The jack studied him and fingered a sore on his cheek. “Which one?”
“Portly fellow,” Kadan replied.
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“I made the exception worth his while.”
The sore on the man’s face began to bleed. He wiped it on his sleeve and faced Linc. “Who are you?”
Linc cleared his throat. “Ambassador Falco Linc.”
“Our host,” Vianne added with a haughty smile. “Here to ensure the Shiplord’s guests receive courteous treatment.”
The jack rose and gestured to another man to follow. “This way. There aren’t too many left.”
Vianne trailed them through a sliding door, her hands shaking with nervous anticipation. The jailors had fitted the room with two rows of four wooden cells each, their appearance out of place between the gray Founder-made walls. The smell intensified, and she held her hand to her nose.
“Pick one and we’ll talk price.” The jack aimed a thumb down the aisle.
Vianne walked ahead, peering through the cell’s black slats. Most held a handful of men or women, riverfolk by their attire. Perhaps a few sorry souls hailed from the tiers, their bodies better dressed though equally filthy.
Her heart began to sink as she reached the aisle’s end and worked her way down the other side. She almost missed him. He sat against the back wall, legs drawn up and forearms propped on his knees. His head hung on his chest, wild hair and beard hiding his face. He looked thinner than the brawny bear she loved. “This one.”
The jack peered through the bars as Jagur glanced up. “That one’s not going anywhere.”
“How much?” Kadan asked.
“Not for sale.” The man fingered the crusting spot of blood on his cheek. “Shiplord’s keeping him.”
“How much?” Kadan repeated. “Silver? A brand new gold? He balanced a glimmering yellow coin between his fingers.
The jack paused and shook his head. “Shiplord decides.”
Vianne stepped back and grabbed Linc’s hand. The ambassador flinched. He slid his fingers from her grip and strode toward the cell. “Name your price. I’ll explain the choice to the Shiplord.”
“Better you than me.” The man opened a palm to Kadan, a dare in his eyes. “Four whole golds.”
Kadan counted out the shiny payment. “Six if you hurry.”
The tension in Vianne’s shoulders eased as the Cull Tarr jailor bolted into action and fumbled for the cell’s key, the fortune too rich to second guess. Jagur climbed to his feet and braced himself against the rear wall.
She held his eyes, seeking a reprieve in the dark irises. Everything in her life had collapsed, all her wishes for her realm and its people crumbled, her queen dead, and guild dying. She’d become an oathbreaker, aloof to the law and ethics of kindness. She’d betrayed those who relied on her, killed a mother in order to torture and enslave a child. He was the one person she hadn’t betrayed, the last soul on the planet who might believe her redeemable.
Without a doubt, shame played a role in her desire to undo her mistakes. Maybe she wallowed in fantasy, heaped on layers of imagination and wishful thinking, lending their relationship more meaning and intensity than he. Even so, it didn’t matter. She had no choice but to save him. Freeing this man, this one man who had loved her young heart was the first step in her atonement for all the havoc she’d wrought.
As the door swung open, Vianne stepped back. Jagur walked into the aisle, an obedient slave, and Kadan dropped the coins in the jailor’s hands. “We have an interest in another slave; six more gold coins.”
“Any one you want.” The accommodating jailor flashed a smile of crooked teeth.
“I know where there’s another,” Jagur said. “He’s not here.”
The jack pelted him in the face. “No one asked you.”
“Enough!” Vianne snapped stepping between them. “This man is no longer yours to abuse. Enjoy your gold as you won’t see another copper.” She clutched Jagur’s hand and marched from the barracks, holding back her tears at the warmth of his touch.
In the alley, she buried her face in his smelly chest, arms around him, flooding his veins with healing. She augmented her genuine feelings for him with influence, seeking to flood him with her love, relief, and joy, relishing the moment as if it alone could light the night sky.
“I’ve done appalling things, made horrible choices,” she whispered into his neck, “but loving you was never one of them.”
He kissed her forehead and gently pushed her back, his eyes brimming with questions that would need to wait. Even with her fleeting dose of influence, he stood straighter, some of his old vigor returned to his posture and a new focus infusing his face. “They sold Gannon to the Shiplord. Unless you brought an army, I don’t know how we’ll get him back.”
