Free Blood of the Fold by Terry Goodkind

the Prelate had exploited that fidelity. It made her feel a fool.
    Because Prelate Annalina had been injured in the attack by Ulicia, a Sister of the Dark, and had since remained unconscious for near to three weeks prior to her death, Sister Verna had never had a chance to talk to her. Only Nathan had attended the Prelate, trying tirelessly to heal her, but in the end he had failed. It was cruel fate that took his life, too. Though Nathan had always seemed vigorous to her, the strain must have been too much for him; he had, after all, been near to one thousand years old. She guessed he had aged in the twenty-odd years she had been away seeking Richard and finally bringing him to the palace.
    Sister Verna smiled at the memory of Richard; she missed him, too. He had vexed her to the limits of her tolerance, but he, too, had been a victim of the Prelate’s plans, although he seemed to have understood and accepted the things she had done and had not held any ill feelings toward her.
    She felt a pang of heartache at the thought that Richard’s love, Kahlan, had probably died in the climax of that terrible prophecy. She hoped it wasn’t so. The Prelate had been a resolute woman, and had orchestrated events in the lives of a great many people. Sister Verna hoped it had truly been done for the good of the Creator’s children, and not simply for the Prelate’s own ambitions.
    “ You look angry, Sister Verna.”
    She turned to see young Warren standing with his hands in the opposite, silver brocade sleeves of his deep violet robes. She glanced around and realized that the two of them were alone on the hillside; the others, long gone, were dark specks in the distance.
    “ Perhaps I am, Warren.”
    “ What are you angry about, Sister?”
    With the palms of her hands, she smoothed her dark skirt at her hips. “Maybe I’m just angry with myself.” She sought to change the subject as she straightened her light blue shawl. “You’re so young, in your studies I mean, that I’m still having trouble getting used to seeing you without a Rada’Han.”
    As if she had reminded him, his fingers stroked his neck where the collar had been for most of his life. “Young for those living under the spell at the palace, perhaps, but hardly young for those in the outside world—I am one hundred and fifty seven, Sister. But I do appreciate that you took my collar off.” He took his fingers from his neck and brushed back a lock of curly blond hair. “It seems like the whole world has been turned upside down in the last few months.”
    She chuckled. “I miss Richard, too.”
    An easy grin brightened his face. “Really? He was a rare person, wasn’t he. I can hardly believe that he was able to prevent the Keeper from escaping the underworld, but he had to have stopped the spirit of his father, and returned the Stone of Tears to its rightful place, or we would all have been swallowed by the dead. To tell the truth, I was in a cold sweat the whole of winter solstice.”
    Sister Verna nodded, as if to add emphasis to her sincerity. “The things you helped teach him must have been valuable. You did well, too, Warren.” She studied his gentle smile for a moment, noticing how little it had changed over all the years. “I’m glad you decided to remain at the palace for a time, even though you have your collar off. We are without a prophet, it would seem.”
    He looked to the stain of ashes. “Most of my life I’ve studied the prophecies down in the vaults, and I never knew that some were given by a prophet still living, much less at the palace. I wish they had told me. I wish they had let me talk to him, learn from him. Now the chance is lost.”
    “ Nathan was a dangerous man, an enigma who none of us could ever fully understand or trust, but maybe it was wrong of them to prevent you from visiting him. Know that in time, when you learned more, the Sisters would have allowed it, if not required it.”
    He glanced away. “But now the chance