Archive of Our Own

Kahlan awakes to a throbbing in her temple. Cold air brushes across her naked skin, her arms numb from the effort of holding her weight in the chains. The Rada'Han is heavy and cold around her neck.

The last thing she remembers is following Cara away from camp. The blonde had shown up in the dead of night, during Kahlan's watch, her voice rough with shame and regret as she explained that she couldn't face Richard after what she'd done. She'd tossed something to Kahlan before turning and rushing away from camp, and when Kahlan had looked at it, she had seen the Stone of Tears gleaming in the firelight.

Cara must have known that Kahlan would go after her, must have been counting on it. The bond that had developed between the two of them was deep, intense; Kahlan would never have forgiven herself if she'd let Cara run away, alone with her guilt. Except when Kahlan followed, she was met with the familiar agony of an agiel pressed to her head, and then she knew nothing at all.

Until now, when she slowly blinks her eyes open, only to be greeted by the cocky smirk of Darken Rahl.

“So nice of you to join us, Mother Confessor,” he says smugly. Kahlan has never wanted so badly to beat the arrogance out of him, to wrap her fingers around his throat and squeeze, magic or no magic. Her eyes dart around the room, instinctively seeking Cara out, but no one else is here. Rahl's fingers come up to idly stroke his lip, his eyes glinting like he knows exactly what Kahlan is thinking. “Mistress Cara will be joining us shortly, Kahlan. There's no need for concern.”

“She had the Stone of Tears,” Kahlan remembers, brow creasing in confusion. “She gave it to me. You couldn't have been sure it would work, and you wouldn't have risked losing it on such a gamble.” A tiny flutter of hope sparks to life in her chest; hope that Cara never actually betrayed her, that they were captured together and would get out of this together.

Then something clatters across the floor, stopping just short of falling into the grate under Kahlan's dangling feet. Kahlan's eyes dart up in the direction that it came from, where Cara is leaning against the arched entryway, a gloved hand on her hip and a cold smirk on her face. Looking back down, Kahlan can see what she thought was the Stone of Tears; it's the right size and shape, and it shimmers liquid in the torchlight, but as she stares at it more closely, it's obviously nothing more than a lump of quartz.

Whatever hope she had for Cara, for escape, dies as Rahl laughs. “There are benefits to having powerful allies, Mother Confessor.” His eyes rake over her body, making her skin crawl, as he leans down to pick it up. “It's fine work, isn't it? The Sisters of the Dark were kind enough to create this replica for me, after they succeeded in helping me bring Cara back to her true family.”

It stings, and the triumphant flash in his cold eyes makes it clear that he noticed Kahlan's flinch. But something he said sticks in Kahlan's mind—the Sisters of the Dark. They helped him. "I knew there was more at work," Kahlan sneers as rage bubbles up in her chest. "Cara would never allow herself to be broken again by a mere agiel. She's stronger than that."

Cara scoffs as she pushes herself away from the wall, sauntering into the room. “The Cara you knew was weak,” she says arrogantly as she comes to a stop next to Rahl, crossing her arms over her chest. “Lord Rahl destroyed that weakness for me. I'll never betray him again,” she finishes coldly, cocking an eyebrow. It's an expression Kahlan knows well, but cold where once it was full of affection and warmth. It's a look that dares Kahlan to argue.

And Kahlan does—she has to. "Cara, listen to me," she pleads, desperate to reach some part of the Cara she knows—her Cara—hidden somewhere beneath the layers of leather and steel and pain. Tears prick hot at her eyes, and she blinks them back. "You're stronger than this magic. Please, fight it. Come back to us." Come back to me, she finishes silently. But Cara just stares back with a cruel smile on her lips, jade eyes blank and emotionless.

“I grow bored,” Rahl says dismissively, tucking the false stone into his robes. He turns to Cara, eyeing her hawkishly as he nods in Kahlan's direction. “It's time to begin her training.” His eyes bore into Cara, and it becomes clear that this is about more than just Kahlan. Whatever may have been said before, whatever he did to break her, this is Cara's final test—here and now. It's time for Mistress Cara to prove her loyalty to her master, once and for all.

Which means he still doesn't trust her. That traitorous spark of hope, the one Kahlan thought was dead, flares back to life at the thought. Rahl is not known for being a particularly trusting individual, but Kahlan can't help but hope that this test means that there's a reason for his distrust—some indication that Cara is not broken beyond repair.

