Farlanders' Law (The Rose Shield Book 3) Read online

  “My influencers and I shall be traveling to Ava-Grea for the Influencer’s conclave,” Lelaine said, capturing Catling’s attention. “They, apparently, are not exempt, and I have concerns regarding the doyen’s interest in restructuring as a result of the strife in the tiers. The conclave meets on Brightest Night. Oaron, please arrange for us to arrive two days in advance.”

  Oaron bowed and the scribes scribbled.

  From a small flask, Kest poured himself a goblet of purified water, free of luminescence. “If it’s agreeable to you, Your Grace, might I accompany you? I plan to convene with my counterpart in Ava-Grea.”

  Lelaine raised an eyebrow. “I shall allow it. However, your influencer will remain here.”

  “You are generous, as always,” he replied.

  Catling glanced at the ambassador’s influencer, a woman who couldn’t have smiled any wider.

  “You are dismissed,” Lelaine said, indicating everyone with the exception of Catling. Colton remained at his post, the handsome guard a fixture in any room the queen occupied.

  Papers rustled and chairs slid back, layering over the casual conversation as the chamber’s occupants prepared to depart. Gannon entered, swinging a child forward with each step, the chubby baby feet slapping the stone floor, Rose’s perfectly round face was pool-eyed, her rosebud lips puckered for a perfect kiss. He emitted a sound similar to “whoop-de-wee” with each step, and Catling grinned at their joyfulness, genuine delight perfuming the air.

  She bent to catch her daughter as Gannon’s last swing lifted her into the air. “Well, greetings, Rosie. That looked like a merry game.” The little girl snuggled against Catling’s chest, curls tickling her chin.

  “I’m exhausted.” Gannon drooped into a chair near Lelaine. “Entertaining a small woman is almost as much work as entertaining a large one.”

  “Large?” Lelaine raised an eyebrow.

  “Perfectly-sized,” Gannon corrected himself, “and not soaked in drool.”

  “It’s the teeth,” Catling explained. “All babies drool.”

  “A blessing that they’re cute.” He poured himself a few fingers of wine and refilled the queen’s goblet. “What was the decision on the Far Wolds?”

  Catling pulled out a chair and sat, bouncing Rose on her knees, listening for anything she’d missed while preoccupied with her boredom.

  “No decisions,” Lelaine informed him. “I intend to discuss the matter with the doyen in Ava-Grea. Influencers will provide reports from the settlements, and we’ll see how their stories differ from Guardian’s.” She glanced at Catling. “Don’t believe for a moment that I take Jagur’s or Whitt’s advice for granted. I don’t. But I’d prefer we handle this whole affair with influencers and avoid warfare. I’m hopeful the doyen learned their lessons in the Tiers’ Rebellion. I’m most certain Vianne did.”

  The queen’s point was reasonable. Vianne had witnessed the appalling outcome of influence employed in battle and almost forfeited her life. She wished the guild’s vows reordered granting the doyen greater sway over initiates. Such a change bore its share of complications, however, and Catling suspected it would bubble up as a heated topic of discussion.

  When Rose wriggled, Catling lowered her to the floor. Most of the time, her daughter could sit without toppling, and Catling used her feet and legs as braces to prop her up. She dangled the pylon key she wore around her neck, and the end went straight into Rose’s mouth for a chew.

  Lelaine patted Gannon’s hand, her golden ringlets framing her face. “Now, I must speak privately with Catling. I shall expect you in my chambers for dinner, wine, and moonlight.”

  “I would be foolish to disappoint you.” Gannon leapt to his feet, bowed, and kissed her hand, leering at her from beneath his dark curls.

  The intimacy of their relationship hadn’t escaped Catling’s notice. She doubted it was a secret to anyone in the household and wondered if the queen would finally produce an heir, a topic of considerable discussion and speculation. “Shall I take Rosebud?” Gannon asked.

  “I haven’t seen her all day.” Catling picked the girl up.

  “She can stay,” Lelaine said, dismissing him. “She’s the topic of discussion after all.”

