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attention back in the small reading room.
    For the life of him, Richard could not imagine what was going on, what could be the purpose of such a use of magic. He was at once fascinated by it and disconcerted that he knew so little about such things. More than anything, though, he found the sight darkly frightening.
    Having grown up in Westland, where there had been no magic, he sometimes wondered what he had missed—especially at times like this, when he felt hopelessly ignorant. But at other times, like when Kahlan had been taken, he hated magic and wished never again to have anything to do with it.
    Those devoted to the teachings of the Imperial Order would find cynical satisfaction at such cold thoughts about magic coming from the Lord Rahl.
    Despite having grown up unaware of magic, Richard had since come to learn a few things about it. For one, he knew that the Grace drawn under Nicci was a powerful device used by those with the gift. He also knew that drawing it in blood was something that was rarely done and even then in only the gravest of circumstances.
    As he glanced at the glistening lines of blood that made up the form of the Grace, Richard noticed something that made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. One of Nicci’s feet was poised over the center of the Grace—the part representing the Creator’s light, from where emanated not only life but the rays that represented the gift that passed through life, the veil, and then on into the eternity of the underworld.
    Nicci’s other foot, however, was frozen mere inches above the table beyond the outer ring of the drawing—over the part representing the underworld.
    Nicci hung suspended between the world of life and the world of the dead. Richard knew that such a thing was hardly trivial happenstance.
    He focused beyond the startling sight of Nicci floating in midair and in the shadows beyond saw Nathan and Ann occasionally illuminated by flashes of lightning, like ghosts flickering in and out of existence. They, too, solemnly watched Nicci in the center of the glowing spell-form.
    Zedd, one hand on a bony hip, his other running a slender finger down his smooth jaw, slowly moved around the table, observing the ever-growing, ever more intricate pattern of glowing green lines.
    Outside, through the tall windows, lightning continued to flash in harsh fits, but the rumble of thunder was muted by the thick stone of the Keep.
    Richard gazed up at Nicci’s face. “Is she…is she all right?”
    Zedd looked over as if he had forgotten that Richard had entered the room. “What?”
    “Is she all right?”
    Zedd’s bushy brows drew together. “How would I know?”
    Richard threw his arms up and let them flop down in dumbfounded alarm. “Well, for crying out loud, Zedd, aren’t you the one who put her there?”
    “Not exactly,” Zedd muttered, rubbing his palms together as he moved on.
    Richard stepped closer to the table below Nicci. “What’s going on? Is Nicci all right? Is she in danger?”
    Zedd finally looked back and sighed. “We don’t exactly know for sure, my boy.”
    Nathan came out of the shadows and toward the table, into the greenish light. The tall prophet’s dark azure eyes were clearly troubled. He opened his hands in a gesture of reassurance, his long white hair brushing his shoulders as he shrugged slightly. “We think she is all right, Richard.”
    “She should be just fine,” Ann assured him as she joined Nathan.
    The broad-shouldered prophet towered over her. In her plain woolen dress, with her graying hair gathered back into a loose bun, she looked all the more plain beside Nathan. Richard thought that just about anyone would probably look plain beside Nathan.
    Richard gestured, indicating the net of geometric lines that encased Nicci. “What is this thing?”
    “A verification web,” his grandfather said.
    Richard frowned. “Verification? Verification of what?”
    “Chainfire,” Zedd told him in a somber voice.