It's a hope that's easy enough to silence as Cara advances on Kahlan, eyes glinting with a feral enthusiasm for her task. The very sway of her hips seems to promise pain, and a violent shiver races down Kahlan's spine. She's gotten to know Cara, watched her in countless battles, but some small voice inside tells Kahlan that she still doesn't know half of what Cara is capable of. It's the same voice that tells Kahlan that she is about to learn.

Cara comes to a stop in front of Kahlan, bringing a gloved hand up to stroke the side of Kahlan's face. Cara's touch is almost gentle, and if Kahlan closes her eyes, she can almost believe that her Cara is still somewhere in there. But closing her eyes would be a denial of what has been done to Cara—of what Kahlan, in her blind optimism and boundless compassion, has inadvertently helped to cause. Kahlan's eyes stay open—she owes Cara that much.

Cara sees the torment in Kahlan's face, and her lips twist into a cruel smirk. "She loved you, you know,” Cara confesses idly, her leathered fingers sliding down Kahlan's neck, over the Rada'Han, across her collarbone. “Your Cara. The pathetic fool who followed you like some eager puppy, doing whatever you asked of her. She may as well have been confessed, for how often she thought of how best to please you.”

Kahlan is not surprised by this, the way that Cara undoubtedly expects her to be. She knows that what was between the two of them ran deeper than the tentative friendship they both acknowledged in that tomb in Dunshire, even if she hadn't yet dared to put a name to it. Still, it hurts to hear Cara speak of it this way, as if she is cleansing herself of those feelings; as if Darken Rahl killed all of the weakness in her with his agiel, and now Cara is purging it from her body, from her mind, under the guise of causing Kahlan pain.

"And I'll never stop loving her, no matter what you do to me," Kahlan responds fiercely. The truth of the words resonates deep in Kahlan's bones, though she's never said them before—even to herself.

The hand dragging over the swell of Kahlan's breast stops suddenly, and Kahlan can see that her bare honesty has caught Cara off guard. Cara's expression remains stoic, her eyes stubbornly closed off, but that in itself is telling enough—the malevolent arrogance that had smoldered there moments ago is gone, replaced by cold steel.

"You love a ghost," Cara finally spits out, her hand closing over Kahlan's breast and squeezing hard, her fingers digging cruelly into the soft flesh. Kahlan grits her teeth to keep from crying out, but the pain is evident in her eyes, and a vicious sort of satisfaction settles on Cara's features.

"That's more like it," Rahl says, his mouth twisting in cruel appreciation. He's backed away, but only far enough to allow Cara room to work. He wants to see the damage being done, wants to see Kahlan fall apart in Cara's hands.

Kahlan grits her teeth, looks away from him. She won't give him the satisfaction. Her eyes soften as they land back on Cara; on the woman she used to know. "I'm sorry, Cara." Her voice wavers, heavy with guilt. "I failed you. We all did. We should never have let you go with Dahlia—"

Cara's features contort with rage a split-second before Kahlan's head snaps to the side, met forcefully by the back of Cara's hand. The taste of blood fills Kahlan's mouth, and her cheek throbs painfully. "Dahlia saved me," Cara grinds out, her hand falling to one of her agiels. It whines insistently as she slips it from its sheath. "And you should consider yourself lucky that Lord Rahl found you worthy of saving as well."

The first touch of the agiel to Kahlan's skin is like fire, black lines webbing out across her chest as Cara drags the weapon lazily across Kahlan's collarbone, above her breasts, up her throat. Kahlan tries to swallow, to bite back the pain, but it feels like an impossible task with the tip of the agiel pressing just under the rim of the Rada'Han, where her neck curves into her shoulder.

Still, Kahlan doesn't cry out. Not simply because she can't—the agiel is forcing her throat to constrict painfully, and she's not certain she could make a sound if she tried—but because she refuses to. Kahlan's cheeks flush hot as she trembles, her head throbbing with the effort of holding back her screams, but the only sounds in the room are the whine of the agiel and the quickened pace of Kahlan's breath.

