“Aren’t you frightened?”
“More than I care to be, yet there are times I’m numb to it. We all die sometime.”
“Would you influence me tonight?” Lelaine could command her, but the question evoked the intimacy of friendship she desired more than power. “I’d like you to make me happy on my bonding night. No fear or pain. I wish to feel joyous and in love. He might believe it and pity me.”
Catling frowned, the rose around her eye pinching as she wrinkled her brow. “It will last as long as I’m within sight. Once you’re alone with him…”
“I know.” Lelaine placed a hand on hers. “Would you?”
Catling nodded and Lelaine smiled. “I know it must be hard for you, Catling, but you’re blessed that Rose isn’t here. I don’t blame you for hiding her or deceiving me. I would have chosen the same.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she brushed them away. “I think I’m pregnant with Gannon’s child.”
“Oh, Lelaine.” Catling’s face softened. The unreadable resignation or emptiness, whatever muted her expression, melted into compassion. “Do you wish me to check?”
Lelaine’s head bent forward chin to her chest, and her tears fell as Catling held her hand. A gentle warmth traversed her arm and filled her body, calmed her distress and elicited a melancholy smile. She recognized the influenced relief, but she didn’t care.
“Lelaine,” Catling whispered, her voice a breath of tenderness. “It’s a boy.”
***
Lelaine smiled in Vianne’s mirror, delighted with the scarlet underdress and flowing jacket. The silk clung and swirled like water. Her hair fell in raucous ringlets, and she wore a circlet studded with precious coral the color of fire. Slightly large for her head, the circlet threatened to slide down over her eyes, a prospect loosing a giggle.
She recognized the incorrigible tug of influence and set her concern aside. She would bond, welcome a king and companion, rule at his side, and raise his children. Gannon would never know of his child. He would move on, live in the south, and find a sweet love of his own. Tull would be gracious and generous; she had little choice but to trust him.
“It’s time,” Catling said. She wore an ebony jacket, a high collar to hide the woads peeking from the back of her neck and shoulders. Her dark hair hung in a loose braid, ribboned in scarlet, a necessary token of submission to Cull Tarr rule.
“You look stunning, Catling.” Lelaine finished her third goblet of wine, kissed away Catling’s concern, and laughed. “All that dramatic black with the red rose of your eye. You will turn heads.”
“I’d rather blend in,” Catling said. “The Shiplord awaits you.”
“We best hurry then.”
Her chamber door opened. Tull stood in the corridor, facing her, hands clasped behind his back. His eyebrows rose, gray irises glinting with approval. “A queen rendered more beautiful by her smile.”
“You flatter me, Tull.” She beamed into the smoldering eyes, his presence commanding and back erect, far taller than she in her heelless slippers. He wore a scarlet shirt, the rest of him in black silk, thorn-coral loops in his ears and rings on his fingers.
He offered an arm and she accepted. She glided into the sunshine gracing the top tier and began the eternal parade down the spiral stairs, the breeze rippling her silk. Catling and Colton walked behind her, shipmasters and preachers leading and concluding the procession. Ellegeans and Cull Tarr crowded the tiers. They cheered with abandon and jingled shells and coins from scarlet ribbons. Perhaps they could live together. A new day of peace and prosperity might dawn throughout the realm, and all the fear and death would prove needless.
On her way down to the first tier, Lelaine noticed the four banners she’d commissioned for Tull’s visit the previous year. He’d expected this day would arrive and thought enough to bring them from Elan-Sia. They hung from the second tier’s lip, a stunning backdrop to the dais and its two chairs, a larger one beside a paltry, plainer version, her new seat of power.
“The banners!” she said with delight. “How thoughtful.”
Tull smiled at her and patted her hand. “Beauty for a beautiful queen.”
Gifts buried the steps to the dais. A few high wards smiled and clapped from the crowd, and she wondered if they had found Tull as considerate as she. The three doyen stood together, their smiles water thin since tendering their new oaths. She covered her giggle with her fingers. Someone needed to suggest they influence each other as their masks of approval were far from convincing.
Her councilors Oaron-Elan and Laris-Kar huddled together, tears staining their cheeks. She missed Fontine and questioned if the Cull Tarr had killed him. She smiled at her faithful advisors, her reassurance that all would be well.