  Gannon’s gaze flickered to Catling. He gave her a nod, smiled at the queen, and left the room. Lelaine finished her wine, and Colton poured her another before returning to his station, the man invisible and privy to most of the queen’s private conversations. If he held an opinion regarding the queen’s affections, he guarded it well.

  “There is something we must discuss, Catling.” Lelaine softened her voice. “It’s a subject that pains me. It has weighed on my mind, and I’ve put it off. Too long perhaps, but that’s a choice I cannot undo.”

  “What is it?” Catling hugged her daughter, Lelaine’s tone and carefully chosen words rippling up her spine.

  “Trust me when I express how difficult this is.”

  “Just tell me, Lelaine.”

  The queen inhaled and blew out a sigh. “I will not demand this of you, Catling, for it would destroy all trust between us if I did, but I strongly counsel you to give away your child.”

  The words filtered through Catling’s consciousness like water through clay. When they finally soaked in, Catling bolted up from her seat, clutching Rose to her shoulder. “Why?” She glanced at Colton, the guard refusing to meet her eyes. “Why, Lelaine? Why would you even suggest such a thing? I haven’t given you one reason. I’ve fulfilled every one of your requests.”

  “I’m not a monster, Catling,” the queen snapped and paused to regain control of her emotions. “Have you ever considered the danger she presents, the risk she exposes us to? They can manipulate us, wield her as a pawn in a game of power, no different than you were. There are people who would threaten her life to sway you, to coerce you into choices that would imperil the realm.”

  “That would imperil you,” Catling spat.

  “Of course,” Lelaine shot back, and then lowered her voice. “All of us. You are formidable, Catling. More powerful than I, than the doyen, than the tier wards and Shiplord, and you must acknowledge that to control you is to control the realm. I counsel you, not command you. You must consider my warning carefully while she’s young and capable of bonding with others. Imagine Rose in a safe home with brothers and sisters, learning a trade and having a family of her own, removed from all this intrigue.”

  Catling’s head spun, and she held Rose with trembling hands, her thoughts so entangled with her heart that she couldn’t think. Rose began to squirm and cry, and Catling rocked her, kissing the little head and easing her fear with a touch of influence. The baby smiled and the love Catling showered on her, returned in a reflected wave.

  Influence!

  Catling gasped, her emotions caught in a maelstrom of love, anger, and terror. Another swell of love bloomed in her heart, and she shielded herself, grasping for control over her own feelings. She pulled them into her chest and breathed. “I will keep her safe. I possess the power, Lelaine. My mother sold me, and I never forgave her. I refuse to abandon my daughter. I love her. I would die for her.”

  The queen lifted her chin, her jaw set. “And, I’ve no doubt you would sacrifice me as well.”

  ***

  Gannon lay on the snowy linen, a rumpled sheet arranged across the middle of his body, his chest and legs exposed to the night breeze. The twentieth tier’s tall windows stood open, sheer drapes billowing like smoke. He watched Lelaine where she stood by a tall serving table, her bare skin flawless and pale as porcelain. She tousled her blond ringlets with her fingers, and her tresses tumbled to the middle of her back. She poured herself a goblet of wine.

  “I wish you would drink less,” he said.

  “Anything for you, love.” She turned to face him, the goblet hanging from her fingers. “I shall give up water, starting tomorrow.”

  “Your veins run with wine.”

  “And yours with righteousness.”

 
Her remark pulled an impressed smile from him, the subject broached, enough for one day. “Come back to bed.” He lifted the sheet inviting her in, but she sat on the soft edge and sipped her wine, her forehead creased in thought. The sheet floated to the bed, and he crooked an elbow, propping his head on his fist. “I told you she wouldn’t agree. What mother would? I rephrase that—what loving mother?”

  “She assumes my motives are selfish, and in some regards, they are, but not entirely, Gannon. I also considered her and the child.”

  “You could let them leave,” he reminded her. “Send them to Whitt, to Guardian or wherever he is.”

