Oathbreakers' Guild (The Rose Shield Book 2) Page 10

  A smile twitched his lips, and he shuddered an endless sigh. Lelaine raised her head from his pillow and nodded. Catling slowed his heart, listened to the last soft beat of the drum. The river of life running through him pooled. She rested his hand on his chest, walked to the door in a dream, and turned. “I will tell Oaron the king is near death, Your Grace. You are the Ellegean Queen.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Catling stood behind the queen’s chair beside the lean guard, Colton. They made a strange pair of protectors aside from the difference in their skills. The top of Catling’s head reached the guard’s armpit, the dashing man on the taller side of tall and she on the smaller side of small. How he managed to stand at attention for hours baffled her as she fought her desire to fidget.

  “Protective” scarcely captured the man’s attitude toward Lelaine, but Catling hadn’t surrendered her first impression of his tenderness for her either. Had Lelaine noticed?

  The hall looked no different from the first time Catling laid eyes on it. The regalia of royalty adorned the Founder-made walls: heraldic shields and elaborately stitched banners, delicate tapestries and formal portraits. The patterned floors gleamed with marble tiles, and silk curtains billowed in the balmy breeze. The cooler days of Harvest lingered in the south, weeks away.

  “I’m perfectly agreeable to meetings without influencers,” Lelaine explained to the council from her father’s recently vacated chair. “However, if the Cull Tarr or tier wards insist on bringing their influencers, Catling shall be here as well.”

  Councilor Oaron-Elan’s fleshy cheeks creased in a smile. “Yes, of course, Your Grace. Catling is your constant companion and more than welcome. I’m certain we are all in agreement.” He paused to acknowledge the other council members, the half-dozen royal influencers, a handful of disinterested scribes, and the council’s guests: Cull Tarr Ambassador Varon Kest and his influencer, a cowering blond woman with a pert nose.

  With her elbow on the arm of her chair, Lelaine casually rested her middle fingertip on her thumb, a request for a taste of the influence swirling the room. Catling’s challenge entailed deciphering whose influence Lelaine wished to experience. It poured through the air like syrup.

  Most of the influence circulated in an attempt to soothe ruffled tempers but not all. The doe-eyed Fontine plied Oaron with a shade of confidence-induced boldness. Moira sent a thin thread of fear and discomfort around the table that left Catling wondering at her motives, and Chava influenced the Cull Tarr ambassador’s influencer, an act branding her an oathbreaker. As if aware of the scrutiny, she glanced Catling’s way and offered an innocent smile.

  Catling partially shielded the heiress and waited for further instructions. Lelaine frowned at the influence that surely blended into a stew of dithering indecision. The queen flattened her hand on the table, an indication to shield everyone, the sampling quite enough. Catling did so, and every soul in the room sighed.

  “Shall we continue?” Oaron squeezed his bulge into a seat to Lelaine’s right, thick fingers sorting a pile of folded missives.

  The queen sipped from her goblet of wine. “Please.”

  He cleared his throat. “Bes-Strea, Nor-Bis, and Rho-Dania all sent requests for guidance and assistance with disruptions in the warrens. In Se-Vien, the warrens stormed the tiers and had to be driven back by force. Fortunately, this time, with minimal loss of life.”

  Lelaine gathered herself. “What are their demands?”

  Oaron blinked at her, and no longer fortified by Fontine’s confidence, began shuffling through his stacks. “I don’t believe they indicated…”

  “Perhaps we might inquire,” Lelaine said. “I imagine the high ward can enlighten us, and if that proves too difficult, I’m certain there are individuals in the warrens more than willing to fill our ears.”

  Catling stifled a smile, Gannon’s rants echoing in her thoughts.

  “What more?” Lelaine inquired as the scribes scribbled in their record books.

  “News from the south.” Councilor Edark threaded his skeletal fingers together. Slate-gray hair lined his scalp as if one of the scribes had penned it with a fine tip. “Guardian reports escalating conflicts with the Farlanders. Commander Jagur requests that you join him to assess the situation for yourself.”

  “He presumes his time is more valuable than mine?” Lelaine asked.