Catling and Colton joined Kadan in the mass of people, the high ward nice enough to attend all the way from Mur-Vallis. Lelaine knelt beside Tull on the steps. The Cull Tarr preachers spoke about Founders’ Law and destiny, the Shiplord’s holy mission to spread the faith and create a just world through the Book of Protocols. The speeches were a blur that Lelaine didn’t follow. She hadn’t eaten, and the wine left her sleepy. Her body was warm and tickled with Catling’s contentment.
“Lelaine-Elan, Queen of Ellegeance.” The preacher stood over her. His red cape billowed in the breeze. “Do you accept Tull Airon, Shiplord of the Cull Tarr, Ruler of the Cull Sea, King of Ellegeance in an unbreakable bond?”
She blinked up at the scowling preacher. Peace rolled through her, and she nodded. “I do.”
Then the preacher lifted the circlet off her curls and placed it on Tull Airon’s dark head. And thus, he became king of Ellegeance.
And she became no one.
For the next three bells, she floated on the cushioned chair, her back straight, smiling like a lover, sipping wine, leaning near to accept kisses from her king. Music played lively Cull Tarr tunes and romantic sea ballads. The sun skimmed the distant trees, and the three moons lifted their full faces to the velvet vault of the sky, shining on the city, the gleaming swamp, and mysteries of the rising fog. Happiness swirled in her heart and lifted her spirits higher until she couldn’t imagine a lovelier night.
Servants offered trays of delicacies arranged in half shells that soothed the tumbling in her stomach. High wards bent a knee to Tull, promising cooperation and timely tithing, boasting about their tiers and fawning over his generosity.
Kadan dropped to a knee on the steps, a sweet smile for her that wrinkled the old arrow wound across the side of his face. He greeted his king. “My respects, Your Majesty.”
“Shiplord is sufficient,” Tull replied.
“Kadan-Mur, High Ward of Mur-Vallis.” Kadan rose and offered an inlaid wooden box to Tull. “A gift from my city.”
“How is Minessa?” Lelaine asked.
“Well, Your Grace.” He dipped his chin to Tull. “My bond mate, Minessa-Kar, is at home with child. She sends her greatest respects and heartfelt regrets, and she would accuse me of barbaric manners if I didn’t invite you to our home in the south. Our mild weather offers a perfect respite from the Summertide heat.”
Tull Airon leaned forward. “I understand you assassinated your uncle to take his place.”
“I ended his life.” Kadan’s eyes darkened. “However, I assure you, Tull Airon, not to assume his place. He undermined the queen and incited rebellion among the tiers.”
“Ah.” Tull sat back. “So you believe death is an appropriate penalty for treasonous acts?”
Kadan glanced at Lelaine, and she raised her goblet to him. He faced the king. “I do. I’ve read the Protocols, and for internal guild matters, we’ve already initiated the vote in Mur-Vallis. There’s no reason for citizens to take up arms.”
Tull pressed his palms together and pointed with both hands at Kadan. “An ingenious man, Kadan-Mur. You know exactly what to say, no?”
“I read the Book after the Tiers’ Rebellion. It seemed a wise choice. I expected to learn from it, and I did. Though, my lord, I’m ha
rdly a master of the laws.”
“All laws require interpretation, yes?”
“I wholeheartedly agree.”
Tull opened the wooden box and smiled at the pair of firestone rings nestled in scarlet silk and sparkling in the lantern light. He extracted the larger one and slid it onto his finger, removed the smaller and gestured for Lelaine’s hand. With her ring in place, he lifted her chin for a kiss.
Two more bells chimed before Tull stood and offered his hand. “My queen and I retire.”
Lelaine laughed, giddy with too much drink and influence, her jaw fatigued from ceaseless smiling. She clasped her king’s hand. Catling glided toward her, and Lelaine waved her off. “Stay with Kadan; enjoy your evening.”
“But, Your Grace…”
“I understand. I know what to do.”
“Are you certain?” Catling pressed her lips between her teeth.
“You can’t follow me everywhere.” Lelaine leaned over to kiss her friend’s cheek. “Thank you, Catling. For everything.”