The agiel leaves Kahlan's throat, drags up her arms, down her ribs, around her back, along her thighs. The pain twists under her skin, everywhere at once, but it's nothing close to what she's felt before. Cara must know this—surely she remembers that night in the forest, pressing her agiel to the open, infected wound on Kahlan's leg, the pain that flared in defiant blue eyes as Kahlan stubbornly remained stoic. Kahlan remembers, can still feel the liquid fire coursing through her veins, how it took every ounce of control she possessed to keep from crying out.

Maybe Cara doesn't remember, though, or maybe she's just not thinking about it, because Kahlan's lack of response seems to infuriate her. Slow, deliberate trails of the agiel across Kahlan's skin turn into quick, angry blows, more likely to bruise than to raise welts. They manage to earn Cara pained grunts, but that is all that Kahlan will allow herself; even the tears stinging at her eyes are held in check, barely kept from spilling over by her unyielding self-control.

Cara's eyes are wild, feral as she brings the agiel down harder and harder, splitting Kahlan's skin in places. Hot blood trickles down Kahlan's chest, her back; she can feel it chilling against the cold air. When the weapon slides over her broken skin, the sharp, searing pain overwhelms her senses; her vision grows blurry, her head heavy. Finally it becomes too much; a vicious jab to one of the deeper cuts just under her collarbone renders Kahlan unconscious.

The sharp crack of the whip echoes throughout the chamber, tearing into the mottled skin of Kahlan's back. A pained whimper escapes Kahlan's throat, and Cara savors it. She'll make the confessor scream yet.

Kahlan is once again dangling from the ceiling, her skin riddled with deep bruises, angry welts, dried trails of blood running down from cuts just barely scabbing over. A garish red line streaks diagonally across her shoulder blades from the lash of the whip. There's a beauty in it that Cara has not been able to appreciate in far too long.

"You made it too easy, you know," Cara says conversationally as she pulls the whip back for another blow. It snaps down, drawing another strangled sound from the chained woman, and Cara grins. "You pride yourself on being able to read people, but you didn't even question such an obvious trap. It's shameful, really."

"I trusted you." The words are rough, weak. Kahlan's head is bowed, her long hair pulled over the front of her as Cara works on her back. She tries to lift it, to turn to seek Cara out with her eyes, but Cara brings the whip down again, and she gives up the effort. "I believed that you could beat this. I still do."

Cara sneers, her fist flexing around the handle of the whip. "That's enough talking."

The whip bites into Kahlan's back, her legs, her ass. It curls around the soft flesh of her sides, tearing the skin open. By the time Cara moves around to lash at Kahlan's front, tears are streaming down Kahlan's face, mingling with the blood as they slide down her broken skin. Yet still she does not scream.

An admirable display of restraint, if futile; Cara hasn't even begun to delve into her expansive knowledge of pain. With a cold grin, she coils the whip and sets it aside, drawing an agiel. Carefully, precisely, she drags the tip along the welts she has just made, barely brushing against the skin. She remembers this pain, still has the evidence of it under her leathers. It burns at the edges of Kahlan's wounds, searing into her skin. It's enough to keep Kahlan teetering on the knife-edge of pain, but not enough to close the wounds or push Kahlan into unconsciousness.

She does this for awhile, falling into a slow rhythm, letting Kahlan get used to the constant agony. Then, abruptly, she draws her other agiel and slams it against one of the deeper welts with bruising force. The sudden shock of pain is enough to pull Kahlan off-balance, and her head snaps back as her throat opens in a strangled scream.

Kahlan has lost count of how many times Cara has come to her, each time adding to her collection of welts and bruises. She could have been here for hours or weeks. Time has started to lose its meaning; every time she closes her eyes, it feels like less and less time passes before she's forced awake again for another round. She breathes because she has to, but each pull of air stings sharply, the skin of her chest cracking as her lungs expand. Every inch of her has felt the bite of the agiel, down to the soles of her feet.

Darken Rahl is watching, the sadistic gleam in his eye familiar now. He is not always present, and Kahlan does not always notice him when he is, her mind clouded as it is with pain. He has remained silent thus far, allowing Cara the freedom to work at her own pace, in her own way, but his gaze has never lost that calculating edge.

Cara strikes at Kahlan harshly with the agiel, sweat beading on her forehead from exertion; Kahlan's body jerks with every blow, but she closes her eyes, clings to thoughts of Richard, Zedd, Dennee—her family. They await her outside these walls, somewhere, even if Cara is lost to her—but Kahlan still isn't convinced that she is. Occasionally, she will catch a glimpse of something in Cara's eyes—a hint of feeling that doesn't fit with the role she is playing. It's a feeble hope, that somehow Cara can still be saved—but hope is all Kahlan has.