  “I have a realm to rule, thousands of Ellegean lives to think of. As long as there are influencers running amok, I need her; Ellegeance requires her talents. She’s vital and as trapped in this as I. So little has improved since the Tiers’ Rebellion. Influencers resist any attempts to curb their power. The Shiplord sniffs up my underdress, and now, this trouble in the Far Wolds. I wouldn’t doubt that Kest flies a bird the moment our warriors march south.”

  “Jagur’s recommendation is for five hundred men, not his entire force.”

  “Doesn’t that seem excessive? Truly?”

  “Three cities,” Gannon rolled to his back and stretched. “Plus thousands of Farlanders.”

  Lelaine burped and pounded her chest with a fist. “What do I do about Rose?”

  “Nothing. Catling will never serve you if you force her hand.”

  “I could… maneuver… arrange something… an incident.”

  Gannon stared at her back, glad she didn’t witness the revulsion on his face. “No, Lelaine. It will happen on its own, naturally, or it won’t happen at all. Let it alone. Don’t even bring it up.”

  “Take the risk, then.” She sighed and silently sipped her wine.

  He tickled her hip with a finger until she deserted the goblet and climbed in with him, smiling, the worries fading from her face. The girl he loved reclined beside him, the cumbersome load of royal duty shed at the bed’s edge. “Have you ever considered running away with me? We could journey south where no one knows you. Leave the politics, intrigue, and scheming behind. We could carve out a corner of the realm where we raise babies and chickens.”

  “Chickens?” She laughed, her eyes bright. “Oh, Gannon. There’s no hiding from the world, even less so for me than there is for Catling. How can I expect sacrifices of others and not of myself?”

  “Then let’s bond. We can live together here, officially, and your suitors can tuck their ambition in their trousers and raise sons for our many daughters.”

  “I can’t, Gannon.” Her palm cupped his cheek.

  “Political expediency.” He frowned. “Everything is politics with you, Lelaine. Always, even now. You believe you lead Kest on a leash, but your Cull Tarr shadow wheedles himself into every conversation as if he’s your closest advisor. The Shiplord has an ear in your council chambers. You might as well tender him an offer.”

  “Stop, Gannon. You’re being petulant. You know I’m humoring the Cull Tarr.”

  “You don’t know them, Lelaine. I do. I spent a year on a Cull Tarr ship, remember? They don’t think as we do; their law is the vote, and the vote changes everything, all the time. At least here, we live by standards. We form agreements that last for more than a day, most of the time, anyway. The Cull Tarr crave Ellegeance, and all they need to do is vote to seize it. They probably already have.”

  Lelaine looked at him as if his words were fashioned of air, drifting with the breeze over her head and floating away. She’d stopped listening at the chickens. Her eyes sharpened on him when she finally noticed he’d stopped speaking, and she smiled. “No more politics in bed, my love. We have better things to do.”

  He sighed and let his worries dwindle, willing to lose himself in her soft curves. Whatever else he planned to say could wait.

  Chapter Six

  Vianne tatted her lace in the doyen’s elegant meeting chambers, the windows open to the potted garden of terran cherry trees and native lissom. Peach-hued roses and clusters of star-lilies grew alongside the numerous fountains on Ava-Grea’s twelfth tier. The swamp’s smell scarcely reached the city’s peak.

  Her fingers flew through the delicate knots and twists of silk, the activity a useful distraction and soothing her irritation with the other doyen. “If any of you had endured the insanity in Nor-Bis, this conversation would be wholly unnecessary.”

  Dalcoran sat in a stiff-backed chair like a doll with wooden joints, the pain of his illness returned in full force since Minessa left for Mur-Vallis with Kadan, the notorious tier city’s latest high ward. His predecessor’s cruelty had been another, albeit weaker, justification for reform.

  “I appreciate your concerns.” Dalcoran massaged his fingers. “But your suggestion isn’t free of complications and temptations.”

  “Reordering our vows is unheard of,” Brenna said, the middle-life woman inflexible about guild rules to the point of fossilization. She held a goblet of fresh lissom juice in one plump hand and a honeyed pastry in the other.

  Vianne huffed at them and peered at Neven-Kar, the most recent doyen to join their ranks, Minessa’s recommendation prior to her departure. “Unheard of merely because we haven’t before considered it, not because we shouldn’t. We are the guild’s doyen, selected for our wisdom and guidance, not blocks of clay incapable of reason.”

