“With his experiments?” Kadan stepped onto the seventh tier, the height of Mur-Vallis. He dosed the captain with contentment, wishing he could quell his own trepidation with as much ease.
Ah, Kadan-Mur.” The guard smiled. “I’m an old worrier who’ll die before his time. Don’t wait too long to call on your uncle, or he will surely find you on his own—a less desirable outcome.” Baltan tapped the panel by the side door and waved Kadan inside. “Enjoy your visit with you mother.”
“I intend to.” He dipped his chin, thankful for the warning, and the lanky captain strode back the way they’d come. Kadan stepped inside, and the door slid closed with a hollow thunk. The corridor was empty, the silence welcome, yet grating on his nerves. Luminescence streamed through the tube snaking along the ceiling, the light mottling the walls. He walked the hallway’s bend, slipped into a stairwell, and took the steps gently, avoiding the echoes.
The second-floor hallway looked as it always had, stately portraits on the walls, a wine red carpet with stylized flowers running the length. He crept toward his mother’s door, listening for sounds of life.
Farther down the hallway, a door hissed, and a brown-haired woman carrying a silver tray stepped into his vision. For a moment, he thought it might be Catling, but no rose flowered on the woman’s face. She startled at seeing him, her eyes wide. Kadan shot her with a bolt of peaceful happiness and waved. A smile flickered over her lips, and she sauntered away.
He listened outside his mother’s door, feeling once again a child, dreading his uncle’s voice, his mother’s whimpering and pleading through the portal. When he heard nothing from within, he quietly knocked, daring his voice, “Mother, it’s Kadan.”
His ears strained for a hint of motion through the silence, and then the door slid open. He stepped back, punched by the fear in his mother’s eyes. Her gestures frantic, she flashed him a signal for danger and pulled him into the room. He almost expected Algar to step from the wall and cut his throat.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered, releasing him and wringing her hands. She turned on her heel, wandering along the wall where his paintings hung like relics of a forgotten age. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Kadan stood by the door, heart pounding, his senses alert. She looked the same as she ever had, blond hair pinned up, soft curls escaping around her face. Her clothing sparkled, and delicate jewels glittered on her fingers. Yet, she was unrecognizable, the warm and graceful mother of his youth pacing like a caged animal, the air dense with foreboding.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she repeated. “Algar will know. Kadan. He’ll know.”
“Mother, I’m searching for a woman. Her name is Catling.” He walked farther into the chamber, giving her a wide berth. “I told her to ask for you. Did you see her?”
His mother bit her lips, wild eyes darting toward the door as she turned and started toward him. “Rose. Her name’s Rose. She’s gone. I had to tell him; I hadn’t a choice. Do you remember?”
“You told him?” Kadan stared at her. “Why? Why did you tell him? What did he do?”
“I hadn’t a choice.” Her hand flittered over her hair as she wandered past him. “I poisoned her so he could take her.”
Kadan grabbed his mother’s arm. “What do you mean you poisoned her? Where is she?”
She wrenched her arm from his grip, her eyes bulging with panic. “Godswell. He put it in our food because influencers wouldn’t drink the wine. It was in our food. He feeds her godswell. Not me, not anymore.” She paced to the window and turned along the wall. “Too much godswell. Much too much.”
Kadan reeled. “If you knew, why didn’t you warn her? Where is she?”
“I gave her the signal. I gave her the signal, but she ate it as if she wanted it, as if she was starved for it. She should have known. She should have known he would rape her.”
Kadan lurched backward, the shock of her last words roaring in his head and chest. “Mother,” he caught her arm in three strides, spun her, and shook her by the shoulders. “What are you saying? He raped her?” Fury erupted in his chest, and he slammed her with fear. “Did you even think to stop him?” Her mouth gaped, and her head wobbled, terror flooding her eyes. He let her go, released the influence, and leaned on her table, a hand holding his head. “How could you let him rape her?”