  “His last trip to Elan-Sia concerned the same matter,” Edark replied, “and I’m afraid the king dismissed him without an adequate hearing.”

  Catling recalled the meeting. Vianne’s agenda had been single-minded, to offer Catling’s shield and free Lelaine to pursue her destiny. Commander Jagur hadn’t stood a chance. It was the last time Catling had seen Whitt.

  “Provide me with your recommendations,” Lelaine instructed her council. “What more?”

  “If I may?” Varon Kest stepped forward.

  “Yes, Ambassador?” Lelaine sighed. “Please be succinct.”

  The Cull Tarr ambassador bowed his acquiescence, his dark gaze flickering over the queen. Broad-chested and thick-armed, he wore his hair shaved into jet stripes. Wide trousers hung short of his ankles, and his long black jacket sported the exaggerated shoulders preferred by the seafaring elite. Crimson slits embellished the sleeves and opened like fresh wounds when he moved. Charms resembling gold coins tinkled on his ankles and wrists.

  Catling didn’t care for the Cull Tarr. Devotees of the Founders, they preached entitlement and humility, patriarchal strictures while espousing equality, one-person-one-vote when the mood suited them. She’d always found their sermons confusing.

  Kest straightened, addressing the council as if the queen were invisible. “Shiplord Tull Airon sends his regards and deepest condolences for the death of his friend, the king. He also expresses great pleasure in learning that the Cull Tarr rescued the queen and regrets the unfortunate incident over the reward. May I assure him that the traitor has been dealt with accordingly?”

  “The traitor saved my life,” Lelaine said. “Gannon has been compensated and freed.”

  Catling squeaked a sharp intake of breath at the name. Colton furrowed his brow at her, and she smiled in return. Despite the fact that Gannon had abandoned her in the swamps, the news that he gadded about Ellegeance pleased her. That he played the hero and freed Lelaine from the Cull Tarr made her jaw drop.

  The ambassador pretended he hadn’t heard Lelaine’s reply. “The Shiplord instructed me to inform the council that his willingness to entertain a bond with the queen hasn’t changed.”

  “Ambassador Kest.” Lelaine waited until he looked at her. “Please address me when I am in the room. Your disregard does nothing to advance your Shiplord’s cause. You may thank Tull Airon kindly for his forbearance, but I’m afraid I have no interest in a personal alliance. If he wishes to discuss trade, you are more than welcome to present his suggestions and partake in any negotiations.”

  A smile lifted the corner of the ambassador’s lip, his hands clasped behind his back. “In that vein, Your Grace, the Shiplord requests permission to sail Cull Tarr ships up the Slipsilver as far as Ava-Grea. For trade purposes, of course.”

  “At first glance, I don’t see why not.” Lelaine smiled at the ambassador. “My council and I shall take your proposal under advisement and discuss preliminary terms before we begin negotiations.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” He bowed. “I beg your leave to report your reply to the Shiplord.”

  “As you will.” Lelaine dipped her chin. Varon Kest departed, his influencer scurrying on his heels.

  When the door glided closed, Edark steepled his stick fingers. “If I might speak candidly, Your Grace?”

  “Speak.” She waved him on.

  “I respectfully recommend that we avoid engaging with the Shiplord any more than necessary. A portion of their fleet lies anchored beyond the breakwater, and the Slipsilver would allow them access to the heart of Ellegeance.”

  “We might ask Kest how extending C
ull Tarr piracy to the rivers is beneficial to Ellegeance,” Laris-Kar said. A crinkled woman with birdlike features, she was prone to provocative questions over sharing an opinion. She’d expressed a distinct dislike of Kest from the very start. “The Shiplord assures us that we misunderstand their negotiations. As though we don’t know thievery when thieved.”

  “He either assumes we’re naive or he has rogue shipmasters,” Lelaine said. “Gannon knew more about the workings of their crews, laws, and ambitions than most scholars.”

  Edark shook his head. “They already encroach on Ellegeance waters and preach in our tier cities. As long as we resist, our relationship isn’t likely to improve. The question is whether further engagement will make it better or worse. The Cull Tarr are determined and disciplined. If we aren’t wary, one day, Your Grace, these tensions will come to conflict. ”

  The queen tapped the rim of her goblet. “I’m inclined to agree, Edark, but a discussion risks nothing. I have no intention of bonding with the Shiplord, but it serves us to cooperate when feasible.”

