Farlanders' Law (The Rose Shield Book 3) Page 8

  “Our primary oath,” Vianne clarified, indicating the four doyen, “would remain as it is—to Ellegeance.”

  “Not to the queen,” Lelaine said, scanning their faces. “Without a wisp of self-reproach, you suggest the four of you rule Ellegeance.”

  “The doyen could swear their vows to you,” Gannon said.

  Catling’s eyes bulged, and this time, she thought the doyen would faint. Gannon raked a hand through his dark curls and buried his smile.

  Lelaine’s lips positively twitched. “An acceptable solution. Initiates swear their oaths to the guild’s doyen, the doyen swear oaths to the monarch whose vow is to Ellegeance.” She sipped her wine, clearly enjoying the stunned expressions on the gathered faces.

  Dalcoran broke the silence, “Despite the complications of the current arrangement, the goal has always been for a modest disbursement of power in the event a ruler requires… guidance.”

  “In the event a ruler becomes a tyrant or foolish,” Lelaine clarified, “or demented like my father.”

  “Any of the three,” Dalcoran conceded.

  “And you assume I teeter on the brink of any one of them.”

  “To the contrary,” Neven said. “The doyen speak highly of you.”

  “There must be a workable compromise,” Vianne insisted, lending credence to the proposal. Her support of Lelaine’s autonomy was no secret, and she bore the scars for her defiance. She faced Dalcoran, accepting his tacit condemnation. “Certainly we could define a means for reaching consensus should a monarch jeopardize the realm’s welfare, a meeting of minds between the doyen and royal advisors.”

  “I am agreeable to the stipulation.” Lelaine smiled sweetly despite the barbs in her blue eyes. “I suggest this conclave is the opportune time to reorder vows since your initiates are all present. Schedule the ceremony for two days hence. Brightest Night is perfectly auspicious.”

  Dalcoran bowed his head. “May we have until tomorrow to flesh out the vow and its exceptions?”

  “You may.”

  Catling couldn’t believe her ears. Gannon’s rigid restraint scarcely hid his excitement, and Kadan blinked at the queen as if a lash had fallen in his eye. The doyen stared at their goblets or brushed invisible lint from their clothing, the silence deafening.

  Lelaine sipped her wine serenely, her triumph tucked beneath a regal graciousness. “Going forward, I assume the influencers in our rogue tier cities will stand by our agreements and persuade the high wards toward compliance, with or without employing their talents. This will save lives in the tiers and warrens. I commend your wisdom.”

  “Our pleasure to serve the realm,” Neven replied.

  Kadan cleared his throat and addressed the queen, “The unrest in the tiers isn’t limited to influence, Your Grace. Cull Tarr preachers have an equally divisive presence, and in light of their immunity, influence borders on useless.”

  “The Cull Tarr sharpen their horns,” Lelaine said.

  “In Mur-Vallis, we’ve made progress in fulfilling our agreements, yet the preachers continue to pit the warrens against the tiers. They’ve convinced their followers that the Founders are the true gods. Humility and righteousness are acts of faith rewarded in the afterlife. With exceptions.”

  “And those are?” The queen waved to a servant for a refill of her wine.

  “Gannon may speak to this better than I,” Kadan said, “but in Mur-Vallis, the preachers also promise prosperity. The Founders reward obedience as defined through their holy messenger, the Shiplord. He demands tithing from his followers, which his preachers collect and disburse. Tier wards are on board, as part of the tithing rolls into their pockets. And guilds like it because they can bribe preachers into deciding matters their way. The greater the power, the greater the profit.”

  “Sounds about right.” Gannon crossed his arms. “On board The Wandering Swan we choked up a quarter of every copper. Without exception.”

  “The challenge,” Kadan continued, “is that conditions in the warrens don’t improve. They get worse. Cull Tarr converts tithe away their copper, expecting their lives to improve, while the converts in the tiers pay to keep things the same. The Cull Tarr evade responsibility for the chaos by assigning blame to non-believers, particularly the Farlanders with their ‘demonic’ magic. Anything remotely associated with influence is equally evil. Our difficulty swaying them is a sign of their holy purity.”

  “It’s the same in the north,” Vianne admitted.