The tip of an agiel digs into the soft flesh under her chin and twists, and a whimper gurgles in her throat. "Open your eyes, Confessor." Cara's voice is sharp steel slicing cleanly through Kahlan's attempts at self-distraction.

Kahlan forces her eyes back open, if only so that Cara will remove the agiel. Her jaw shakes with relief as the weapon falls away, and she swallows roughly against the raw, dry pain in her throat. "Cara," she says hoarsely, her barely-focused eyes seeking out Cara's own. Even if she knows it's useless, she can't help but try. "Please. I know you don't want to do this."

"And still she fights," Rahl comments, before Cara can respond. His voice is impatient, tinged with disappointment. "If this is too challenging for you, Cara, I can always have Dahlia or Garen finish the Mother Confessor's training."

Anger flashes through Cara's eyes; Kahlan watches it flare to life before Cara chokes it back, tightening her grip on her agiel. "That won't be necessary, my lord," Cara grinds out, tilting her head to glance back over her shoulder at him. When her gaze falls back on Kahlan, the cruel glint in her eyes chills Kahlan to the bone. "Surely you don't think I've exhausted all of my methods."

Cara's lips curve into a cold smirk as she slowly sheathes her agiels. Her eyes rake over Kahlan's battered body hungrily, and a violent shiver shoots down Kahlan's spine. Without warning, a gloved hand darts between Kahlan's legs, two fingers forcing their way inside. It burns, and throbs, and fresh tears sting at Kahlan's eyes as she realizes with horror that there are indeed parts of her that have not yet known the touch of an agiel.

"You're so tight, Confessor," Cara purrs, twisting her fingers roughly inside of Kahlan. Her grin widens at Kahlan's pained whimpers, and she draws slowly out before slamming abruptly back in. "I could fuck you like this," she muses, plunging deep to emphasize her words. "Bring you to heights of pleasure that you'd never admit to wanting."

Though Kahlan is railing against it, she can feel Cara's fingers growing slick inside of her, easing the passage of her thrusts. Tears spill hot over her cheeks; from shame or sorrow or dread, she doesn't know. She wishes that Cara would return to beating her; that at least is simple, and Kahlan knows how to respond. If Cara touches her in this way, Kahlan is terrified that her body will betray her; she'll forget that Darken Rahl is watching with lewd interest in his eyes, that her skin is throbbing from welts and bruises so recently inflicted by Cara herself. She doesn't know what would be worse—being violated in such a way, by someone she has come to care for so deeply, or having to live with the knowledge that she found pleasure in it.

Not that Cara is leaving her with any choice. "But that would be too simple. Something you might even let your Cara do." Cara's lip curls up into a sneer as she abruptly pulls her fingers free of Kahlan, closing her hand around the hilt of an agiel. "I don't want you to have any doubt as to who you're dealing with." Before Kahlan can comprehend what that means, Cara draws the agiel and drives it roughly into her, bicep flexing visibly under her leathers as she plunges brutally in and out.

It hurts. Spirits, it hurts, and Kahlan wants to do something, anything, fight Cara off, but she can't feel her legs over the pain and Cara doesn't stop thrusting and all Kahlan can do is scream as tears stream down her face, dripping from her chin to sting as they slide over her broken skin. The last thing she sees before she loses consciousness is Cara's teeth flashing in the torchlight with a feral grin.

Cara's eyelids are heavy, her limbs weary with exhaustion. She has not allowed Kahlan more than an hour or two of sleep at a time—and since she refuses to let any other Mord-Sith assist in the breaking, that means that she has not been able to rest for longer than that herself.

It's been days, Cara knows, though she can't remember how many. It doesn't matter; nothing matters except the woman hanging in chains before her, an ever-present reminder of the weakness that had come dangerously close to consuming her. But she was saved, by Dahlia and then Lord Rahl; she is home now.

Kahlan's face is stained with tears, her hair matted with dirt and sweat and blood. She is weak, bloody, battered, violated—but she refuses to break. Cara would respect her for it, if it didn't infuriate her so much; if it didn't cause that sick feeling in her gut to flare up and seize in her chest, reminding her that she is still not completely free of the treacherous emotions that had taken root in her. If she can win this battle of wills, it will be more than a woman that Cara has broken—it will be her own weakness, destroyed once and for all.