“Lelaine—”
“My queen.” Tull offered his arm and she accepted, giving Catling a wink to counter the king’s cold stare. They departed to their subjects’ cheers and started up the spiral steps to the second tier still in view of the crowd. Colton walked behind her, silent as a ghost, surrounded by Cull Tarr jacks. They headed toward the next staircase out of sight of the celebration.
Beyond Catling’s sway.
Lelaine stumbled and clung to the Shiplord’s arm, or she would have fallen. He raised an eyebrow, and they started up to the third tier. The reality of her situation gripped her stomach and stole her breath. She labored up each step as if she lugged the world behind her. The Shiplord dragged her up the stairs, her feet drunk and stumbling, tears streaking her face. The happiness that had filled her sloughed from her heart like a snake’s skin. He’d stolen her lover, her city, her realm and crown, even her chair. He’d hollowed out the essential core of her life, her identity. The smiles and kisses suddenly sickened her. She leaned forward and vomited, splattering her shoes and underdress, his boots and cloak.
Colton crouched beside her. “Lelaine? Let me help.” He took her other arm and the two men helped her to the fourth tier. “Shiplord, you must take the lift. She can’t walk the stairs.”
The Shiplord gestured to his jacks. The nearest rounded on Colton and stabbed him in the side, driving the blade up under his ribs. He thrust again. Lelaine’s mouth gaped, a silent gasp filling her with horror. Colton reared, throwing back an elbow as another man’s blade rammed to the hilt into his belly. He reeled, taking a knife to his throat. Lelaine screamed as his blood pulsed, and the Shiplord pulled her away from the gore. She wrenched out of his grip and edged backward, her hands up in an invisible barricade. “Why?” she screamed. “Why do it? Why?” The sound repeated, shrill in her ears; she couldn’t stop screaming, “Why?”
He faced her. “Because no one gives orders to Tull Airon.”
Colton lay on the tier. His fingers twitched and blood pooled around him. Lelaine stared, breathless, her mouth gaping. Life ended so suddenly, in moments, without farewells or second chances, while all around her, the world rolled on without a care. None of their dreams or plans or lives mattered in the grand arc of time. Love made no difference.
Her sense of meaning collapsed, the demands on her heart harsh and unforgiving, too much to bear. She’d fallen into Founder’s Hell, a bleak and bottomless well with no escape… but one. In a strange and stunning moment of clarity, she grasped the one choice left her and backed away. Silent. Calm. She knew what to do. Had known since she first glimpsed Gannon’s battered body.
“Don’t,” Airon warned.
She spun and sprinted away from him, away from the Cull Tarr, away from her life.
“Lelaine!”
Her toes touched the tier’s lip as she flew toward the opalescent moons, hand lifted as if she might caress its tender face. She closed her eyes, felt her body break on the rim of the tier below, and sail into the endless star-strewn space of night.
Chapter Nine
Catling heard screams. Music fluttered into silence and voices hushed, all eyes raised. Then a billowing flame of scarlet leapt into the vast vault of the night sky like a banner blown loose after set ablaze. Legs and arms and golden hair transformed the windswept fire into a woman. She hit the rail of the tier above, folded like a boneless doll before she shuddered, slid off, and landed before the dais with a crack.
For a heartbeat, the celebration froze, every participant cast in bronze. The queen lay on the tier floor at the doyen’s feet in a widening halo of blood, and they gaped no less than the preachers. The spell ruptured with the first scream. Every witness burst to life. Panicked Ellegeans bolted and jostled for the stairs and lifts. The doyen did nothing, forbidden from influencing without their ruler’s permission. The Shiplord appeared on the lip of the fourth tier, a fathomless depth of fury searing his face as he searched the crowd.
Matching his rage, Catling glared at him. Bile burned the back of her throat, uncooled by the threat of tears. Kadan grabbed her arm and pulled her to the second-tier’s shadow. “You have to leave the city, Catling.” Ellegeans shoved and scurried deeper into the interior.
“I know.” Yet she resisted, duty to Lelaine impeding her flight. “They killed Colton; I’m certain of it. I need to free Gannon or he’s next.”