Tears escaped to the corners of her mouth, her pacing stilled, the horror on her face more than he could bear. “Because…” Her murmur was little more than a breath. “Because if he’s raping her, he isn’t raping me.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Kadan descended the stair to the first floor of his uncle’s hall, a spring to his step and smile chiseled into his face. His mother slept, her terror soothed with influenced love and peace. He understood what she’d done, recognized her rampant fear for her life, but couldn’t bring more than a cupful of genuine forgiveness into his heart. A mountain of healing lay ahead for her, for him, for Catling if she lived. His mother didn’t know what Algar had done with her.
The afternoon crawled toward the evening meal, a fact the kitchen announced with harried voices and rattling pots. He passed rushing servants and a few curious guards. “Have you seen my uncle?” he asked as if his presence were nothing out of the ordinary.
“In his study.” A mustachioed guard pointed down the hall.
“I know the way,” Kadan said with a chuckle and strode by without pause. “Is he alone?”
The guard shook his head. “I saw Captain Baltan go in, can’t say for any others.”
Outside his uncle’s study, Kadan inhaled, steadied his nerves, and swallowed the surge of anger threatening to explode from his skin. He slapped the panel, and the door glided open. The room’s occupants looked up, caught mid-sentence. High Ward Algar sat behind his polished desk, boots up, guards and influencers standing across from him like recalcitrant students. Algar narrowed his eyes at the interruption, at Kadan’s unexpected presence, or both.
Kadan halted, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Forgive me, Uncle. I heard you were alone and wished to surprise you.”
In the graceless silence that followed, Kadan dipped his head to those present. Captain Baltan-Elan returned a bow along with two other guards in Mur-Vallis black. One influencer, a middle-years man with a sharp goatee, Kadan knew only fleetingly. The other was Tora-Mur, the influencer who had descended into the warrens with him to capture Gannon, a venture gone horribly wrong. Her face sagged, pale and drawn, her eyes dark with dread. He wondered if she feared for her safety or her sanity, or if she’d simply resigned herself to her role as Algar’s henchwoman.
“You failed.” Algar tapped his steepled fingers together. Kadan stole a moment to grasp his uncle’s meaning. The assassination.
Algar slid his boots from the desk. “I sent you on a mission, and you not only failed, but you ran north without a word.”
Kadan bowed and wafted a placating influence over those in the room, Tora-Mur included, his oath secondary to his fear for Catling. “My apologies for leaving my duties here longer than expected. My oath required me to clear the undertaking with my guild. The trouble in Bes-Strea took precedence.”
The high ward leaned forward, his eyes glinting like newly honed steel. “Barrick’s daughter is one of the doyen.”
“A fact I learned upon my arrival,” Kadan replied, his genial smile fading. He infused the air with a touch of danger. “Nevertheless, you imply carelessness, Uncle, when I was discreet. My approval is pending. I suggest we continue to exercise discretion and discuss our affairs privately.”
Algar nodded and stood. “The rest of you are dismissed.” As the door closed behind Tora-Mur, he strolled to a serving table at the wall and poured two goblets of wine.
Kadan accepted one and waited until his uncle began to drink before chancing a sip. “Dalcoran, Vianne, and Brenna believe the queen is weak, yet they're reluctant to act before they know who the victor will be. Vianne-Ava has traveled to Bes-Strea to observ
e.”
“Barrick-Kar’s heir?” Algar leaned back in his chair. “You realize that half-breed poses a problem, not only in Ava-Grea.”
Kadan pretended to taste his wine, hiding his fury in his cup. He took a seat and exhaled. “Minessa-Kar is naive and wholly occupied with teaching the mercys.”
“Who else is in contention?”
“Sianna and Manus in particular,” Kadan stated, certain her related old news since his uncle was one of the conspirators. “Sianna is creating havoc in Nor-Bis, and no one is certain if or when Nor-Bis will fall. The Cull Tarr keep the sea open and, by all accounts, haven’t chosen a side yet. Add the unrest in the Far Wolds to this chaos and the queen has her hands full.”
“And in the east?” Algar asked.
“Manus?” Kadan rocked his head side to side, sifting a dose of pleasure into his uncle’s easing temper. “The last I heard he hadn’t moved on Rho-Dania.”