Cara holds fast to that thought, keeping it in the forefront of her mind, as she drags an agiel up Kahlan's side. She is careful not to press too hard; she doesn't want Kahlan passing out just yet.

"I've been too rough with you," Cara says, without a hint of apology in her tone. Slowly, deliberately, she touches the tip of the agiel to a puckered nipple, hardened by the chill of the dungeon air. Kahlan gasps, sharply, and Cara draws the weapon back, her free hand coming up to stroke at the side of Kahlan's face. As she leans in, her breath brushing hot over Kahlan's ear, she touches the agiel lightly to Kahlan's inner thigh. "Don't pass out on me this time, Kahlan. I don't want you to miss a moment of this."

A small whimper sounds in Kahlan's throat, even as her eyes flash defiantly. Cara just smirks, trailing the agiel down the inside of one thigh and back up the other. A quick glance up tells Cara that Kahlan is already preparing for the pain, her knuckles white as she grips the chains above her wrists. A surge of arousal floods between Cara's thighs; the confessor would be shocked to know how many times she had fantasized about doing this, even if in her fantasies Kahlan had been willing.

Cara reaches forward with her free hand, her index finger stroking gently up the seam of Kahlan's sex before dipping into the dark curls to rub at her clit. Kahlan's face reddens with shame, and her jaw clenches tighter, but Cara can feel the slight arch of the woman's hips into her hand. When she slides her finger down further, she is met with the sluggish beginnings of arousal seeping from Kahlan's cunt. A satisfied smirk spreads across Cara's lips, baring her teeth; it will be all too easy to make Kahlan enjoy this.

Before, Cara had been too angry—at Kahlan for not breaking, at Lord Rahl for suggesting she was incapable, at herself for agreeing—to thoroughly indulge in this. Now, she takes her time, sliding into Kahlan only when her attentions have produced enough moisture to allow her finger to enter with ease. She fucks lazily in and out a few times, gradually stretching to two fingers; she wants Kahlan ready for what is to come.

The flush of Kahlan's cheeks is growing more complex, shame and arousal warring for dominance in her eyes. Finally they slam shut, tears leaking freely through her lashes, and Cara knows it is because arousal has won out; can feel it clenching hot around her fingers. When she slides free, a low whimper of protest catches in Kahlan's throat.

Cara grins, lifting her fingers to Kahlan's lips and painting them with the wetness she has just coaxed from her cunt. Kahlan jerks away from the touch, but Cara follows, forcing her fingers just far enough in to push the flavor against Kahlan's tongue. Kahlan bites down on her fingers, hard, and Cara snatches them back, but she has already gotten what she wanted.

"Remember this, Confessor," Cara purrs as she reaches for an agiel. "Remember that your first taste of pleasure was at the hands of your mortal enemy."

Kahlan's eyelids twitch, but she keeps them firmly shut; the tightening at the corners of her mouth is the only indication that Cara's words have hit their mark. Cara's eyes darken with anticipation as she lifts the agiel between Kahlan's legs.

She is slow, gentle—if one can be gentle with the touch of an agiel. She glides the tip of it down the length of Kahlan's sex, rolling it to collect the wetness that has gathered there; a wetness that increases even as Kahlan hisses at the stinging pain.

A strangled cry tears from Kahlan's throat, echoing throughout the chamber, as Cara slides the agiel steadily into Kahlan's cunt, her free hand holding fast to Kahlan's hip to keep her steady. When it is in as far as it will go, Cara just holds it there, letting Kahlan adjust to the waves of pain racking her body. Her eyes drag up Kahlan's body, watching her face closely, waiting for the subtle shift in the contortion of her features. Soon it comes, and with it, the slightest jerk of Kahlan's hips—not away from the pain, but toward it.

Cara swallows hard, a small flutter of panic beating behind her ribs. This is dangerous for her—it's too close to what she had imagined as she lie awake in camp, watching Kahlan's face as she slept and fighting a losing battle against the emotions poisoning her mind. But that's not her anymore; Lord Rahl freed her of that person, those feelings. This is not about pleasure, it is about power.

