Free Temple of the Winds by Terry Goodkind

shoulder, Kahlan cautiously pushed back the bedroom door. Cara’s breath tickled her left ear.
    If it was possible, the bedroom was more jarring to the senses than the sitting room, with the red theme carried into the carpets, embroidered bedcover, immoderate collection of ornate, gold-fringed crimson pillows, and the swirled, pink marble fireplace surround. Kahlan thought that if Cara was wearing her red leather and ever wanted to hide, she could simply sit in this room and no one would ever find her.
    Only half the lamps in the bedroom were lit. Several blown-glass bowls set about on tables and the desk were filled with dried rose petals, their fragrance mingling with the lamp oil to permeate the air with a heavy, sickly-sweet odor.
    When the hinges squeaked, the woman resting on the bed opened her eyes, saw Kahlan, and sprang to her feet. Ready to take Nadine with her Confessor’s power if she gave the slightest indication of aggression, Kahlan unconsciously held an arm out to her side to keep Cara out of her way. In preparation, her muscles tight as coiled steel, Kahlan was holding her breath. If the woman conjured magic, Kahlan would have to be quick.
    Nadine hastily knuckled the sleep from her eyes. By her indecision as to which foot to put forward in the awkward curtsy she performed, Kahlan knew that she was no noblewoman. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be a Sister of the Dark.
    Nadine gawked at Cara for an instant before smoothing down her dress at her shapely hips and addressing Kahlan. “Forgive me, Queen, but I’ve been on a long journey and I was taking a bit of a rest. I guess I must have fallen asleep; I didn’t hear you knock. I’m Nadine Brighton, Queen.”
    As Nadine dipped into another inelegant curtsy, Kahlan quickly surveyed the room. The washbasin and ewer hadn’t been used. The towels beside them on the washstand were clean and still folded. A simple, worn, woolen travel bag sat at the foot of the bed. A clothesbrush and a tin cup were the only foreign objects on the overwrought, gilded table to the other side of a red velvet chair beside the fringed canopy bed. Despite the early spring chill and cold hearth, she hadn’t pulled down the bed covers for her nap. Perhaps, thought Kahlan, so as not to become tangled in them if she had to move fast.
    Kahlan didn’t apologize for entering without knocking. “Mother Confessor,” she said in a cautious tone, feeling the need to make clear the tacit threat of the power she wielded. “Queen is one of my less … common, titles. I am more widely known as the Mother Confessor.”
    As Nadine blushed, the sprinkling of freckles at the top of her cheekbones and across her delicate nose almost disappeared. Her bright brown eyes turned to the floor with unease. She hastily ran her fingers through her thick brown hair, although it didn’t look disheveled.
    She wasn’t as tall as Kahlan, though she looked to be about the same age, or perhaps a year younger. She was a lovely-looking young woman, and cast off no warning signs of threat or danger, but Kahlan wasn’t put at ease by a fresh face and innocent demeanor.
    Experience had taught Kahlan hard lessons. Marlin, the latest lesson, hadn’t appeared, at first, to be anything other than an awkward young man. This young woman’s lovely eyes, though, didn’t seem to have the same timeless quality to them that had so unnerved Kahlan. Still, her caution wasn’t allayed, either.
    Nadine turned and hurriedly swept the flats of her hands over the bedcover, pressing out the wrinkles with quick strokes. “Forgive me, Mother Confessor, I didn’t mean to muss your lovely bed. I brushed my dress first, so I wouldn’t get road dust on it. I intended to lie on the floor, but the bed looked so inviting I couldn’t resist giving it a try. I hope I haven’t caused offense.”
    “ Of course not,” Kahlan said. “I invited you to use the room as your own.”
    Before the last word was out of Kahlan’s mouth,