Kahlan wanted to scream, to cry, to turn things back to the way they had been. For some reason, she couldn’t cry. She thought she might pass out instead. Her hands shook. Her whole body trembled.
“Kahlan,” Nicci said in urgent, but soft, compassion, “you need some air. Breathe. Come on, take a deep breath. It will do you good.”
Kahlan leaned on her hands on the stone sill, breathing in the cooler air. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and drip off her jaw.
How was she going to go on?
What was she going to do?
She just wanted Richard. She ached for him to be there by her. Somehow, none of it seemed real, and yet it seemed more real than anything had ever felt.
She had wanted so badly for Richard to have a life with her, a life they could share and enjoy away from conflict. A time to live for just themselves. That chance had slipped away from them. Now, they would never have a life together.
As she gazed out across the grounds and to the forest not far beyond, she spotted a creature at the edge of the woods, sitting on its haunches, watching her.
It was Hunter.
As he sat there, silently looking up at her, Kahlan thought that he almost looked like he had come to offer his condolences. More likely, Red had sent him in a gesture offering hers.
Red had known. Red had told her. Had Kahlan listened to Red’s warning and done as the witch woman wanted, Kahlan would be the one who was dead, and Richard would be alive.
She looked over at the sorceress. Of course, Nicci would be dead, too.
Prophecy rarely turned out the way it seemed.
In this case, events had turned out exactly as Red had predicted, but in ways that Kahlan could never have imagined.
And yet, the prophecy had been precisely correct.
Kahlan hadn’t listened.
Now, like Richard, prophecy, too, was dead.