  Laris-Kar leaned forward in her chair in preparation to speak. “May I ask, Your Grace, if you have given any consideration to a bond at all?”

  “If you imply a bond with any of our disgruntled high wards simply to quell tensions, I’m at a loss as to how I might make myself clearer. For me to insinuate that I shall consider it is dishonest and disrespectful. I shall bear an heir without a bond if necessary. A child of the queen inherits the kingdom, not a child of the king. It renders a bond superfluous.”

  “Bonding with an Ellegean would settle the matter.” Oaron winced as he said it.

  Lelaine closed her eyes. “I thought when I became queen, we could dispense with this tiresome discussion.” She patted back the yawn fighting to escape her lips. “What more?”

  “High Ward Algar of Mur-Vallis,” Oaron replied. “He’s waiting to tender a proposal.”

  Lelaine paused, and Catling stiffened, the presence of Algar freezing her breath. The closest she’d ever come to him was as a child, watching him stand on the tier’s edge as he presided over the neck-breaking plummet of her mother. He had sent guards for her, slain her family. The mark around her eye burned like a beacon, and she began to shake.

  “A moment,” the queen said, “I wish a brief respite.” Colton pulled out her chair and offered his hand. Lelaine beckoned to Catling on her way out.

  Catling paced by the windows in Lelaine’s salon while Colton stood outside the door. Refreshed, Lelaine picked at a repast of sliced sea urchin the servants had left with a pitcher of lissom juice. “I’d prefer wine,” Lelaine muttered as she popped the salty treats into her mouth.

  “He’ll recognize my eye.” Catling wrung her hands. “He’ll know who I am.”

  “He may not,” Lelaine countered. “You never met him personally. He’s only heard about you.”

  “I shouldn’t be there. It will only invite trouble.”

  “You will be there.” Lelaine arranged her curls in a tall mirror. “You have nothing to fear under the queen’s protection. And with all I’ve heard of this man and his influencers, I shall rely on your shield more than ever.”

  Catling ceased her pacing, Lelaine’s words conjuring thoughts of Kadan. Would he be there as well? “His influencer knows about my shield.”

  Lelaine pivoted from the mirror, her eyes narrowed. “I told Vianne I required secrecy. No one was to know.”

  “She needed someone to assist with my training.” Catling grimaced at the idea of defending Vianne and the doyen, but she wouldn’t willingly put Kadan at risk. “He swore a vow to silence, and his oath to the guild eclipses the one to his uncle.”

  “His uncle?” The queen groaned.

  “I don’t believe Kadan knows I serve you.”

  “Well, he will know now.” Lelaine sighed and smoothed her jacket. “There is little we can do to change the cast of history. I hope for all our sakes, he is true to his oath. I have little trust in influencers to honor their vows.”

  Catling would have taken offense if she didn’t share the opinion.

  ***

  Her hands clenched behind her back, Catling hauled in a deep breath and masked her dread with a serene façade. High Ward Algar and Kadan entered the council hall, bowed, and then stared at her as if the queen ceased to exist.

  She acknowledged both men with the same slight nod, her eyes lingering longer on Kadan’s surprised smile. Clearly, he had no inkling of her position with the queen when he’d arrived, though it was more than apparent now. Any questions he’d entertained during their years in Ava-Grea were answered.

  High Ward Algar didn’t sneer or glare, but his iron eyes shot barbs that hooked in her skin and refused to let go. The unnerving intensity felt palpable, and for a moment, she wondered if he were capable of influence. He knew her identity or guessed so. Her eye marked her, the feature every hunting guard had sought, the clue that always gave her away and had killed her family. She avoided his gaze, looking beyond his dark hair, erect posture, and fine apparel. The gold medallion on his chest gleamed, the same she had admired as a girl when he hung the poor.