Catling smiled at him. “We are the army, Commander. The Shiplord has Rose. We’re rescuing them both.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Whitt stood beside Catling on the dock. They had descended the stairs on the city’s west side, evading the turmoil outside the fane. He didn’t ask her what she’d done to the preachers, but the eerie scene was imprinted on the back of his mind. A soulless life or living death? When had she become so callous, so hardened and willing to kill? With a shudder, he wiped away his judgment, his own emotions swayed toward slaughter.
Six of them now, they ducked into the shadows beneath the ramp where the twitchers lived before the Cull Tarr whisked them up and sold them for coppers. Kadan entered last and handed the commander a loaf of bread and a riverman’s trousers and shirt he’d purchased on the dock.
Jagur’s face had regained a hint of color, but his strength lagged. He stripped and bathed at the dock’s inner lip, sheltered by the ramp and tier. “I feel human again,” he muttered with a grateful nod.
“All you need is your pipe.” Whitt sat at the shadow’s edge, legs bent and forearms resting on his knees. He let slip a crooked smile, relieved to have the commander among them. Jagur had scowled at his scars, but the hard lines on the old warrior’s face had softened when he heard the reason why. He’d turned his hurt eyes on Vianne, his face again carved by questions. Instead of excuses, her chin dropped to her chest and her tears fell.
His bread polished off, Jagur scanned the faces in the ramp’s shadow. “We have some healing to do when this is done.” He eyed the ambassador. “What’s your role in this tragedy?”
Linc raised his head and blinked as if the question caught him by surprise and he didn’t know the answer. “I wish for us all to survive and begin anew. The Shiplord desires peace and justice, prosperity in a shared land. The Founders…” His voice drifted into silence when Jagur raised his hand.
Whitt rose to a knee and peered out from under the ramp at The Sea God. Its square-rigged masts loomed over the piers, sails furled tight to the yards, and the bowsprit pierced the air like a sword. The deck gently rocked, and scarlet flags flapped in the wind. Between the standing and running rigging, the ship was a spider’s web. “We’re not going to fight our way on there. It’s too well guarded.”
Catling sat near him, hugging her knees. “I never thought we could. That’s why I’m going to offer myself in exchange.”
“Airon may just kill you.” He raked a hand through his hair, her plan no more palatable now than it was in Ava-Grea, and the prospect of losing her more than he could bear. “There has to be another way. Commander, what aren’t we considering?”
“Her plan is Rose’s best option,” Jagur said.
“There are never guarantees.” Catling touched Whitt’s hand where it rested on his knee, and he wrapped a thumb around her fingers. “I can’t think of any other way, Whitt. Take Rose as far from this world as you can, somewhere safe where no one will ever find you.” Her gaze shifted to Linc. “They will disappear, Ambassador. Let them go in peace because if I hear again of Cull Tarr interference, I will kill your Shiplord. Nothing will stop me.”
“We should do this,�
�� Kadan said. He handed Jagur a fistful of gold. Hire us a ferry, close by and ready to go. We’ll be in a hurry. Keep an eye out for us.” Jagur gripped Vianne by the neck, pulled her close, and then ambled out into the sunlight, leaving her behind. He walked up the nearest pier where several ferries pulled at their mooring lines.
Kadan motioned to Linc. “Ready?” The ambassador nodded.
“I’m going too.” Whitt ducked from under the ramp before anyone could say otherwise. He fell in behind Kadan and Linc and followed them down the pier. When they reached the extended walkway that led to The Sea God, Cull Tarr jacks blocked their way.
“One touch,” Kadan murmured to the ambassador as a reminder of the nearness of death. Whitt held his breath, waiting for the betrayal. Linc didn’t flinch and faced the jacks. “Ambassador Linc. Here for an audience with the Shiplord.”
The Cull Tarr waved them through. The heels of their boots clomped on the planks like a trio of horses. Whitt carried his staff, two knives in his belt, and another in his boot. If he needed to, he’d grab Rose, jump the rail, and hope Jagur scooped them from the delta.
At the bottom of the wide plank, more jacks required another pause, and then up they went. Tull Airon’s final gatekeeper, a wiry man in calf-length trousers, and a red kerchief met them at the gangway. “What brings you to The Sea God, Ambassador?” The man eyed Kadan and frowned at Whitt.