Forcing back the tightness in her chest, Cara slowly begins to slide the agiel out of Kahlan, then back in—a steady, gentle rhythm, building on Kahlan's reluctant arousal. The gloved hand resting on Kahlan's hip slides down, thumb teasing at Kahlan's clit as she gradually increases her pace. Kahlan's face is wet with tears, tight with the effort to control her reactions, as her breath comes in quick shallow gasps.

A loud, keening wail wrenches from deep in Kahlan's chest as her body tightens, and Cara knows that if the Rada'Han were not around her neck, Kahlan's magic would be bursting free to fill the stone chamber. Kahlan trembles and sobs as Cara pulls the agiel free of her, looking appreciatively at the slick moisture coating it.

She should have realized it sooner. Pain could never break this woman. It's pleasure that will shatter the last of Kahlan's resolve.

Nothing about her life before seems real anymore. Kahlan remembers everything about Richard, the quest, the stone, as if it were a lifetime ago, as if it were someone else. Maybe it was. Cara is all she knows, now. She knows that Cara wants her to break, and she also knows that she can't, even if she's having a harder time remembering why.

Cara has not killed her; a testament to Rahl's unwillingness to let the Keeper win. She's tried to tell herself that as long as her heart still beats, as long as the Stone of Tears still exists, there is still hope—a tiny sliver of a chance that the world can still be saved. It hasn't ended yet, after all.

But it gets harder by the minute. Cara barely lets her rest. Even when she eventually passes out from the pain, it feels like her eyes are only closed for a second before Cara is back, wrenching more agonized screams from a throat already hoarse and raw. Cara has been merciless with the agiel, but more careful since the first time—each time is worse than the last, more painful, but she's careful to stay just behind the line of overwhelming her into unconsciousness.

And always, pleasure. Cara is calculating in her brutality, staying just inside the limits of Kahlan's pleasure while she presses at them, stretching them to accommodate more pain. Kahlan is sore and aching, though all but the worst of her wounds have started to heal since Cara discovered this new fascination; but the worst part is not the pain, not by far.

Kahlan has known shame in her life. The things her father made her do still make her stomach turn to think of them. But she has always had the excuse that it was indeed he that made her do them. This...taking pleasure in this cannot be explained away, denied; it is her, Kahlan, not someone else, who finds enjoyment in this depraved torture. A part of her wonders if she is already broken beyond repair, but she cannot excuse it that readily; she knows that if she were freed right now, she would do whatever it took to get the Stone of Tears from Darken Rahl, even if it meant confessing, killing, the woman she had once come to love to do it.

It still aches, the thought that Cara is truly lost to her. She has given up trying to plead with Cara, to appeal to whatever shattered pieces of her might still be hidden behind the monstrous facade. If any part remains of the Cara she knows, it has been locked away far from her reach. Now all Kahlan can do is try to hold on, pray to spirits whose existence she is starting to doubt that Richard and Zedd are out there, that they will rescue her, get the stone, save the world.

A sharp prod to her stomach stops her mind from wandering. "Pay attention, Confessor," Cara snaps. When Kahlan's eyes slide open, Cara cocks her head, her narrowed eyes glinting dangerously. "Am I boring you?"

Kahlan clenches her jaw, her eyes stinging with tears that have long since run dry. It doesn't matter what she says, or if she says anything at all; Cara always seems to have a plan when she comes here, and nothing Kahlan could possibly say will affect the outcome.

"Perhaps I'm being too generous with your pleasure," Cara muses, dragging her agiel along the crease of Kahlan's thigh. She watches the dark tendrils of pain branch out across Kahlan's pale skin, deep in thought. "I could force you to pleasure me," she finally says thoughtfully. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The agiel glides across Kahlan's skin, but the pain of it is nothing to her now. An itch that can't be scratched. She tries not to look too eager at Cara's suggestion; if the Mord-Sith does intend such a thing, surely she has devised a way to accomplish it without allowing Kahlan any chance at escape.

"But no," Cara continues, sliding the agiel lazily through the folds of Kahlan's sex. Jade eyes glitter with malicious disdain. "I doubt you'd be any good at it. And I have Dahlia to tend to my needs."

The mere mention of the name still causes rage to bubble up in Kahlan, and her hands tighten into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms.

It is, of course, the reaction Cara was looking for. She presses the side of the agiel along the length of Kahlan's sex, grinning when Kahlan writhes under the touch. Kahlan shudders, but does not make a sound as Cara slides the agiel into her, coating it in traitorous moisture before drawing it back out.

