Kahlan remembered the scenes of mass death the spirit had shown her. If she failed to do as the winds asked, what she had been shown would come to pass.
She had to let Drefan do this. Stalling would not make it any easier.
This couldn’t be easy for Drefan. Couldn’t be easy at all, what with the way she shoved away his attempts at tenderness. That made her angry all over again. She didn’t want his tenderness.
What did she want? Did she want him to be rough? Of course she had to let him touch her. How could he do this if he didn’t touch her? Richard had to get into the Temple of the Winds. She had to let Drefan do this.
Kahlan reached over and took Drefan’s wrist. She put his hand back where he had tried to put it before, on her belly. She let go of his hand. It stayed there.
What was he waiting for? She wanted to scream at him to get it over with, to do it and be done. To take what was his brother’s by heart if not by vow.
She lay there, with Drefan’s hand on her, listening to the dead silence of the night. She realized that she was listening for sounds coming from Nadine and Richard. She shut her eyes.
Drefan’s hand moved to her breast. Fists at her sides, she forced herself to remain still. She had to let him. She tried to think of other things. She silently recited rote language lessons of her youth, trying to ignore his hand. But she couldn’t.
He was being gentle, but that was no consolation. Even his touch was a violation. How gently he did it made no difference, didn’t make it right. That he was now her husband made no difference to her. She knew in her heart it was wrong, and that made it a violation.
In her mind, she screamed at herself. She was being worse than childish. She was the Mother Confessor, and had faced much worse than this, much worse than a man for whom she had no feelings being this close, this intimate.
But she was no longer the Mother Confessor. The Temple of the Winds, the spirits, had taken that, too, from her.
Kahlan gasped in a breath and held it tight as Drefan’s hand roamed down her belly and finally settled between her legs. She remembered Drefan doing that to Cara. Now he did it to her.
She hated him. She was married to a man she hated.
Cara had felt it, the same as Kahlan could feel it, now. Cara hadn’t been so childish about it. Cara wouldn’t be this foolish. Kahlan let Drefan’s hand do what it would.
This was to save lives. She had to save all those innocent people from the plague sent by Jagang. Her people couldn’t be saved without her. It was her duty.
Drefan suddenly rose up. The dark shape of him hovered over her. His knee pushed gently between her thighs, urging her to open her legs. It would be over soon, she told herself, as he put his other knee between her legs, too.
The hulking shape of him lowered over her. He was big, as big as Richard. She feared he was going crush her, but he didn’t. He held himself up on his elbows, so he wouldn’t hurt her. He was being tender, and she was only making it harder for him. He had to do this, and she had to let him.
Kahlan grimaced. She wasn’t ready. She held her breath. It was too late not to be ready; Drefan was there. She bit her lower lip as she winced.
She felt as helpless as she had ever felt in her entire life. She was married to Drefan, not Richard, and Drefan, not Richard, was having her. Everything was lost.
Her eyes squeezed shut, Kahlan pressed her fists to her shoulders as he moved in her. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. Her nose stuffed up as she wept silently, and she had to open her mouth to breathe. She wanted to wail in anguish, but she instead had to remind herself to breathe. She couldn’t seem to stop holding her breath.
It took longer than she had hoped, but not as long as she feared.
Finished at last, Drefan rolled off her, onto his back. He had accomplished his task, but he seemed not to have relished it. She was somehow relieved that he hadn’t enjoyed it. He lay there, recovering his breath, as she finally let hers out. It was over.
She told herself that it hadn’t been so bad. It was nothing, really. She hardly felt anything. She had foolishly balked, and here it was, over already. It wasn’t so bad as she had feared. It was nothing, really.
But it was. She did feel something. She felt defiled.
Drefan reached out, his fingers tenderly, sympathetically, brushing a tear from her cheek. She shoved his hand away. She didn’t want his sympathy. She didn’t want him touching her. She hadn’t agreed to him touching her, just to consummating the marriage. His touch wasn’t part of it.
She remembered being with Richard. She remembered her hot need of him. She remembered the wild passion. She remembered her screams of sheer pleasure.
Why was this so different?
Because she didn’t love Drefan, that was why. In fact, she was beginning to realize that she loathed him. There was something about him that she didn’t like, and it was more than just that memory of his hand on Cara. There was something deceptive about him, something devious. She hadn’t consciously realized it before, but she could see guile in his blue eyes.
Kahlan wondered why she would think that. He had just consummated their marriage, and he had been as gentle as he possibly could be while still doing it. He could easily have done anything he wanted; her power was locked away. She couldn’t stop him. Yet he had tried to be sympathetic, understanding.
Still, it seemed a wonder to her that it could be so different from when she had been with Richard. She would give anything, almost, to have that pleasure again. She longed for that fulfillment, that satisfaction. The sating of lust.
Drefan’s breathing evened out after a time. Kahlan lay there, in the darkness, beside him, beside her new husband, waiting. Why hadn’t the Temple of the Winds come? She had done her part.
Maybe Richard hadn’t. Kahlan wondered if he could. After all, she had only to lie there. Richard had to be aroused. How could he be aroused, over there, knowing that his brother was over here, having his way with the woman Richard loved?
Kahlan had seen the look in Richard’s eyes, the look of wild jealousy, at the mere mention of what Shota said—that Kahlan would marry another. Kahlan had never seen such a look in his eyes before, and at the time there hadn’t really been a reason for it. Now there was.
No, Nadine would see to it that Richard did what he needed to do. If there was one thing Kahlan had confidence in, it was Nadine’s desire to consummate that marriage.
Nadine was a beautiful woman. She was more than enthusiastic. How could Richard not be aroused? He knew he had to do it. He would have no reason to try to resist her urging. Maybe Richard was thinking of it as revenge against his brother, Michael, for taking Nadine. Perhaps that was how he would get through it.
