and try to kill it. A male horse will always defer to the authority of the lead mare. Bonnie is the lead mare. Jessup and Geraldine will follow her and do as she does, so I’ll take the lead. Just follow me, and you won’t have any trouble.”

She swung herself up into the saddle. The beam in the central hall. It’s the highest. Everyone will be able to see it.”

“What are you talking about?”

She gave him a solemn look. The beam in the central hall. That is where they will probably hang me from.”

Richard swung up into his saddle. “It’s your choice, Sister. You don’t have to take me there.”

She sighed. “Yes, I do.” She gave him her most gentle and concerned look. He thought it quite convincing, if a little strained. “Richard, I only wish to help you. I want to be your friend. I think you need a friend right now. Very much.”

Richard bristled. That is a kind offer, Sister Verna. But I decline. You seem a little too quick to put that knife you keep up your sleeve in the back of your friends. Did it bother you at all, Sister Verna, to steal the life from Sister Elizabeth, a friend and companion? It didn’t seem so. I decline to offer you my friendship, Sister. Or my back.

“If you’re sincere in your wish to be my friend, then I would advise you to truly commit to it before I call upon you to prove it. When the time comes, you are only going to get one chance. There are no shades of gray in this matter. Only friends and enemies. Friends don’t keep a friend in a collar, and hold them prisoner. I intend to have this collar off. When I decide it’s time, any friend will help me. Those who try to stop me won’t be my friends; they will be dead enemies.”

Sister Verna shook her head and urged Jessup in behind him as he started away. “The beam in the central hall. I’m sure of it.”

The sound of her heart pounded in her ears. Struggling to control her panicked breathing, she ducked behind the fat trunk of an old pine, pressing up against the rough bark. If the Sisters had discovered she was following them…

The dark, damp air filled her lungs in ragged pulls. Her lips moved soundlessly with prayers to the Creator beseeching protection. With eyes as big as gold pieces, she stared into the darkness and swallowed, trying to wet her throat.

The dark form glided silently closer. She could just see it as she peeked out past the edge of the tree. She suppressed the urge to scream, to run, and prepared herself to fight. She reached for the sweet light; she embraced her Han.

The shadow slipped closer, hesitating, searching. One more step, just one more, and she would spring. She would have to do it right—make sure there was no chance to raise an alarm. It had to be fast, and it would take different kinds of webs, all thrown at once, but if she could be precise and quick, there would be no chance of a scream, no alarm, and she would know for sure who it was. She held her breath.

The dark shape finally took another step. Spinning out from behind the tree, she threw the webs. Cords of air, strong as dock line, whipped around the form. As the mouth came open, she jammed a solid knot of air into it, gagging it, before it had a chance to cry out.

She slumped a little with relief when no sound came forth, but her heart still raced nearly out of control as she gasped for air. With an effort, she managed to bring calm back to her mind, although she maintained a firm grip on her Han, fearful to let her caution slip; there could be others about. She took a deep breath and stepped closer to the immobilized shape. When she was close enough to feel its breath on her face, she extended her palm up, and in its center released a thread of fire, to light a tiny flame, just enough to see the face.

“Jedidiah!” she whispered. She pressed her hand to the back of his neck, her fingers feeling the smooth, cool metal of the Rada’Han, and leaned her forehead against his as she closed her eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh, Jedidiah. You gave me a such a fright.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at his terrified face, lit by the tiny, flickering flame. “I will release you,” she whispered softly, “but you must be very quiet. Promise?”

He nodded, as best he could, considering how tightly she had him bound. She slipped off the webs, pulling out the gag of air. Jedidiah sagged with relief.

“Sister Margaret,” he whispered in a shaky voice, “you very nearly made me soil myself.”

She laughed soundlessly. “I’m sorry, Jedidiah, but you very nearly did the same to me.”

She snipped the thin thread of Han fueling the small flame and they both sank to the ground, leaning against one another, recovering from the fright. Jedidiah, several years younger, was bigger than she, a handsome young man. Painfully handsome, she thought.