Oathbreakers' Guild (The Rose Shield Book 2) Page 19

  The toes of his boots inched toward the rock’s edge, raising memories of a night eight years ago. His uncle had informed him he would train as an influencer and serve Mur-Vallis. Even at the age of twelve, he’d understood the meaning behind those words. He would facilitate hangings, deceive the guilds, manipulate the warrens, and kill with his touch. If Qeyon hadn’t stopped him, he might have spread his arms and flown from the top tier to his death.

  Qeyon was dead. Who would stop him now?

  “The ferry’s leaving soon for Kar-Aminia,” a child’s voice behind him said.

  He stepped back from the edge and turned.

  Buried in a fur-lined cloak, the girl bowed. “My father said the ferry’s leaving soon.”

  Kadan looked down the path to the west waystation where boats traveling the Blackwater to and from Mur-Vallis found shelter. At the other side of the rocky spit, beyond the child’s head, lay the east waystation for journeys on the Slipsilver to and from Kar-Aminia. That’s where Algar had ordered him to go, to take advantage of his friendship with Minessa and murder her father, Barrick-Kar.

  He had no doubt he could manage it without raising her suspicion. She trusted him, believed him an admirable man, had faith that he loved her and would never harm her. How could she fathom the depth of Algar’s ambition or the ruthless ends he’d go to in achieving his aims?

  If he didn’t obey, he’d blatantly and irrevocably break his oath to Algar. He’d give up his future as High Ward of Mur-Vallis; he’d abandon his mother to his uncle’s choler, the city to an uncertain future. He’d have nowhere to go. If he betrayed his uncle, the man would demand his life.

  “Will you be riding the ferry?” the child asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kadan replied, to which the child pursed her lips. “I have a question with no easy answer.”

  “You should ask someone to help you.” The girl looked over her shoulder. “My father helps me decide questions. Do you want to talk to him?”

  Kadan gazed at the evening fog rising from the rivers’ tumultuous clash. Two days’ travel north, the wide waterway would burst its borders. Luminescent channels would wend through giant caliph and white witchwood, the river’s current flowing beneath the swamp’s torpid face. He patted the child’s head and smiled. “Thank you for your wisdom. Tell your father I won’t be boarding the ferry to Kar-Aminia. I’ll be traveling to Ava-Grea.”

  ***

  Kadan stood before the guild’s council, hands clasped behind his back. Minessa stared at him, her exquisite eyes glistening as he conveyed his orders. He hadn’t known Tunvise had died or that Minessa had assumed his place as doyen, her expertise as a healer unparalleled.

  Upon entering the hall, he’d seen her smile, and the anguish weighing on his heart evaporated. His request for guidance shifted to a plea for mercy, his decision to break his vow resolute. “Aside from my personal reaction to the orders, my oath to Ellegeance compelled me to seek your forbearance.”

  Minessa’s lips mouthed a mute, “Thank you.”

  The other doyen listened in stunned silence. Dalcoran massaged his swollen joints, and Brenna held a cup of steaming greenleaf between her plump fingers.

  Vianne set her tea aside and picked up her tatting, resting the unfinished lace in her lap. “Not to mention the impact on our guild. The high wards do us no favors when they employ our influencers as assassins.”

  “You train us to be assassins,” Kadan corrected her, an edge to his voice. “If not to murder, then what for?”

  Vianne arched a disapproving eyebrow and met his gaze. “Point taken, Kadan-Mur. However, it’s a skill to be exercised sparingly, and your vows offer you recourse.”

  A desire to argue pushed at his lips, but he clamped his jaw shut, hesitant to air the horror of his life in Minessa’s hearing. Algar murdered every hanging day, and Kadan was his tool, complicit. His experience of influence was wholly evil, reliant on pain and fear to see his master’s will done. Even pleasure and love were coercive and deceptive. Influence had proved an abomination.

  Except the capacity to heal, except for Minessa.

  “Your uncle’s ruthlessness has always troubled us,” Dalcoran confessed. “He’s been a wasp buzzing at the backs of our heads. Had there been a chance of him acquiring the crown, I imagine we would have acted.”

  “As long as he stayed within his borders,” Vianne said, “we chose not to interfere. To Mur-Vallis, he is a tyrant, but to Ellegeance, he has been inconsequential.”