  “The Cull Tarr aren’t Ellegeance’s only challenge,” Kadan said. “Mur-Vallis isn’t far from the southern territories. I hear frequent rumors that high wards in the settlements deny the Farlanders their rights, imprison them on a whim, and hang them without cause. Ellegeans block access to their homes, livelihoods, and fields. The clansmen who trade in Mur-Vallis report that some Ellegeans in Tor believe the oppression is illegal, but they number few and fear retaliation if they express their views.”

  He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I fear for Farlander safety in Mur-Vallis, and hanging Ellegeans for murdering them won’t improve relations. I’d incite a riot requiring influence to quell. That scenario is frighteningly familiar, Your Grace. I’d worry that every time I looked in my mirror, Algar would stare back at me.” He glanced up at the queen with a sheepish smile. “Forgive me my rant. It wasn’t my intention.”

  Lelaine sighed. “Aside from the hangings, your report mirrors the one I received from the commander. Perhaps I should summon Jagur to Elan-Sia and deal with this, especially now that the tiers are less of a headache.”

  “We might travel to Guardian,” Gannon said. “A visit from the queen would be meaningful.”

  Catling sucked in a breath at the prospect of seeing Whitt.

  “I urge you to assess the situation yourself,” Kadan said. “Consider Tor as well. A lesson in Ellegean law from their queen might—”

  Warning bells pealed through the open window. The door to the chamber slid open, and everyone stood. Colton blocked the entrance, exchanged quick words with the guardsmen, and gave them sharp orders. They pivoted and jogged from view, taking several sentries from the corridor with them. The other guards filed in.

  “What’s happened?” Vianne asked.

  Catling tested again for influence, her thoughts fleeing from the queen to her daughter. Her heart pounded in her ears; she needed to find Rose.

  “Colton?” the queen demanded.

  “Your Grace,” he replied, yet his gaze didn’t linger on Lelaine. The tall guard’s eyes shifted to Catling. “Chava and Mireld are dead. Rose is missing.”

  Chapter Ten

  Catling bolted for the door. Colton’s arm snapped out and hooked her. She wrenched against his grip. “Let me go. I have to find her.”

  “The bells will block the stairs and lift,” he said. “Let us handle it.”

  “Let me go!” Instinctively, she lashed out with a crippling twist of influence. He gasped and recoiled, dropping to a knee. She jolted back, shocked at her reaction, but unable to care. “I haven’t a choice.”

  “Kadan and I will go with her.” Gannon hoisted Colton up. “We could use a few guards.”

  Colton gestured to four guardsmen. “Go with them. My regrets, Catling, I must remain with the queen.”

  “I’m sorry.” She clutched his arm, panic fraying her control.

  “Forgiven. Now, go.”

  She darted into the corridor, time skewing and outpacing her hope. The others followed her out. “Where are they?”

  “Your chambers,” a guard said, beckoning as he loped down the hallway and into the potted garden. Catling ran beside him toward the guest quarters, unable to breathe. A bar propped open the exterior door, and she pressed forward, her eyes briefly blinded by the altered light. A small crowd of servants hovered farther down the hall, a distance from the spattered blood staining the wall. She halted in her doorway, fighting for air, her body trembling. What she witnessed couldn’t be real, could it? Chava lay
in a slick of blood against the wall, and Mireld’s body hung half off the bed, her mouth gaping.

  Gannon pushed ahead of her. “Stay with Kadan.” He bent over Mireld, fingers to her neck.

  “We saw the blood on the wall,” the guard said. “The door was ajar and no one answered.”

  “Chava’s an influencer,” Catling whispered, trying to make sense of the insensible.

  “They must have known it.” Gannon glanced up from her body. “They stabbed her before she could interfere.”

  “Or they were immune,” Kadan said.

  “Cull Tarr?” Gannon started for the door.

  “Why?” Catling cried. “Why all this for a baby?”

  A soft call from the corridor turned her head. Minessa slid along the wall, a hand holding her side, her teal jacket slick with blood. “Kadan?”

  “Nessa!” Catling reeled, her hands to her mouth. Kadan leapt around her and caught his mate as her knees buckled. He lowered her to the floor.