Kahlan knew that Nadine was having the time of her life. This was Nadine’s dream.
This was Kahlan’s nightmare.
The dark sky she could just perceive out the windows seemed to boil, as it had all day and all night. The air remained dead still and sticky. The storm wouldn’t break. It threatened, but it would not come.
Kahlan laid her wrist over her forehead as she rested, waiting. Her legs hurt, and she realized that it was because she was pressing her knees together. She let her legs relax. Drefan had done his duty. He was finished. It was over. She could relax.
Kahlan shut her eyes when she heard Nadine’s distant laughter drifting through the night air. The woman was as good as her word. Did Richard have to make her laugh? Couldn’t he just do his duty? No, Richard would not make Nadine laugh. Nadine laughed for Kahlan’s benefit.
The night dragged on endlessly. Where was the Temple of the Winds? Drefan made no attempt to touch her again, and she was thankful for that. He lay there, on his back, waiting with her.
Each hour that passed brought no change. From time to time, Kahlan drifted off to sleep. Nadine’s throaty laughter brought her awake with a jolt.
Kahlan wanted to slap Richard. How long was he going to make this go on? He could have had Nadine three times by now. Maybe he had. Maybe when the Temple of the Winds didn’t come, he kept trying. Nadine would like that. Kahlan felt her cheeks burning.
Drefan was silent as he lay beside her. The winds had said that they couldn’t talk. She guessed that Nadine’s laughter didn’t count; she used no words. Her laughter carried message enough.
Kahlan sighed. Sooner or later, the winds would come. They had all done as required.
Had she, though?
What was it Cara had said?
You must do your part in this—indulge in this.
Drefan had indulged. He had been satisfied. Nadine certainly was indulging. Richard must have.
Kahlan hadn’t. She hadn’t “indulged.”
She dismissed the idea. It had to be something else. Maybe the winds were just waiting for Nadine to finally have enough. That would fit the way the Temple of the Winds had done everything else, twisting the pain for Richard and Kahlan. Making them suffer.
As the night dragged on, and recollecting Cara’s words about indulging, Kahlan thought again about the time she had been with Richard in that place between worlds. She had felt the kind of pleasure that other woman felt—the indulgence not only in love, but in lust.
Kahlan had been so frustrated lately, waiting to be with Richard, waiting for that closeness again, waiting to be married to him so they could be together as husband and wife. Waiting for that satisfaction again. It was so near, she had been so close, so ready, and then it all fell apart, leaving her hopes dashed and needs unfulfilled.
Now, for the first time, she was free of her Confessor’s power, free to take pleasure from a man, not for love, but for the sheer indulgence of pleasure. She was free to enjoy what other women enjoyed. Here she was, lying next to her husband, and not an unattractive man at all, and she was feeling frustration for the need of Richard.
Was she to live the rest of her life being denied a simple pleasure of life that she was now free to indulge?
But she didn’t love Drefan. Without love, the passion was empty.
Still, it was passion, and if not ideal, at least she could have that much satisfaction. The spirits had taken everything else from her. They had taken Richard, the only thing she really wanted out of life. Would she let them take simple pleasure, too?
What else had she, now?
This was her husband. She was condemned to live the rest of her life with him. Must it be without at least some small release of pent-up need? Wasn’t she entitled to at least that much after all she had sacrificed? They had taken everything else from her: her only love in life; her Confessor’s power.
You must do your part in this—indulge in this.
What if that was why the winds hadn’t come? What if it was because she hadn’t indulged?
Drefan rolled over on his stomach and sighed. He was frustrated by the wait, too. Or maybe he was tending to his auras.
She thought about Drefan’s tight trousers, and the way she caught herself looking. Drefan was a handsome man; he was built like Richard. Drefan was her husband.
Her anger at the spirits for taking everything from her was what finally made something inside her snap. This was all she had. She was entitled to this much—to release.
When her hand touched Drefan’s back, he jumped. Kahlan smoothed her hand across the muscles of his back, and he settled. She let herself feel his muscles, as she used to feel Richard’s muscles, feel his shape. She took a deep breath, and she let herself go.
Kahlan’s hand moved down Drefan’s back. She gritted her teeth as she gripped his buttocks. They were as tight as they looked in his trousers. She was lucky, she guessed; the spirits could have insisted that she marry a repulsive man. Instead, they had insisted that she marry Drefan, and he was far from repulsive. He wasn’t as handsome as Richard, no one was as handsome to her as Richard, but woman were always fawning over Drefan. Now, he was her husband. He had pledged to be loyal to her. She had pledged to be loyal to him.
This was the only pleasure she was to be allowed. This was all the spirits had left her. At least she could have this much—have what she was entitled to.
Kahlan seized Drefan’s hip and rolled him over, toward her. She hooked her leg over his, and let her hand roam over his chest. Drefan didn’t react. Maybe he was surprised by her change of behavior. Maybe he was confused. She would have to unconfuse him. She gently pinched one of his nipples, then let her hand slide across his flat stomach, and down.
Kahlan found that Drefan was in no condition to do her any good. If she wanted to have her pleasure, she would have to change that.
She kissed his chest. She trailed wet kisses down his stomach. His breathing seemed slow. Kahlan felt frustrated anger than he wasn’t taking the hint. She was tired of being frustrated, while everyone else wasn’t.
She decided that if she wanted to have satisfaction, it was up to her to see to it that she got what she wanted. No one would give it to her—she would have to take it. Kahlan let her tongue, her kisses, glide the rest of the way down Drefan’s taut belly.
When she took him in her mouth, she tasted her own blood. She forced herself to ignore the taste as she urged him to react.