  Neven leaned forward, his wrinkled brow compounding the creases between his eyebrows. “Forgive my tardiness to the conversation. May I ask for clarification? You propose a vow to the guild as primary and to Ellegeance as secondary?”

  “Yes,” Vianne said. “An oath to Ellegeance is subject to broad interpretation, which high wards and influencers bend to their wishes.”

  “Or simply misconstrue,” Neven said, “based on their points of view.”

  “Of course.” Vianne nodded. “It isn’t always self-serving or devious in design. During the Tiers’ Rebellion, all parties claimed their actions were in Ellegeance’s best interest, their intentions pure. Our influencers wittingly or unwittingly partook in a war against their neighbors and the stability of the realm. Hundreds of our citizens died, and influence, regrettably, played a large part.”

  “You reported that Sianna-Bes ordered her guards to kill you.”

  “Yes, and I’m alive because an influencer interpreted her vows to Ellegeance differently than those who created havoc around her.” She fingered the lace in her lap. “The point is that had our influencers been beholden first to the guild, we might have prevented the war, saved lives, and ensured the peace.”

  “The queen will resist,” Dalcoran said. “She didn’t care for the oath to Ellegeance over fidelity to her. She already complains that we overreach with our power and interpret our vows to serve our guild. This will prove far worse in her eyes.”

  Brenna sipped her lissom juice. “A year ago, Vianne, you argued to bestow the queen with greater control, not less.”

  “An opinion I haven’t altered. If the four of us continue in our commitment to Ellegeance and act for the realm’s benefit, there should be no difference to the queen. If our influencers swear oaths to us, our ability to prevent disruptions should increase. We’d have the authority to intercept those plans deemed narrow-sighted and adverse to our goals.”

  “The danger, then”—Neven threaded his fingers—“is that we may assume rule of the realm without restraint.”

  “Not if we are faithful and honorable and our vow to the guild and each other stands firm.” She shut her mouth and breathed a sigh, her focus returning to her work.

  “Are we to be trusted?” Neven asked, his white eyebrows arched.

  In response, Dalcoran’s eyes settled on Vianne, and a flush heated her cheeks. He could argue, easily and justifiably, that she had been unfaithful and duplicitous in everything she’d done regarding Catling, but he possessed the decency not to air her past transgressions.

  Did he trust her? Did she tru
st him? Or Brenna? She didn’t know Neven well enough to judge, but the rest of them, including herself? They were all ambitious, all trying to implement their vision of the future, all for the realm’s advancement. She struggled to answer her questions in the positive with any assurance. “I hope so, or we are wading into deep waters.”

  “What of Catling’s oath?” Dalcoran asked. “Can we compel her to swear a primary oath to the guild, even to Ellegeance? I would support your realignment wholeheartedly if we reined in the queen’s shield.”

  “I would as well,” Brenna agreed.

  Neven refrained from commenting though they had informed him of Catling’s talents and position with Lelaine. Thus far, he seemed a fine selection for doyen, the man a talented mercy and careful about his conclusions if a bit too astute for Vianne’s liking.

  “The queen would never agree,” she said. “And Catling is an invaluable balance to our power; she keeps us honest.”

  “Are her powers unchanged?” Dalcoran asked.

  “Unchanged?” Vianne eyed him, the question confusing her.

  “She suffered a great burden of trauma,” he clarified. “She was addicted to godswell, and she birthed a child.”

  “As far as I know, her skill is unchanged.”

  “Would she lie?” Brenna asked.

  “No.” Vianne grimaced. “She is trustworthy.”

  “And the child?” Neven asked, undaunted by Vianne’s pique. “Has the child demonstrated any signs of influence or… shielding? Children of influencers may retain some mild residue of the parent's power.”

  Brenna perked up, her ears veritably twitching. “The child could be dangerous without training. This one absolutely must give her oath to the guild.”

  “She’s not a year old,” Vianne said, her annoyance undisguised. “I’m uninformed as to Catling's plans for her daughter.”