  “Get me a healer, a mercy!” he shouted to the guards. He pressed on her wound, his hands shaking and slippery with blood. “Bring the doyen. Now!”

  “They took Rose.” Minessa winced, her eyes welling. “Two men.”

  Catling’s grief exploded out of her, layers of shock overlapping. She sagged to her knees and clutched her friend’s fingers, flooding the wound with useless emotion. Frantic, she focused, bringing her mercy skills to bear and mending flesh. She bolstered Kadan’s efforts and the bleeding began to ebb.

  “The doyen are on their way,” Gannon said from the door.

  Catling raised her eyes to Kadan, longing to stay until help arrived, yet she didn’t dare let another moment pass. “I need to find my daughter,” she said, pleading for release.

  “I’ve got it,” he whispered. “Find Rose.”

  Gannon pulled Catling to her feet. She dashed with him into the garden, skirting Vianne and Neven as they ran into the guest quarters. Guards swarmed the pathways and organized groups of servants to search the buildings.

  Overwhelmed and helpless, Catling pivoted in circles. She didn’t know where to begin. Rose was missing, her minder dead. Someone had murdered an influencer and stabbed another in the guild’s home city, on the secure eleventh tier where the queen and her entourage resided.

  “How could this happen?” She frowned at Gannon and the guardsmen Colton had assigned to her. “How could two men move freely on the queen’s tier? How did they know where to find Rose? The possibility that someone familiar with the tier and city abetted a murder and kidnapping unleashed another wave of panic.

  “We’ll find them,” a guardsman assured her. “They didn’t think it through. They’re trapped on the top tiers.”

  “The pylons,” Gannon said. “What if they know about the pylons?”

  Catling ran, pulling out the key she kept on a ribbon around her neck. Gannon pounded on her heels. Only three of the eight pylons supported the top tiers, the closest at the garden’s edge. She darted past the fountain where she’d played with Rose. The twelfth tier’s lip extended above the pylon’s alcove, casting it in shadow.

  Pain streaked up her legs, sucking her breath from her lungs. She stumbled and slammed to her hands and knees. Gannon rolled behind her, and the guards shouted. White-hot brands seared her bones, and she screamed. She slapped her shield into place but couldn’t shield herself and her companions. Scrambling to her feet, she lunged for the alcove and shifted her shield to the suffering men.

  The shadows engulfed her and hands grabbed her. She gasped, clutching at the arm that held her, danger roaring in her head. Without thinking, she sent influence to her hands, death blasting through her fingers into the flesh of her assailant. The hold on her released and the body slumped.

  A second man backed into the shadow. She reached for him, bent on his death.

  “Your daughter,” he warned her, the menace unmistakable. “You want to save her life?”

  Catling stopped, her hand suspended over his arm. He wore a short cloak in the style of the south, his attire a motley palette of grays, all but a short beard hidden beneath his hood. Beyond the alcove, an influencer wreaked havoc. Gannon cursed and guards shouted; anyone venturing near suffered. “How?”

  “In here.” He opened the door to the pylon, and without hesitation, Catling stepped into the hollow space. The ramp along the interior wall spiraled one tier upward and descended out of sight, deep into planet’s crust, down to Founders’ Hell. Tubes of luminescence rising through the center cast the space in a soft glow. A quarter-turn down a thin man stood at the rail, holding Rose above the bottomless chasm.

  Rose wriggled and whimpered, and at the sight of Catling, she loosed a wail, her body stiff and back arching. Catling gasped as the man struggled to hold her, and she sent a blanket of influence over her child, quieting her.

  The man from the alcove dragged his dead companion to the gray walkway and pulled the door shut, locking it behind him. He rolled the body off the landing, and it plummeted. She listened for the thud and heard only silence.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Walk.” A knife glinted behind her.

  “Hand me my daughter. Let me hold her.”

  The man below her started down, ignoring her and carrying Rose against his chest, the request denied. Catling followed, dosing Rose and the men with love. Rose yawned, calm in the stranger’s arms. The men seemed unaffected, or if they felt the love she plied them with, it meant nothing to them. She’d killed one of them with influence. If they were Cull Tarr, she’d just discovered they weren’t immune to the touch of death.

  “Where are you taking us?” she asked.