“He will.” Algar smiled. “On Darkest Night. Manus begins an assault on Rho-Dania, and I move on Se-Vien. They’ll open their doors.”
“Bribes and influence?” Kadan returned the smile. “As long as your influencers break no oaths, the doyen can do little to interfere. What benefits Ellegeance justifies any and all choices.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Algar tapped his fingers on the chair’s arm.
Kadan’s skin prickled, the question an invisible blade, its tip pressed to his ribs. He traveled the precipice’s edge and needed to step with care. His mother had betrayed Catling, and he wasn’t naive; she would betray him. He met his uncle’s eyes. “The queen is concerned about her influencer. I sent her here, and she hasn’t returned.”
Algar studied him, the forthright answer rolling across his eyes. “Why send her to Livia without my knowledge? Why the secrecy?”
“I couldn’t very well send her to you directly,” Kadan said. “My mother provided a credible way to lure her here.”
“For what purpose?”
“You know she has the power to block influence. You suspected it, at least. That’s how she interrupted your hangings. She blocked me in Elan-Sia when you intended to offer a bond to the queen. She protects Lelaine from influence, a proposition that doesn’t sit well with the guild. They have a realm to rule and a queen with her own mind. If her influencer is here, she’s not there.”
“This was the doyen’s plan, to saddle me with their problem?”
Kadan smoothed the rough edges of his uncle’s ire. “The Influencers’ Guild wants what’s best for Ellegeance, and the queen’s shield has interfered with their designs.”
“They expected me to remove her?”
“In so many words.” Kadan forced his shoulders to relax. “The queen isn’t blind to your ambition, or she wouldn’t have agreed to send her. Lelaine-Elan believed Catling would stop you. I knew you could handle her.”
A smile twitched Algar’s lip. “They all risk Mur-Vallis to further their ambitions.”
Kadan shrugged. “Her absence has served its purpose; the queen is overwhelmed. The doyen decided it would be advisable to return her influencer.”
“What leads them to believe I haven’t killed her?”
“You’re too shrewd.” Kadan met the man’s eyes, hoping he wasn’t wrong. “You would wait until the game revealed itself. You might appreciate the negotiating power.”
Algar laughed. “I'll need some time to get her presentable.”
“So my mother informed me.” Kadan smiled. “That gives us plenty of time for a discussion of terms.”
***
After dinner, Kadan strolled with his uncle across the potted garden of the seventh tier. Splayed branches budded with pink and white petals. The soft canopy arched over ceramic pots cascading with violet blooms. The gray Founder-made quarters of influencers and advisors flanked the high ward’s central hall with views of a sunset ribboned in pastels. Algar’s personal servants and guards resided in the smaller structures nearer the pylons, storerooms and workrooms tucked between them. The few souls they encountered as they neared a guarded door averted their eyes or veered away with urgent tasks.
“The garden-house,” Kadan said as they neared a windowless building at the walkway’s edge. His mother used to scold him for playing in the loamy soil with the gardeners’ spades, rakes, and sharpened shears. The rooms once held tools and sacks of soil, racks of delicate seedlings, and watering cans. It had never needed guarding by men with steel-tipped spears.
“I’ve put it to other uses,” his uncle said with a nod at the guards. One of the men smirked, revealing a row of broken teeth. He tapped the panel, opening the door.
The interior looked no tidier than Kadan remembered, but any vestiges of gardening were stacked under shelves and shoved into piles beneath workbenches. On the shelves that once held seed trays were a scattered miscellany of iron bolts and chains, a gas burner, oil lanterns, loose manacles, and a glass jar of gray powder. “Powdered godswell?” he asked.
“Your mother told you.” Algar tapped the jar. “It’s tasteless, and the effect on influencers is the same as drink once the dosing in refined. When one develops a weakness for it, it’s irresistible. We forced it down her throat in the beginning. Now, she begs for it.”
“She’s a twitcher?”
“More than that.” Algar pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. “She owed me and paid me well.” He walked to the rear door where the master gardener once quartered. A padlocked chain ran through two U-bolts melted into the Founder-made surfaces.
“You’ve been experimenting,” Kadan said.