  “He’s murdered hundreds of his own people,” Kadan argued. “Scores of Farlanders.”

  “Our guild knew of this?” Minessa asked her peers, her chin retracted.

  “We are not the rulers of Ellegeance,” Brenna stated with grandmotherly patience. “We are not the purveyors of justice.”

  Kadan sighed, the argument one he would never win.

  “Now he seeks to dominate Kar-Aminia and Se-Vien,” Dalcoran said. “We can no longer pretend his actions are innocuous. Yet, he’s not the only high ward indulging in his ambitions. The queen is weak, the realm in chaos, and a victor not yet assured. We don't want an appearance of taking sides. At this point, acting in haste poses risks.”

  “Algar ordered the assassination of my father,” Minessa blurted, her eyes flaring. “We can’t tolerate these rogue provinces. If the realm is in chaos, we must support the queen.”

  “The queen isn’t weak.” Vianne glanced from Dalcoran to Minessa. “Yet, we must weigh the risks. If we choose a side and are wrong, our guild would be compromised, our power decimated.”

  Her back erect, Minessa frowned. “Our power is nothing if it stands for nothing but power. What of our oaths? What’s in the best interest of Ellegeance? Surely not a realm divided, not a realm ruled by self-aggrandized tyrants.”

  Kadan rubbed his jaw, hiding the smile that fought its way to his lips. The circumstances informing his visit to Ava-Grea frightened him, and yet he hadn’t felt this contented since… the last hours he spent in her company.

  “Thank you, Minessa-Kar,” Dalcoran said. “Your fresh perspective is perhaps exactly what we need to hear.” He looked up at Kadan, his fingers steepled and tapping his chin. “You were wise to approach us with your concerns, Kadan-Mur. Choosing between oaths of allegiance is never easy. Clearly, you understand why our primary oath is to an ideal. We may differ in our approaches, but we share the same vision. We have several decisions to consider.” He indicated the doyen. “If you would retire, we shall inform you of our judgment in the morning.”

  “As you wish. I’m grateful.” Kadan bowed to the doyen, turned on his heel, and exited the room. He leaned against the corridor wall and rubbed this face, exhaling the burden of stress he’d carried in his chest for days. He’d made his choice without regrets, but any inkling of the path ahead eluded him.

  He left the hall and sat in the garden. Blue Misanda and golden Clio smiled, and Sogul drowsed, a blushing gibbous eye. Though the cold was bearable compared to the south, he burrowed into his cloak, rapt by the glowing swamp. He’d hoped to catch Minessa, but when the night grew late, he descended the spiral stair to the eleventh tier and the room assigned him.

  Exhausted beyond his imagining, he tapped the panel and the door slid open. Minessa rose from her seat on the edge of his bed. “Minessa, I waited…”

  Her hands rose to his face, and she kissed him. “The doyen decided the matter. Your vow to your uncle is relieved. You are free of Mur-Vallis.”

  Relief juddered through him, the last manacles shed from his soul. She kissed away the tears welling in his eyes and smiled. “We are sending you to Elan-Sia. Instead of killing my father and tearing apart the realm, you will help the queen save it.”

  “I thought…” He stepped back, struck by an unexpected swell of disappointment.

  “What, Kadan?” she asked. “This was your desire, wasn’t it?”

  He shook his head and kissed her hands. “I’d hoped I might end up close to you.”

  A
smile graced her face, and she drew him to the bed, pulling him down to sit at the edge. “There’s more,” she said, her tone sobering. “I haven’t a kind way to say this. Your uncle. We decided, unanimously, that he is…” She swallowed.

  “To die?”

  “Yes.” She met his eyes. “We thought if we made an example of one of the high wards, the others might forgo their plans. With all you said about him, he seemed the right choice. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my consent. I tried not to let my personal feelings sway me.”

  He dropped his gaze to the floor, lower lip pressed between his teeth as he sorted through his feelings. “It’s the right choice, Nessa. The sooner, the better.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Catling stood left of Lelaine’s chair, the tall guard Colton to the queen’s right. Councilors Oaron and Edark occupied seats across the table. Loyal servants, they were the physical antithesis of each other: Oaron fair and plump, Edark swarthy and thin as a broomstick. Laris, her wrinkled face serene, settled into a seat at the side nearer the window, dutiful scribes at her elbows. Influencers no longer attended Lelaine’s council meetings, their presence pointless with Catling’s shield in play.