“Good fortune and a proposal for our Shiplord.”
“Looks like you’ve been playing with knives and sleeping in your clothes.” The seaman licked his lower lip as if tasting his power.
When the man didn’t budge, Linc straightened his shoulders. “A proposal regarding the rose shield.”
“Ah! One for the log. You should have said so. Wait here.” He sauntered off, leaving four jacks in charge.
Whitt stood behind Kadan, offering no threat, praying he’d find Rose with Tull Airon. Not in the hull’s belly or somewhere on the twentieth tier. He wanted to see her, didn’t know how he’d respond when he beheld her eye. Trepidation tightened his chest. Would she react to his scars, use her influence, compromise her own rescue. He swallowed, too late to change his mind.
“This way!” The wiry jack called. Near the ship’s stern, he held open the door to the aftcastle.
Whitt followed Kadan in, and for a moment, he was blind as his eyes adjusted to the interior light. In a fleeting glance, he absorbed an impression of warm woods and polished bronze, ornate chairs and scarlet curtains, fish bowls, and a score of suntanned Cull Tarr ringing the broad room. Then his eyes lit on Rose.
Enrapt in a book, she didn’t see him. She sat in the lap of a blond influencer whose colorful woads climbed her neck. The flower around Rose’s eye forced a squint—a beautiful violet rose trimmed by tiny green leaves. The sight curled his fist, and he turned his scowl toward the Shiplord only to catch his breath. Fury flared through his skin at the sight. Gannon knelt beside the Shiplord’s throne, chained by the ankle. His eyes were swollen and his back a crosshatch of bruises. The marks girding his neck could only come from a hanging. Something unintelligible rasped from his throat.
“What a grand surprise, no?” Tull Airon said from his dais. “My Ambassador Falco Linc and… Kadan-Mur, High Ward, Influencer, and student of the Protocols. Welcome to The Sea God.”
Kadan and the Ambassador bowed. Whitt sucked in his rage and bent at the waist. For a heartbeat, he met Gannon’s eyes in a communion of rage.
“And who do we find behind you? A monster of the Far Wolds, yes? Scarred like a Farlander.”
“My hired guard, Shiplord,” Kadan said. “I come with a—Dalcoran?”
Whitt stood as rigid as the ship’s mast. Dalcoran would recognize him, scars or no. One word of his connection to Guardian, Whitt’s life was forfeit.
“Ambassador, Kadan,” Dalcoran dipped his chin as far as his stiff bones allowed. “An unexpected and pleasant surprise. We were discussing Cull Tarr access to the southern tiers.” He glanced at Whitt and squinted, head at a tilt.
“Rebuilding a nation.” Tull Airon leaned forward in his chair. “What is this I hear? You bring news of the rose shield, yes?”
Linc gestured for Kadan to begin. Hands clasped behind his back, Kadan faced the king. “Shiplord, the… rose shield wishes to offer her faithful service to you in exchange for the release of her daughter.”
“Ah.” Airon cocked his head. “She believes I desire her more than the child.”
“The child is untrained,” Kadan replied. “The eye may be nothing more than a lovely decoration. The mother’s power is unique, trained, and controlled.”
“You mistake me, Kadan-Mur.” Airon leaned back. “I favor both. Both threaten my empire, do they not? Tell the mother to surrender and kneel to me. I give my word that they will both survive, happily together as long as they cooperate.”
Kadan paused, and Whitt realized the man didn’t know what to do or say. At that moment, Rose looked at them. Her face lit up despite Whitt’s scars, and a sweet wash of love left him wanting to laugh and cry. He gestured to his heart, the old sign that his feelings were his own.
“I will extend your generous offer.” Kadan bowed and edged backward in preparation to leave.
“Why not ask her in?” Linc said, stepping toward the Shiplord and spinning to face them. “She awaits word under the ramp with Doyen Vianne-Ava.”
Whitt gritted his teeth and turned to gaze out the window so Rose wouldn’t see his face. When the time came, he’d have a hard time deciding who to kill first.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Catling waited beside the ramp, unsurprised by the advancing Cull Tarr jacks. “I told you, Vianne. You should have left with Jagur.”