  “Faster,” the man behind her breathed in her ear.

  She quickened her pace. The risks inside the pylon juddered up her legs, and she didn’t dare fight or resist or do anything that might place Rose in peril. At any moment, she expected to hear pounding boots above her or below her. The possibility of an attempted and failed rescue reeled through her consciousness. She would need wings to save her daughter if the man let her fall.

  A gentle tickle of love brushed her, and she blinked at the sensation. Rose’s little face looked up from below, her daughter comforting her. Catling smiled and sent her love pulsing softly in return.

  The only steps drumming through the pylon were her own and those of her captors. She counted the doors. The man carrying Rose neared the portal to the first tier and the Summertide markets. The wide promenade would be crowded with vendors and hawkers, shoppers and idlers. There would be guards everywhere. They’d step from the pylon, and the nightmare would end.

  He continued down past the door.

  “You’ve gone too far,” she said, though she knew where they headed. Years ago, when she’d hidden from the doyen, waterdragons had dragged her beneath the tiers to a boat lashed to a pylon door.

  “We’re going to the north piers,” the man behind her said. “You get us there or your baby drowns.”

  At the next landing, the man with her daughter paused, and the one behind her issued instructions, “Hold the baby over the rail until I’m around. If she touches me, drop her.”

  “I won’t touch you.” Catling pressed her back flat to the wall. The man shuffled past her and opened the door. The luminescent river sloshed, light dappling the pylon’s interior. He hauled on a rope and held the boat steady as his companion climbed in with Rose. Catling went next, stepping into the rocking craft.

  When the three were seated, the man released his grip on the door, and the current swept the boat north. The first tier’s floor formed a ceiling twenty feet above them. A kaleidoscope of light played on every surface, the watery underworld mottled by the brilliant river. A lone waterdragon careened by, and scales flickered as a cloud of fish darted in its wake.

  They’d scarcely left the pylon when the boat thumped on the inside edge of the wide dock encircling the city. Busier than the marketplace sprawling across the first tier, riverside com
merce drew swarms of people. Passengers and porters jostled their way along the piers, rafters and traders sold goods directly from their crafts, fisherfolk unloaded their catches, and cargo changed hands amidst mending and repairs. Twitchers lolled by the ramps, begging for copper.

  Catling climbed from the boat onto the dock and emerged into the sunlight from behind a stack of crates. She scanned the dock for guards and failed to find one. Her bearded captor smiled. “They’re guarding the ramps.” He hurried her along with a flick of his knife. She plodded after the other man, her desperation breaking through her skin like a fever.

  “Catling!” Jafe bounded toward her, the rafter’s hair and spotted skin slathered with mud, his grin wide beneath his jade eyes. “Catling!”

  The man with Rose stepped to the dock’s edge, his warning clear. The one behind her whispered, “Remember your child.”

  Catling’s gaze swept the piers behind the tall rafter and found Leena sitting on a raft, a child on her lap. Raker leaned on a piling, eyepatch covering his ruined eye, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Jafe lope toward her. She hit the black-haired rafter with a shot of love followed by a nudge of fear, mistrust, and pain, then love again, the message jerking him upright.

  She smiled at Jafe as he lumbered up to her. “It’s wonderful to see you, Jafe, but I can’t linger.”

  The rafter’s lip quirked. “Ellegeans are too busy for old friends.”

  Her smile plastered to her face, she gave him a taste of her fear. “My baby needs me.”

  Jafe looked over her shoulder at Rose and gestured toward the pier. “Leena has one.”

  “We have to go,” her bearded captor urged her onward. “Our regrets.”

  Catling turned without bidding farewell and shuffled down the dock. The man with Rose veered onto a pier. At the planking’s end, a ferry thumped against the fenders, its crew idling and ready to go once their passengers boarded. Two hulking jacks, one with a scarlet kerchief, observed their approach, and her suspicion that her assailants were Cull Tarr vanished.

  Leena drifted on her raft, lazily skirting the pier’s ends. Catling didn’t see Raker or Jafe and didn’t attempt to find them, her eyes on Rose. When she reached the pier’s end and the ferry, she faced the bearded man with the knife. “Give me my child. I did as you asked.”