"I'll have to try something else, then, to keep your attention." The tip of the agiel slides farther back, resting at her tighter entrance before pushing slowly in.

Kahlan screams.

The confessor is far more resilient than Cara ever gave her credit for. She's fucked Kahlan with her agiels so many times she's lost count—in her cunt, her ass, both at once. She's forced the weapon down Kahlan's throat, still wet with the pleasure that shames her so. And still there is something in Kahlan that is holding out, that small flash of defiance that burns behind ice blue eyes.

When she's conscious, that is. Cara digs an agiel into the tender flesh of Kahlan's side, forcing the woman awake. Kahlan flinches away from the touch, but the movement is weak, more a reflex than anything else. Her eyes flutter open, and for a moment she lights up when her gaze falls on Cara, before her face closes off, becomes guarded. It's a look Cara knows well; Kahlan is very close to being broken, if her first thought upon waking up is of her mistress.

Cara unceremoniously shoves her fingers between Kahlan's legs, and is met almost immediately with a surge of warm wetness. She cocks an eyebrow, meeting Kahlan's shame-filled eyes. "I should have known the chaste, demure confessor thing was all an act. You're really just a common whore, aren't you?"

Kahlan just clenches her jaw, her chin trembling as her cheeks flush a familiar shade of red. Cara smirks, reaches for an agiel. She marvels at how easily it slides into Kahlan's cunt, the eager way her muscles clench at it. Not so very long ago, this took effort. Now Kahlan's body welcomes it, even if Kahlan herself does not. Cara strokes in and out a few times, until Kahlan's hips are arching into the pain.

The reaction should please Cara; she's managed to train Kahlan at least this far, and she is on the verge of completely breaking her. It should be satisfying, something to savor, but it makes Cara uneasy in a way that she can't put a finger on.

Shaking her head, Cara reaches for the agiel still at her side. A violent shudder racks Kahlan's body at the sight of it, and this, this Cara can enjoy; the fear, the revulsion. She switches it out for the one still buried in Kahlan's cunt, stroking until it, too, is coated in sticky wetness. Instead of sliding the other farther back to Kahlan's ass, though, the way Kahlan expects—the way she has done before—she poises the tip of it near the base of its mate. She draws back with one, and the next time she thrusts forward, it is to bury both agiels in Kahlan's cunt, stretching her painfully. It's an awkward fit, but Kahlan's guttural screams are worth it.

Cara's careful training pays off; Kahlan sobs, cries out, bucks against Cara; her legs stretch uselessly toward the ground, desperate for some sort of leverage, some escape from the agony; but she does not pass out. Cara wraps her hand around both agiels, pounding into Kahlan as her other hand seeks out Kahlan's clit, thumb rubbing hard circles into the tender flesh.

Finally Kahlan's body snaps taut, and she thrashes and screams and wails as the sensation engulfs her. When her head falls back down to her heaving chest, her eyes half-open as though it is too much effort to either open or close them all the way, it is as though something vital has been severed in her.

The fire is gone.

Her head is almost too heavy to lift, but as she hears the familiar tattoo of Cara's boots against the stone floor, Kahlan forces herself to look up, a bright smile pulling at her lips as the blonde approaches. Something inside her says that it's wrong, that she shouldn't be happy to see Cara, but Kahlan can't fathom why.

She loves Cara, and she hates her. Cara hurts her, but Cara loves her. It confuses Kahlan, causes her head to pound painfully as it swims with conflicting thoughts. She wants to give in, wants to make it stop.

When the agiel presses into her skin, Kahlan nearly cries out in relief; the pain is clean, and pure, driving out all conscious thought.

She is Cara's, and that is all she needs to be—all she wants to be.

A sick feeling churns in Cara's stomach as she steps into the stone chamber. Kahlan is limp in the chains, where Cara left her earlier after fucking her to exhaustion. Her screams had held a desperation that unsettled Cara, to the point where she'd had to leave the room before she could remember how to breathe.

Now she approaches Kahlan warily, unsure of what she intends to do, or why. There is an urgent pounding in her chest, a question she needs answered. Her hand shakes as she lifts it to Kahlan's face, brushing a lock of damp, matted hair behind her ear.