“You don’t know whether he’s alive.” Kadan pulled her into the fleeing mob. “We don’t even know where he is. Catling, I’d swear the Shiplord was searching for you.”
“He’s near the barracks, second tier.” She twisted her arm from his grip as a flush of tears fought for control. “Gannon saved me; he helped Whitt, and Lelaine loved him. I can’t leave him.”
“Then I’m with you,” Kadan said. “We’re influencers. The two of us will be twice as fast, twice as effective.”
“Oathbreakers’ guild,” she whispered, and when he nodded, she swallowed her grief and took off at a sprint for the west staircase. She pulled the ribbon from her braid and shook out her hair in an effort to conceal her eye. Shielding Kadan, she flung new bouts of fear into those they crossed. Anarchy served her, anything to impair the Cull Tarr’s struggle to quell unrest. Her hair cloaking her face, she tucked behind a fleeing family as they skirted three Cull Tarr jacks.
She swung onto the ramp and bounded up after Kadan. At the top of the incline, she slowed to a hurried walk and leaned into him, her voice a whisper, “If we must, we touch their skin and kill them.” He responded with silence, a tacit willingness to murder.
Deep under the tier, she shielded him, and once again filled the air with terror, clearing it of Ellegeans. She tipped her head toward a long building with four armed jacks at the door. More than she expected on coronation night, but it didn’t matter. “I’ll take the left.”
She increased her stride, calling out to them in feigned alarm. “The city’s in turmoil. Are we supposed to leave? Where are we to go?” She glanced over her shoulder at Kadan, her rose eye turned away. Even if they knew the answer, the men didn’t bother to reply. She shied in, shifting to a less confrontational angle, her approach uncertain. “Can we wait here until the tiers calm?”
“By the wall,” a man offered. She rolled into place beside him. Kadan walked by the others to join her. He reached out with both hands. Catling clutched the wrist of her nearest prey and blew a hole in his heart as she lunged for her second target. Kadan’s victims tumbled into the last man, shoving him toward her. She pressed a palm to his forehead and ruptured his brain without a second thought.
Kadan opened the door. “Find Gannon. I’ll handle the bodies.” Catling stepped inside. Two Ellegean tier guards stood up from a table, their eyes stark with terror. Catling paused. Tier guards minding the cells? She switched her influence to love and a blend that augmented her authority. “The Shiplord murdered our queen. We’re rescuing Gannon and leaving Elan-Sia. Help Kadan and come with us.” She sa
ted them with a sense of heroism, blended devotion with a dusting of fear and joy that merged into excitement.
They leapt into action and dragged the bodies into the barracks while she darted down the aisle between the cells, tapping panels and sliding doors. She found three guardians, opened another cell and discovered Commander Jagur and Sergeant Tavor.
“Catling?” Jagur scrambled to his feet. A guardian sidled in behind her and helped Tavor up. The warrior’s bruises had faded to yellow, yet something inside him exacted a bitter toll. She didn’t need her influence to see the fever flushing his face. She touched his hand and bolstered his healing reserves, no time for a deeper repair.
“We’re leaving,” she said. “Where’s Gannon?”
“I have him,” Kadan replied, and she swung into the aisle. Kadan and a city guard held Gannon slung between them, his arms draped over their shoulders, head hanging. Kadan jerked his head toward the door. “My ferry’s tied up at the south piers, and you’re welcome to it, but you’ll have to hurry.”
“What about you?” She turned on him, rash stubbornness the last thing she expected and the least helpful.
“I’m staying in Ava-Grea. Tonight changed everything.”
She clamped her teeth shut, the argument forced to wait. “Heal Gannon as we go.” She faced the Commander. “I’ll influence, but the Cull Tarr are immune to my power. You have to get us to the piers.”
“Lelaine?” Gannon rasped. “We can’t leave without her.”
Catling shot Kadan a glance. “Lelaine awaits us at the ferry. We need to hurry.”
“Weapons,” Jagur ordered, and his men stripped the four Cull Tarr jacks of their knives. One guardian smashed a chair and handed out the legs to use as clubs. Jagur hit the door’s panel. “Straight through the tier. Deadly force.”
Kari's Reckoning (The Rose Shield Book 4) Page 6
