He frowned. “Of course not.”

“And I would think no less of you were it Westland soldiers. It is no crime upon you, to have your countrymen do things you abhor. We are at war. We are trying to do as our ancestors have done in the past, Seekers and Confessors alike—dethrone a ruler. In this, there are only two we can count on. You and me.” She studied him with an intense, timeless expression. He realized he was gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. “A time may come when it is only you. We all do as we must.” It was not Kahlan who had spoken—it was the Mother Confessor.

It was a hard, uncomfortable moment before she released his eyes, turning at last and starting off. He pulled his cloak tight, chilled from without, and within.

“It was not Westlanders,” he muttered under his breath, following behind her.

“Light for me,” Rachel said. The little pile of sticks with rocks all around burst into flame, lighting the inside of the wayward pine with a bright red glow. She put the fire stick back in her pocket and with a shiver warmed her hands at the fire as she looked down at Sara lying in her lap.

“We’ll be safe here tonight,” she told her doll. Sara didn’t answer—she hadn’t talked since the night they ran away from the castle—so Rachel just pretended the doll was talking, telling her she loved her. She gave Sara’s silent words an answering hug.

She pulled some berries from her pocket, eating them one at a time, warming her hands in between each one. Sara didn’t want any berries. Rachel nibbled on the piece of hard cheese—all the other food she had brought from the castle was gone. Except the loaf of bread, of course. But she couldn’t eat that—the box was hidden inside it.

Rachel missed Giller something fierce, but she had to do as he had said—she had to keep running away, finding a new wayward pine every night. She didn’t know how far she was from the castle—she just kept going while it was day, the sun at her back in the morning and in her face at evening. She had learned that from Brophy. He called it traveling by the sun. She guessed that was what she was doing. Traveling.

A pine bough moved by itself, making her start. She saw a big hand holding it back. Then the shiny blade of a long sword. She stared, her eyes wide. She couldn’t move.

A man stuck his head in. “What have we here?” He smiled.

Rachel heard a whine, and realized it was coming from her own throat. Still, she couldn’t move. A woman pushed her head in beside the man’s. She pulled the man back behind her. Rachel clutched Sara to her chest.

“Put the sword away,” the woman scolded, “you’re scaring her.”

Rachel pulled the partly unbundled loaf of bread close to her hip. She wanted to run, but her legs didn’t work. The woman pushed into the wayward pine, came close and knelt down, sitting back on her heels, the man right behind her. Rachel’s eyes looked up at her face—then she saw the woman’s long hair, lit by the firelight. Her eyes went even wider, and another cry came from her throat. At last her legs worked, at least a little: they scooted her backward against the trunk of the tree, pulling the bread with her. Women with long hair were always trouble. She bit down on Sara’s foot, panting, a whine coming with each breath. She squeezed Sara with all her strength. She tore her eyes from the woman’s hair—she darted glances to the sides, looking for a place to run.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman said. Her voice sounded nice, but Princess Violet said the same thing, sometimes, just before she slapped her.

The woman reached out and touched Rachel’s arm. She jumped with a cry, pulling back.

“Please,” she said, her eyes filling with tears, “don’t burn Sara up.”

“Who’s Sara?” the man asked.

The woman turned and made him hush. She turned back, her long hair falling from her shoulder, Rachel’s eyes fixed on it. “I won’t burn Sara,” she said in a nice voice. Rachel knew that when a woman with long hair talked in a nice voice, it meant she was probably lying. Still, her voice did sound like it was really nice.

“Please,” she whined, “can’t you just leave us be?”

“Us?” The woman glanced around. She looked back, right to Sara. “Oh. I see. So this is Sara?” Rachel nodded, biting down harder on Sara’s foot. She knew she would get a hard slap if she didn’t answer a woman with long hair. “She’s a very nice looking doll.” She smiled. Rachel wished she wouldn’t smile. When women with long hair smiled, it usually meant there was going to be trouble.

The man stuck his head around the woman. “My name’s Richard. What’s yours?”

She liked his eyes. “Rachel.”

“Rachel. That’s a pretty name. But I have to tell you, Rachel, you have the ugliest hair I’ve ever seen.”

“Richard!” the woman squawked. “How could you say such a thing!”

“Well, it’s true. Who cut it all crooked like that, Rachel, some old witch?”

Rachel giggled.

“Richard!” the woman squawked again. “You’re going to frighten her.”

“Oh, nonsense. Rachel, I have a little scissors here in my pack, and I’m pretty good at cutting hair. Would you like me to fix your hair for you? At least I could make it straight. If you leave it like that, you might scare a dragon or something.”

Rachel giggled again. “Yes, please. I would like to have my hair straight.”

“All right then, come over here and sit on my lap and we’ll fix it right up.”

Rachel got up and walked around the woman, watching her hands, keeping far away, at least as far away as she could inside the wayward pine. Richard picked her up with a big hand on each side of her waist and set her on his lap. He pulled some strands of hair out. “Let’s have a look at what we have here.”

Rachel kept an eye toward the woman, fearing a slap. He looked over, too. He pointed with the scissors.

“This is Kahlan. She scared me at first, too. She’s awfully ugly, isn’t she?”

“Richard! Where did you learn to speak to children like this!”

He smiled. “Picked it up from a boundary warden I know.”

Rachel giggled at him—she couldn’t help it. “I don’t think she’s ugly, I think she’s the prettiest lady I ever saw.” That was the truth. But Kahlan’s long hair scared her something fierce.

“Well, thank you, Rachel, and you are very pretty, too. Are you hungry?”

Rachel wasn’t ever supposed to tell anyone with long hair, any lord or lady, that she was hungry. Princess Violet said it was improper, and punished her one time for telling someone she was hungry when she was asked. She looked at up Richard’s face. He smiled, but still she was too afraid to tell Kahlan she was hungry.

Kahlan patted her arm. “I bet you are. We caught some fish, and if you let us share your fire, we would share some fish with you. What do you say?” She smiled real pretty.

Rachel looked up at Richard again. He gave her a wink, then sighed. “I’m afraid I caught more than we can eat. If you don’t help us, we’ll just have to throw some out.”

“All right then. If you’re just going to throw them out, I’ll help you eat them.”

Kahlan started taking off her pack. “Where are your parents?”

Rachel told the truth because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Dead.”

Richard’s hands stopped working, then started again. Kahlan got a look like she was sad, but Rachel didn’t know if it was real or not. She gave her a squeeze on her arm with a soft hand “I’m sorry, Rachel.” Rachel didn’t feel too sad—she didn’t remember her parents, only the place she lived with the other children.

Richard snipped at her hair while Kahlan took out a pan and started to fry the fish. Richard was right, there were a lot of fish. Kahlan put some kind of spices on them while they cooked, as Rachel had seen cooks doing. It smelled so good, and her stomach was making noises. Little pieces of hair were falling down around her. She smiled to herself at how mad Princess Violet would be if she knew Rachel’s hair was cut straight. Richard snipped off one of the longer curls, and tied a thin little vine around one end of it. He put it in her hand. She frowned up at him.