With a sly smile, Algar opened the lock and pulled on the chain. It clattered to the floor. He hit the panel, and the door slid open until the bracket juddered against the door’s sleeve. Kadan cringed at the smell, swallowing the bile that surged from his stomach. Algar had sheathed the tubes of luminescence snaking across the ceiling, dimming the room to an ethereal glow. Catling curled on a pallet of rumpled blankets, her long hair tangled across her rose-marked face. She lay still as a gravestone, her jaw loose, eyes half-lidded and devoid of emotion. A wisp of a woman to begin with, she appeared shrunken, a naked child wrapped in squalid rags. The intricate wilderness of her woads flared like bruises from her ashen skin. He would have believed her a corpse except she raised a thin hand toward him.
Algar chuckled, a base and satisfied sound at Kadan’s shoulder. “Once your mother helped me rob her of her power, securing her required no effort.”
Kadan stared at Catling’s falling hand, searching for the rage that should be roaring through his heart and head. He felt nothing as if he’d moved beyond emotion into the core of his existence where thought and feeling were no longer necessary for clarity of action. He placed a genial hand on his uncle’s shoulder, near the exposed flesh of his neck. “A nuisance to you no more.”
“Time to prove your loyalty, Kadan. Time to kill—”
Algar’s brain exploded inside his head. His eyes rolled up, and he crumpled to the floor like a discarded cloak. Kadan staggered, horror rising to his skin in a cold sweat. He flung a hand to the wall, steadying himself and breathed.
“Kadan?”
Catling’s whisper broke his paralysis. He lurched toward her, falling to his knees. “I’m taking you to Ava Grea. Can you walk?” An arm around her, he tried to lift her to a seated position. Chains rattled and her head lolled. He lay her down and pulled aside the rumpled blankets. Her ankle was shackled, a short length of chain bolting her to the wall.
“I’m thirsty,” she rasped, closing her eyes.
A jar of water and cup rested on a chipped table beyond of her reach. He filled the cup, sniffed it, and then poured it on the floor along with the contents of the jar, certain it contained poison. “I’ll give you water when we’re on the river.” He rolled his uncle over, retracting from the blood seeping from the man’s eyes, ears, and nose. Steeling himself, he pawed for the keys, and once found, fumbled through them. Worst case, he could melt the bracket from
the wall.
He knelt beside Catling. She opened her eyes but seemed half-asleep, her mind without consciousness, her body without bones. He worried a key in the lock at her ankle, and when that failed, he tried another. The third key popped the lock, freeing her. The skin around her ankle was bruised and raw. He stroked it briefly intending to heal and withdrew his hand. She would require far more than a touch to her ankle, and the time for healing awaited them on the river.
He needed to get rid of the guards before he made another move. Catling whimpered as he strode into the front room, prepared to kill if given no choice. He opened the door.
The guards frowned at him and peered inside. “Is everything all right in there?”
Kadan clamped down on his fury. “Fine.” He stepped toward them, blocking their view. Other guards patrolled the tiers paths, and servants hurried through the garden. Any thought of discreetly disabling or killing two guards fled his mind. “My uncle is preoccupied at the moment.” The guard with the broken teeth smiled, and the other scowled. Kadan knew which one he would have killed first.
The smiler tried to look around him. “He said I might get a turn.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Kadan said. “When he’s done with her.”
The other guard spat on the walkway, hit the panel, and the door slid closed in Kadan’s face.
His choices narrowing, he rummaged through his uncle’s tools and the miscellaneous scraps of metal on the workbench, searching for a flint lighter. A knife’s blade glinted in the dim luminescence. He pulled it from beneath a length of chain and slipped it into his belt. The chain slithered from the surface, towing a tangle of hardware with it. They clattered to the supplies below, knocking over and smashing a tower of ceramic pots.
Kadan winced, but apparently, the guards were accustomed to the noises emanating from Algar’s workroom. He found the lighter, fired the burner, and lit two lanterns. He carried those back to the room, removed the globes and set them so the flames licked the rear wall.
Oathbreakers' Guild (The Rose Shield Book 2) Page 27