  She tested the room for influence. The handful of initiates along the wall applied their usual blanket of peacefulness, while Fontine supported Oaron and Moira irritated everyone. Chava influenced Algar with a touch of fear, likely to increase his deference, and Kadan plied his uncle with a hint of ease to soften his intensity. If Algar had commanded Kadan not to influence him, Kadan was an oathbreaker. He extended no influence toward the queen, and Catling smiled at the absence. After all, why bother.

  The queen rested her middle fingertip on her thumb, a request for a sampling of the influence. She smiled at the relative peace and signaled for Catling to free her of its spell.

  “High Ward Algar, welcome to Elan-Sia,” Lelaine said with a sad tilt of her head. “I offer my sincerest regrets regarding the loss of your son. I understand he was a master at his trade and well-respected by all.”

  Algar dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “Your words comfort me, Your Grace. It is, in part, the reason for my visit.”

  “And your other son,” Lelaine asked. “Has he found his way?”

  “He is determined to be his own man,” Algar replied.

  Catling glanced at Kadan to gauge his reaction to the queen’s lack of flattery. He looked tense, a taut string on the verge of snapping. In Ava-Grea, they had promised never to influence each other, and yet she couldn’t help herself. Her shield yet protecting the queen, she poked him with pleasure.

  He shuddered and his face turned red. His eyes remained on the queen. Catling couldn’t shield Lelaine and herself at the same time, an ongoing flaw Kadan knew. A far too intimate heat rose up her legs and dissipated.

  “I have come to discuss the realm,” Algar stated. “I’ve designated Kadan as my heir in Mur-Vallis. In time, I will teach him the requirements of leadership, and he will assume the rule of your southern province, safeguarding all of Ellegeance from Farlander encroachment.”

  Catling stared at Kadan, worried that his uncle’s lessons would shatter him. She enfolded him in love, lacking any attempt at subtlety. He would feel her concern and know without question that she understood. The influence faded, but she could tell by the softness in his face that he’d felt it. A tear rose to her eye as the same gentle warmth embraced her.

  “Your nephew is an influencer,” Lelaine remarked, observing Kadan. “Where will your allegiance lie, Kadan-Mur?”

  “To Ellegeance first,” Kadan replied, “to my guild second, and third to Mur-Vallis.”

  Lelaine tilted her head and ran a finger around the rim of her empty goblet. “No qualms regarding placing your guild above your province and people?”

  “None, Your Grace.” Kadan smiled. “Justice serves the realm, the guild, the province, and its people.”

  The queen nodded and turned her attention to Algar. “And your timing on this transition, Algar-Mur? I assume you have no intenti
on of retiring to a life of anonymity.”

  A smile twitched Algar’s lip. “I come to offer my talents and experience to the realm. Your reign is young, yourself untested for the rigors of leadership. Cull Tarr ships stalk your shores; preachers incite rebellion in your tiers. Farlanders poach in your mountains and revolt in your frontier. I vow to provide the firm hand that will complement your beauty, a barricade to the harsh forces of destruction.”

  Lelaine stared at him. “And I suppose, should you prove yourself worthy, you would expect to bond and sit beside me as king.”

  “Should that time arrive, I would not object.”

  “How reassuring.” Lelaine raised a hand, beckoning a servant. “I would enjoy a taste of wine.” The trajectory of the discussion didn’t bode well. Tension vibrated against the walls. The council stared at the queen. Oaron’s mouth drooped and Edark swallowed. Every scribe’s pen froze in the air, suspended above their records. The servant handed a goblet of wine to the queen.

  Catling cringed, imagining what would come next. She felt Kadan’s influence bloom, directed at the queen though he surely knew it would make no difference. He eased it toward his uncle, too subtle for effect. The influencers along the wall exchanged wide-eyed glances, flooding the room with peace. Catling’s shield sheltered the queen, blanking it all.

  Goblet in her hand, Lelaine leaned forward. “High Ward Algar, let me be candid. I have nothing but concern regarding your ‘firm hand.’ You bear a reputation for injustice and brutality to both our neighbors and your own people. You seem oblivious to the rule of law, the needs of your citizens, and the concept of balancing necessity with compassion. In addition, you must realize I am nineteen, closer in age to your nephew than to you. In fact, you are old enough to be my father. I find your arrogance astonishing. Why would I ever consider a bond with you?”