The detail astonished him. He was thrilled to know something so intimate about her. He felt as if he already possessed her. The pleasure of knowing such a small, seemingly insignificant thing pounded through his veins.

As he watched her replace the little packet of her past into her trunk, he wondered at her father, wondered if he knew where she was, or if perhaps he had sent her away in revulsion, his rose wilted in his heart. He imagined an angry scene. He wondered at her mother-if her mother understood her choice in life, or cried at a daughter lost. Now he, too, was playing a part in who she was, in her life.

"May I call you Rosa?" he asked, as she closed the lid of her trunk. "It's such a lovely name."

She looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes watched his fingers working her underpants into a tight ball.

She returned to him, smiling as she came. "You're my special man, now. I've never told another man my true name. It would give me pleasure to hear my given name on your lips."

His heart pounded, and he swayed on his feet with his need. "Thank you, Rosa," he whispered, and he truly meant it. "I want so much to please you." "Your hands are trembling."

They always did, until he started. Then, they were rock steady. Once he started, he would be steady. It was just the anticipation. "I'm sorry."

A throaty, lusty laugh came from deep in her throat. "Don't be. It excites me that you would be nervous."

He wasn't nervous, not in the least, but he was excited. Her hands found that he was. "I want to taste you." She licked his ear. "I have no one else tonight. We have all the time we want to enjoy this." "I know," he whispered back. "That's why I wanted to be last." "Yes," she teased, "I want it to last, too. Can you make it last, darling?" "I can, and I will," he promised. "A long time."

She let out a purr of satisfaction at his promise, and turned in his arms, pressing her bottom against him. She arched her back and rocked her head against his chest as she moaned again. He kept the smirk from his face as he looked down into her sky-blue eyes. Yes, she was a talented whore.

He slid his hand down her lower spine, counting her vertebrae, fingering the spaces between them. She moaned urgently at his touch. Because of the way she swayed her bottom, he missed the spot he wanted. She staggered.

The second time he slammed the knife into her lower back, he hit the right spot, between the vertebrae, severing her spinal cord.

He swept an arm around her middle to hold her up. The shocked, grunting moan was real, this time. Anyone in the other rooms wouldn't think it any different from the sounds she regularly made for men. Others didn't notice such details. He did, and savored the difference.

As her mouth widened to scream, he stuffed it full with the wadded ball of her dirty underpants. He timed it just right, so only the cry of the gasp sounded, before the pitch rose. He yanked the silk tie from her robe on the peg beside him and whirled it around her head four times to hold the gag in her mouth. With one hand, and the aid of his teeth, he drew it tight and knotted it.

He would have liked to have listened to her heartfelt screams, but that would bring a premature end to their pleasure. He loved the screams, the cries. They were always sincere.

He pressed his mouth against the side of her head. He could smell the sweat of men in her hair.

"Oh, Rosa, you are going to please me so. You are going to give me more pleasure than you've ever given any man before. I want you to enjoy it, too. I know this is what you always wanted. I'm the man you've been waiting for. I've come at last."

He let her slip to the floor. Her legs were useless, now. She wasn't going anywhere.

She tried to punch him between his legs. He caught her dainty little fist in his hand. He watched her wide, sky-blue eyes as he pressed open her fist. He held her palm between his thumb and a finger, and bent it down until the bones in her wrist snapped.

He used the arms of her robe to bind her hands, so that she couldn't pull the gag from her mouth. His heart hammered as he listened to her muffled wails. He couldn't understand the words against the gag, but they heightened his excitement because he could feel their pain.

A storm of emotion rampaged through his mind. At least the voices were silent, for now, leaving him to his lust. He wasn't sure what the voices were, but he was sure that he was only able to hear them because of his singular intellect; he was able to seine such evanescent messages from the ethers because of his incomparable perception, and because he minded the details.

Tears flooded down her face. Her perfectly plucked brows bunched together, lifting in the middle, furrowing the skin on her forehead into neat rows. He counted them, because he was special.

With wide, anguished, sky-blue eyes, she watched as he removed his clothes and set them aside. It wouldn't do to have them soaked in blood.

The knife was rock steady in his hand now. He stood above her, naked and erect, to show her what a good job she was doing for him, so far. And then he began.

Kahlan, with Cara following behind, came to the door of the small room Richard used as an office at the same lime as a young woman with short, black hair arrived carrying a small silver tray with hot tea. Raina, standing guard beside the door along with Ulic and Egan, yawned. "Richard ask for tea, Sarah?"

The young woman curtsied, as best she could holding the tray. "Yes, Mother Confessor."

Kahlan lifted the tray from the woman's hands. "That's all right, Sarah. I'm going in-I'll take it in to him."

Sahara blushed, trying to hold on to the tray. "But, Mother Confessor, you shouldn't have to do that."

"Don't be silly. I'm perfectly capable, of carrying a tray for ten feet." Kahlan backed away a step, gaining full possession of the tray. Sarah didn't know what to do with her hands, so she bowed.

"Yes, Mother Confessor," she said before departing. Rather than being pleased to have been relieved of a small task, she looked as if she had just been ambushed and robbed. Sarah, like most of the staff, was fiercely vigilant about her duties. "Has he been up long?" Kahlan asked Raina.

Raina gave her a sullen look. "Yes. All night. I finally left a squad of guards and went to bed. He had Berdine up with him all night, too." The reason, no doubt, for the sullen look.

"I'm sure it was important, but I'll she if I can't get him to stop at night for some sleep, or at least let Berdine get hers."

"I would appreciate it," Cara muttered. "Raina gets grumpy when Berdine doesn't come to bed."

"Berdine needs her sleep," Raina said defensively.

"I'm sure it was important, Raina, but you're right; if people don't get enough sleep, they won't be any good to him. I'll remind him-he sometimes gets lost in what he's doing and forgets about what other people need." Raina's dark eyes brightened. "Thank you. Mother Confessor." Kahlan balanced the tray in one hand as she opened the door. Cara took up station beside Raina, peering after Kahlan, to make sure she didn't have any trouble with the tray, and then closed the door.

Richard had his back to her as he stared out the window. A low fire in the hearth did a poor job banishing the chill from the room.

Kahlan smirked to herself. She would put the lie to his boast. Before she had a chance to set the tray on the table, and let the cup ping against the pot to catch his attention and make him think it was the serving woman, Richard spoke without turning.

"Kahlan, good. I'm glad you came." Frowning, she set down the tray.

"You have your back to the door. How could you know it was me, and not the woman bringing the tea you ordered?"