“Fidelity sworn to the Confessors, on my crown, on my land, on my life.”

Richard had heard few people lie as smoothly.

Kahlan at last moved her eyes. She looked down at the Queen’s bowed head. “Rise, my child.”

More than a queen, indeed, Richard thought. He remembered teaching Kahlan to make a snare, to read tracks, to dig roots, and felt himself turning crimson.

Queen Milena laboriously pushed herself to her feet. Her lips smiled. Her eyes didn’t. “We have not requested a Confessor.”

“Nonetheless, I am here.” Kahlan’s voice could have frozen water.

“Yes, well, this is… grand. Simply… grand.” Her face brightened. “We will have a banquet. Yes, a banquet. I will send out runners with invitations immediately. Everyone will come. I’m sure they will be most pleased to dine with the Mother Confessor. This is quite an honor.” She turned, indicating the men in the red-and-yellow pantaloons. “These are my barristers.” The men all bowed deeply again at the introduction. “I don’t remember all their names.” She held her hand out to two men in gold robes. “And this is Silas Tannic, and Brandin Gadding, the chief advisors to the crown.” The two gave a nod. “And my minister of finance, Lord Rondel—my star guide, Lady Kyley.” Richard didn’t see a silver-robed wizard among the Queen’s entourage. The Queen waved her hand at a shabbily dressed man in the back. “And James, my court artist.”

From the corner of his eye, Richard saw Zedd stiffen. James kept his lecherous eyes on Kahlan as he gave a shallow bow. He was missing his right hand at the wrist. The oily smile he gave her made Richard reach for his sword instinctively before he realized what he was doing. Without looking over, Zedd’s hand grabbed his wrist and took the hand away from the sword. Richard glanced around at the other people to see if anyone had noticed. No one had. They were all watching the Mother Confessor.

Kahlan turned to the two of them. “Zeddicus Zorander, cloud reader, trusted advisor to the Mother Confessor.” Zedd bowed dramatically. “And Richard Cypher, the Seeker, protector to the Mother Confessor.” Richard imitated Zedd’s bow.

The Queen looked at him, lifting an eyebrow with a sour look. “Pretty pathetic protection for a Mother Confessor.”

Richard made no change in his expression. Kahlan remained unruffled. “It is the sword that cuts—the man is unimportant. His brain may be small, but his arms are not. He tends to use the sword too often, though.”

The Queen didn’t seem to believe her. Behind the royal party, a small girl came gliding down the stairs. She wore a pink satin dress and jewelry that was too large for her. She strode up beside the Queen, flipping her long hair back over her shoulder. She did not bow.

“My daughter, the Princess Violet. Violet, dear, this is the Mother Confessor.”

Princess Violet scowled up at Kahlan. “Your hair is too long. Perhaps we should cut it for you.”

Richard detected the slightest smile of satisfaction on the Queen’s face. He decided it was time to elevate her level of worry.

The Sword of Truth came out, sending its distinctive ring around the huge room, the stone amplifying the sound. With the sword point an inch from Princess Violet’s nose, he let the anger of it rage through him, to make his words more dramatic.

“Bow to the Mother Confessor,” he hissed, “or die.”

Zedd acted bored. Kahlan waited calmly. No one else had eyes as wide as the Princess as she stared at the sword point. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Standing back up, her eyes went to him, as if asking if the bow was all right.

“Be careful how you use that tongue,” Richard sneered. “The next time I will separate it from you.”

She nodded and walked around her mother, standing on the far side of her. Richard sheathed his sword, turned, bowed deeply to Kahlan, who didn’t look at him, and returned to his station behind her.

The demonstration had the desired effect on the Queen, her voice becoming a bright singsong. “Yes, well, as I was saying, it is grand having you here. We are all simply delighted. Let us show you to our finest room. You must be tired from your journey. Perhaps you would like to rest before dinner, and then after dinner we can all have a nice long…

“I am not here to eat.” Kahlan cut her off. “I am here to inspect your dungeon.”

“Dungeon?” She made a face. “It’s filthy down there. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather…”

Kahlan started walking. “I know the way.” Richard and Zedd fell in behind her. She stopped, and turned back to the Queen. “You will wait here”—her voice was like ice—“until I am finished.” As the Queen began bowing her assent, Kahlan strode off with a swish of her dress as she turned on her heels.

If Richard hadn’t known her as well as he did, the entire encounter would have scared the breath out of him. In fact, he wasn’t sure it hadn’t.

Kahlan led them downstairs and through rooms that became less and less grandiose the deeper they went into the castle. Richard was amazed at the size of the place.

“I was hoping Giller would have been there,” Kahlan said. “Then we wouldn’t need to do this.”

“Me too,” Zedd grumbled. “You just make a quick inspection, ask if anyone wants to give a confession, and when they say no, we go back up and ask to see Giller.” He gave her a smile. “You’ve handled it well so far, dear one.” She returned the smile to the two of them. “And Richard,” he cautioned, “you keep away from that artist, James.”

“Why? He might draw a bad likeness of me?”

“Wipe that grin off your face. You stay away from him because he might draw a spell around you.”

“A spell? Why would you need an artist to put a spell on someone?”

“Because there are many different languages in the Midlands, though the main one is the same as is spoken in Westland. To be spelled, you have to be able to understand it. If you can’t speak their language, you can’t put a spell on them. But everyone can understand a drawing. He can draw a spell on almost anyone, not Kahlan or me, but he can on you. Stay away from him.”

Their footsteps echoed as the three quickly descended stone steps. The walls, far belowground, leaked water and were covered in places with slime.

Kahlan indicated a heavy door to the side. “Through here.”

Richard pulled it open by the iron ring, the strap hinges creaking. Torchlight lit the way down a narrow stone corridor with a ceiling he had to stoop to avoid hitting with his head. Straw covered the wet floor, and smelled of decay. Near the end she slowed to a walk and approached an iron door with a grille in it. Eyes peered out at them when she stopped.

Zedd leaned around her. “The Mother Confessor here to see the prisoners,” he growled. “Open the door.”

Richard could hear the echo of a key turning in the lock. A squat man in a filthy uniform pulled the door inward. An axe hung from his belt next to the keys. He bowed to Kahlan, but looked to be annoyed by it. Without a word, he led them through the little room just inside the door, where he had been sitting at a table, eating, and down another dark hall to another iron door. He pounded on it with his fist. The two guards inside bowed in surprise. The three guards took torches from iron stanchions and led them down a short hall and through a third iron door that they all had to duck through.

Flickering torchlight pierced the darkness. Behind cross-hatched, flat iron bars to each side, men pushed themselves back into the corners, shielding their eyes with their hands from the sudden light. Kahlan spoke Zedd’s name quietly, indicating that she wanted something. He seemed to understand, and took a torch from one of the guards and held it up in front of Kahlan so all the men in the cells could see her.

There were gasps from the darkness when they recognized who she was.

Kahlan addressed one of the guards. “How many of these men are sentenced to die?”