  The queen made exceptions, inviting Chava or Fontine to join them should she wish a visitor swayed to her point of view. Catling could have filled that role if Lelaine knew her capable. The power to shield and influence simultaneously remained a secret she held close, a weapon she safeguarded for the future. She smiled; Piergren had taught her something valuable after all and died for his effort.

  “The Merchants’ Guild insists they need additional space for lodging.” Oaron read from a list of pleadings and grievances, his frown adding creases to his chin. “Apparently the high merchants elected to limit the fourteenth tier to lavish quarters, and thereby pushed their businesses to the tenth tier, which applies pressure downward to the low merchants on the ninth.”

  “They occupy three tiers already.” Edark waved a thin hand. “Next.”

  “Ignoring the petition doesn’t make it vanish.” Oaron huffed and addressed Lelaine. “Your Grace, we must issue a formal reply.”

  She tilted her head. “Who do they plan to oust?”

  “Let me see.” Oaron read further. “They propose that Medical move in with Artisan and Academia.”

  “Are the guilds agreeable?” Lelaine asked.

  “Not likely,” Laris replied, the birdlike woman infinitely patient with the guilds’ squabbling.

  “We could require it as a condition,” Lelaine suggested.

  “I would recommend against it.” Edark folded his spindly fingers. “The Merchants’ Guild will tender an offer of gold, which the other guilds well accept. The relocation will take place, and then we shall entertain a new petition from the Medical, Artisan, and Academian Guilds complaining of cramped quarters and a need for space from the Tradecrafters.”

  Catling glanced at Colton and raised an eyebrow. Edark made a good point.

  The queen sighed. “Any other options?”

  “Land-based settlements,” Laris suggested. “Nor-Bis and Rho-Dania expand beyond their tiers in support of shipbuilding. We have farms in the vales and waystations bordering the rivers. We always believed we would outgrow the tiers. We might do more than plan for that eventuality.”

  “Good Founders be gracious!” Oaron’s cheeks wobbled as he chuckled. “Can you imagine suggesting to a merchant that he walk on dirt?”

  “I’m quite serious,” Laris said with a burst of rare animation.

  “Elan-Sia is water-bound,” Edark reminded her.

  “Then we move inland of the delta,” Laris said, unruffled by the comment. “I can point out several prime locations on a map right this moment.”

  “No.” Lelaine raised a hand. “You are correct, Laris-Kar; we require a plan. However, that discussion awaits another day. The Merchants’ Guild must make do with their tiers. I’m certain they will discover a way to impose on someone.”

  “Next,” Edark called as the scribes scrawled their notes.

  Oaron picked up the next paper on his neat stack. “Kadan-Mur, Influencer of Mur-Vallis, wishes an audience.”

  Catling’s ears perked up, and she applied her shield anticipating Lelaine’s signal. She hadn’t seen Kadan in a year and a half, not since the Influencers Conclave in Ava-Grea. Her breath fluttered in her chest. Kadan was complex, tormented, and compassionate, capable of cruelty and gentleness, and she wondered what to expect. She hoped his uncle’s heel hadn’t ground his soul to dust.

  Despite the painful trials of Ava-Grea, they’d forged a friendship that had transformed into the sweetness of intimacy. His hands had stroked her cheek, his body entwined with hers, and in those fond moments, she’d tendered him a piece of her heart.

  Barrick-Kar had shared an opinion that Kadan and Minessa engaged in a growing affection. Did they still? Were they free to choose a path that her talent denied her? Her rose eye, her shield had always dictated the circumstances of her life. If her friends sought a chance at love, she wouldn’t stand in their way.

  Kadan entered the hall, his features pensive, a small smile reserved for her. He strode across the polished marble floor and bowed. “My respects, Your Grace.”

  “Welcome, Kadan-Mur.” Lelaine dipped her chin. “What brings you to Elan-Sia and without High Ward Algar?”

  “I’m pleased to report that I no longer serve my uncle.” He straightened, and Catling couldn’t help but notice the relief radiating from his face. “The Influencers’ Guild believes I may be of service to you.”