Kahlan's lashes flutter against her cheeks, and then her eyes drift open, a sleepy smile springing to her lips as she leans into Cara's hand. There is love in her eyes, a soft affection that Cara remembers dreaming of before, in her weaker moments, but there's something wrong with it, a wild sort of devotion. It's a look that Cara has seen on a thousand broken faces. It's a look she should be glad to see on Kahlan's—it means she has done her job—but it fills her with violent revulsion instead.

Kahlan frowns, noticing Cara's distress. "Are you all right?" she asks, brow furrowing with concern. "Have I done something? Or...do you want me to do something?"

Her voice grows frantic with worry, and Cara's mouth falls open, her eyes wide with horror as it hits her. "You really are broken."

"I'm sorry," Kahlan says, peeking at Cara through her lashes. The words are heavy with shame and regret. "I'll try to be stronger for you."

Bile rises in Cara's throat, and she swallows roughly to keep from retching. This is wrong. She has to stop this, she has to—

She shakes her head, looks away—looks anywhere but at Kahlan. In a sort of daze, she moves over to the winch, lowers Kahlan so that her feet are flat against the grate below her. She yanks the chain of keys from her belt as she returns to Kahlan, unlocking the shackles one by one.

"Are we going somewhere?" Kahlan asks as her wrists are freed. Her legs shake with the sudden shock of her weight, and she falls forward as her knees buckle beneath her. Cara catches her, slipping an arm around the bare skin of her waist.

"I don't know," Cara replies in a strangled voice, guiding Kahlan to the wall of the chamber. She doesn't know anything; certainly doesn't know what she's trying to accomplish, what she expects to happen next. She just knows that this is all wrong.

Propping Kahlan up against the stone wall, Cara fumbles with the keys, her leather-clad fingers clumsy as they try to close on the smaller of the two. Finally, she brings it to the collar around Kahlan's neck, and her heart pounds in her ears as she slips it into the lock.

Cara can see the moment Kahlan's powers come surging back. Her pupils dilate, black threatening to overtake blue, and something else flashes across Kahlan's face—as though the return of her magic has brought back a part of Kahlan herself.

She doesn't get long to ponder it, because something wild glints in Kahlan's eyes, and a clammy palm jerks up to close around her throat. Cara swallows hard against Kahlan's hand, but makes no move to try to stop her.

Turmoil is plain on Kahlan's face as her fingers twitch against Cara's throat. "Do it," Cara finally urges. If Kahlan confesses her now, kills her, she will not have to live with what she has done. It is cowardly, and weak, and everything Cara hates, but she cannot bring herself to care; not anymore.

For a time, Cara is not sure if Kahlan is going to do it; she seems to waver back and forth, one moment hard and determined and the next vulnerable and unsure. Finally, her face crumbles, and her hand drops away.

"I can't," Kahlan gasps, tears filling her eyes. "I love you. I can't." She collapses against Cara, and Cara has no choice but to hold her up as she sobs, repeating the words over and over.

"All right," Cara chokes out, lowering Kahlan to the floor. "We need to get out of here."

Kahlan nods, bringing her hand to her lips as she stares blankly at the grate in the center of the room, her shoulders jerking with every sob. Cara numbly moves over to the table that holds Kahlan's belongings. The boots and the daggers she leaves out with Kahlan's sleeping shift; everything else she shoves into Kahlan's pack.

Returning to Kahlan, Cara slides the shift over Kahlan's head—it will feel much better against her battered skin than the tight leather of her corset—and slips her boots on, tucking the daggers into the sides. The pack, Cara slings over her own shoulders, before dragging Kahlan to her feet.

"We have to move quickly," Cara says roughly. Kahlan nods into her neck, sagging heavily against her as Cara leads them out through a little-used tunnel that opens up into the forest around the temple.

They walk for hours in near silence, the only sound Kahlan's sniffling and labored breathing. Kahlan stumbles along beside Cara, leaning on her for support, until the first rays of dawn peek through the trees above them. Finally, Kahlan cannot even do that, and Cara lowers her down to lean against a fallen log, shrugs off the pack to serve as a makeshift pillow.

"Rest," Cara says, her throat constricting forcefully around the word. Kahlan smiles weakly before sinking down onto the ground, her eyes closing almost before her head hits the pack. Cara's voice drops to a strangled whisper. "I'll keep watch."