“No.” Vianne stared straight ahead. “I shall see this through. I choose to repair my damage, the scant bit I can. No more excuses.”
The score of men and women stopped in front of them, lending them a modest space, enough that neither influencer could touch them before dying. Catling removed her eyepatch with a touch of drama. She would play her part and wield whatever power she possessed.
Her shoulders back and head high, she marched up the pier and plank to the deck of The Sea God. She paused amidst her escort and waited for Vianne. The breeze tossed the doyen’s loose hair as she looked beyond the ship’s bow to the broad sweep of the Cull Sea. Catling followed her gaze. Sunlight sparkled on the waves. A pod of waterdragons fanned their wings in the languid swells, rising and falling in a magical dance. Vianne faced her and smiled, sharing the love and regret that dewed her eyes.
“This way,” a wiry man called with a mocking bow, and they entered the Shiplord’s lair.
The floating throne room reflected the man. Simple elegance, quality, and beauty over ostentatious displays of wealth. Catling spied Gannon first and added unnecessary cruelty to Airon’s list of traits. Gannon stared at her with profound despair etching his battered face and bruised eyes. They were all here, all moments away from confronting the whims of fate.
A surge of love brushed against her skin, and she peered around Vianne at Rose’s grin and the violet flower staining the delicate skin around her eye. Her heart swelled, and she returned the sentiment, combining it with a delicious shimmer of levity and a wish for all the wonderful, poignant adventures of a long life. She’d made the right choice; nothing mattered but Rose.
Her child sat on a blond woman’s lap, once Varon Kest’s pitiable influencer. The woman’s luck had deteriorated, and her smile twitched with fear. She met Catling’s gaze and sprinkled Rose with a dusting of love. Whether a warning or a gesture of reassurance, Catling didn’t dare guess.
Ready to begin, Catling smiled at Whitt and Kadan. She spotted Dalcoran among the advisors, preachers, and jacks, his attention riveted on Vianne. Was he stunned by her unleashed beauty or her persistence at life?
Though Catling perceived no threads of influence plying the air, she donned her shield and faced the Shiplord. Falco Linc stood regally at his mast
er’s side, his genial demeanor surrendered to a righteous but guileless smile. She bowed. “My regards, Tull Airon, Shiplord of the Cull Sea and king of Ellegeance, I’ve come to offer my loyalty and services in exchange for my daughter’s freedom.”
“Ellegeans come quickly to the point, no?” Tull Airon’s eyebrows arched. “Welcome to my home on the sea. I would offer you the richest of Cull Tarr hospitality but will accommodate your curiosity first. Your child is well cared for, is she not?”
“She appears well.”
“I offer a choice,” Airon leaned forward. “You may join your daughter and serve me, or, regrettably, I will be forced to end your life.”
“Shiplord,” Vianne said with a bow. “The child has inexpert, untrained influence, but no ability to shield. She may cause you more trouble than she can make up for in skill. On the other hand, Catling’s power is innate, vast and subtle, none of her talent to shield derived from her woads. I recognized it, honed it; I understand how it works. Dalcoran can attest to her power and all I say.”
Airon cocked his head. “Do you agree, Dalcoran?”
The senior doyen studied Catling with a coldness that could freeze the sea. Catling enhanced his authority and confidence while tempering it with a trace of fear. “Vianne speaks the truth. Catling possessed an ability to shield long before she suffered her first needle.”
“You will require her cooperation, Shiplord,” Vianne continued. “You will find her effective in controlling influencers who, in turn, will assist you in controlling the tiers. The child is a distraction and danger. Catling will always choose Rose before you. It’s the reason Lelaine and Catling sent Rose away.”
“Convince me.” Airon steepled his fingers. “Dalcoran, torture my slave.” He tapped Gannon with a foot. Catling shifted her shield. The room waited for a cry of pain that didn’t come. Instead, Dalcoran’s mouth opened, and he groaned. Catling’s gaze remained on the Shiplord’s gray eyes, a faint tremor of amusement on her lips as she applied gentle pressure to Dalcoran’s joints. He began to crumble.
Kari's Reckoning (The Rose Shield Book 4) Page 14