  “To me or the realm?”

  “To both.”

  “An improvement over their last assertion,” Lelaine replied with a smile. “What of your oath to the high ward?”

  “The doyen rescinded my oath. I entreated the council to consider my vow to my uncle unsustainable in light of my oath to Ellegeance and my guild.”

  “I had no idea your vows could be annulled,” Lelaine said, a hint of wariness in her tone.

  “Only if a higher oath prevails,” Kadan explained. His gaze flickered to Catling, acknowledging the gravity of her fate. As long as Lelaine lived, Catling would never be free.

  The queen sighed. “How is it that you may be of service to me?”

  Kadan glanced at the assembled councilors, scribes, and guards. “I bring news of intrigue in the south, Your Grace. High Ward Algar commanded me to assassinate Barrick-Kar. With his rival slain, he intended to seize Kar-Aminia and Se-Vien.”

  Catling blinked, the admission so shocking she questioned if her ears had tricked her. The councilors girding the table stilled. Oaron swallowed and broke into a sweat. “He told you this?”

  “I’m his nephew, his heir, his influencer, and his assassin,” Kadan replied, meeting the man’s eyes. His gaze turned to the queen. “I believe he coordinates with the high wards of other provinces who share his desire to divide the realm.”

  “Do you have proof?” Laris craned her neck toward him.

  Kadan shook his head. “Nothing beyond my uncle’s boasting.”

  “It certainly fits into the puzzle,” Edark remarked. “What are the Influencers recommending?”

  “That my uncle be removed from power.”

  “An assassination?” Lelaine straightened. “A prick of his own poison?”

  Kadan nodded, and Catling swayed, her hand gripping the arm of the queen’s chair. Half the faces at the table glanced up at her, and she snapped her mouth closed. Colton reached out to steady her, his concern darkening his face.

  “He will be an example to his conspirators,” Kadan said. “The doyen forbid me to take part since I will become High Ward of Mur-Vallis upon his death. I swear to you, My Queen, the south will be at peace under my rule.”

  Catling’s heart pounded in her ears, her opportunity opening before her. She stared at Kadan, the death sanctioned by the guild and free of betrayal. Lelaine had promised her a chance to kill Algar. One touch, a simple touch, and she woul
d render him a corpse.

  “I hesitate to admit,” Lelaine said, “that I know the perfect assassin to carry out this plan.”

  “May we speak privately, Your Grace?” Kadan clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes on Catling.

  Every face at the table frowned. “That’s hardly necessary.” Oaron pursed his lips. “We’ve served the queen faithfully and the king before her.”

  Lelaine held up a hand. “Are you implying that my councilors are untrustworthy?”

  “Not at all.” Kadan gestured toward those at the table. “Only that I don’t know all those present, and I would rather you decide whether my words are for all ears.”

  “Your Grace,” Edark protested.

  “I have no objections,” Laris said, the agreeable woman nodding to the queen. “We shall await word.”

  “Thank you, Councilor.” Lelaine gestured for Kadan to take a seat. “Catling will remain, as will Colton. The rest of you are dismissed until the sixth bell.”

  When the councilors and scribes shuffled out, Catling wandered from the queen’s chair. She paced by the vacated seats, her bones too jittery to sit. For years, her vow to deliver Algar to his grave wrestled with her feelings for Kadan. The mystery of his reaction weighed on her heart no more. “I will slay Algar.”

  Kadan sank to a seat, his brow creased into a frown. “This is why I wished privacy. I didn’t intend it to be you, Catling. There are other influencers unknown to my uncle. You are too valuable to risk, your shield is irreplaceable, and you’re needed here at the queen’s side.”

  “Your assessment is correct,” Lelaine said. “However, she made it a condition of her oath to which I agreed. As much as it worries me, I shall be true to my word.”

  “Chava and Fontine are loyal influencers,” Catling assured her. “I’ve never caught them attempting to sway you. Colton is well versed at denying other influencers access. And I won’t be gone long.”

  “My uncle isn’t a fool,” Kadan warned her. “And his ruthlessness is no secret. He’ll see your rose eye and know exactly who you are. He already suspects that you possess a unique power.”