In no time, the gray material sagged in the heat. He lifted Catling to her feet, draped his cloak around her, and half dragged her to the room’s rear wall where she slumped to the floor. From her bed, he grabbed a soiled blanket and wrapped his hand in the corner. Clutching his uncle’s knife through the cloth, he stuck his hand in the flame and carved at the wall.
Goblets of Founder-made matter fell to the floor. He raised a lantern, softening more of the gray surface. The knife glided through it, increasing the hole’s size on one side while the fire on the other prevented the gap from closing. He peered out, holding his breath, expecting a cordon of tier guards and blood-eager spearheads.
The way lay clear. Across the alley stood the alcove and door to the pylon. He sawed away more of the wall, wondering if Algar’s ring held the pylon’s key. The blanket around his fist began to burn, his skin hot. Gray globs collected and hardened on the floor as the opening expanded. Catling sat propped against the wall, her legs bent, head rolled to the side, watching him with a sleepy smile.
“We’re going through here,” he whispered. “We’re going to get you well.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Patience.” He cut a last slice, tossed the knife into the alley, and set down the lantern. Instantly the wall’s top edge began to grow downward, the surface repairing itself. He threw the blanket over the lower edge, grabbed Catling, dragged her to the hole, and pushed her through. She lay in the alley, her nakedness exposed, her body blocking his way with the wall continuing to close before him. Retreating, he held up a lantern, melting the encroaching wall, tearing away the sagging material, his bare hand darting into the flame. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, he dove through, pushing her body and curling his legs as the wall edged inward.
He looked up into the tip of a blade.
Chapter Forty
“Get up.” Baltan held a long dagger in one hand and a thick rapper in the other. He stepped back. “Get up!”
Kadan sent a wave of calm over the man, rolled to his knees, and slowly stood. Tora stood behind the lanky captain, her eyes wide with alarm. Catling crawled on her hands and knees to the wall that closed behind him. She grappled with the smooth surface and climbed to her feet, naked and crooked as a gnarled branch. Her lank hair and stylized woads stood out in stark contrast to her ashen skin.
“Algar did that,” Kadan said. “Did you know?”
“Are you influencing me?” Baltan glanced over his shoulder. “Either of you?”
Kadan dropped his influence. “No.” Tora shook her head. Kadan stepped back to the wall, wrapped his cloak around Catling, and picked her up. “Algar did this. She’s the queen’s influencer. I’m taking her home where she can be healed.”
“Where’s the high ward?” Baltan asked, his eyes on Catling, his knife no less present.
“Dead,” Kadan replied, “by my hand, executed for his crime.”
“That’s for Justice to decide,” Baltan said, “as they’ll decide for you.”
“Justice?” Tora scoffed, her body shaking. “I haven’t seen a glimpse of justice since my first hour in Mur-Vallis.” Disdain and horror spewed out of her as if she’d kept it corked and fermenting for years. She bent over, vomited, and gasped for air. “He deserved it.”
Kadan soothed her despite his oath, words he no longer fretted over. He dusted Baltan with renewed calm. “My first oath is to the realm. Everything I’ve done here is for the realm. We must believe that decency and justice serve the realm. This couldn’t go on, Baltan. What Algar did couldn’t continue. I couldn’t be part of it anymore and neither can you.”
“I had an oath to the high ward.” Baltan stated, his eyes darting to Catling, his brow creasing with indecision. “I may not have like it, but I gave my word.”
“I’m the high ward,” Kadan replied. He looked down at the woman in his arms, her head against his chest. “I’m leaving for Ava-Grea. Until I return, you and Tora must rule Mur-Vallis in my stead. Rule justly.” He turned and walked toward the staircase, his back to the captain. It no longer mattered if he held the key to the pylon. They would let him leave Mur-Vallis, or they would kill him.
“Kadan-Mur,” Baltan called.
Kadan halted and faced the captain. In the corner of his eye, he spotted the two guards from the garden-house lope around the corner, spears in their grips.
The captain strode toward him. “My vow is—”
“That’s him!” a guard shouted. “Stop him!” He raised his spear, dropped his shoulder, and drew it back for a throw.
“No!” Baltan spun, his hand up. Kadan unleashed a blast of agony at the two guards. The spear shot forward as the men screamed, driving its steel tip into the captain’s ribs. Baltan gasped, dropped to a knee, and spat blood.
“Tora,” Kadan shouted. “Help him. Keep the others here.”
The influencer swept her hand toward the gasping guards, and they reeled to the tier’s floor. She ran toward Baltan, the captain lying on his side. “Go!” she yelled.
Kadan fled to the stairs, descending as quickly as he could with his burden. Catling whimpered with the jostling, and he soothed her with soft murmurings and the palpable warmth of love. He spread the influence farther. Love and pleasure blended with a hint of fear, soothing all those who fell within his vision while compelling them to keep a wary distance.
From the sixth tier, he spun onto the next set of stairs, heading downward, his arms starting to ache even though Catling weighed as little as a bird. Tora needed to hold the two guards captive a little longer; she needed to save Baltan’s life if she wanted to save her own. He’d never once asked her if she finished the final trial of the mercys and killed. He hoped she wouldn’t have to learn.
Another flight down, he set Catling on her feet. She swayed, her legs as sturdy as water. “Walk with me.” He draped her arm over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her waist. He hauled her across the promenade and caught sight of a familiar face. “Nial!”
The bearded man turned and bunched up his eyebrows. “Kadan-Mur.” He offered an uncertain bow.
“I require your help, Nial.” Kadan picked up Catling and deposited her in the stout man’s arms. “I’m taking her to the docks. Algar drugged her and raped her. I intend to deliver her home.”
The man stared at him, incapable of shuffling a step. Kadan propelled him toward the staircase. “I’m not influencing you.” He steered the guard down the stairs. His escape was no longer in question; he knew it now. He would fill the role his uncle’s death granted him and claim his place as high ward. To do that, Mur-Vallis needed to survive as well.
“I’m going to tell you the truth, Nial, because Mur-Vallis deserves to know what happened.” Kadan pressed forward, hurrying them down. “High Ward Algar’s justice is a travesty. He’s murdered innocents as long as I can remember. He’s raped my mother for years, and he poisoned, imprisoned, and raped this woman, the queen’s influencer. I killed him.”
“Holy filching Founders.” Nial balked but didn’t delay their stampede down the steps.
“Baltan-Elan and Tora-Mur know,” Kadan continued, thankful Nial’s hands were full. “Baltan was struck down protecting me. Tora’s trying to save his life. They will both speak the truth about what happened.” The man’s lips opened, but Kadan filled the space. “I am now High Ward of Mur-Vallis, but I bear other duties. If Baltan doesn’t survive, you and Tora will serve in my place until I return.”
That finally stopped the burly guard. He shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no, no. I’m a guard, Kadan-Mur, and a lowly one at that. I’m not fit for ordering a bond mate let alone a whole province. You got the wrong man here. Gotta pick someone with a mind for politics.”
“No,” Kadan faced him. “That’s the last thing Mur-Vallis needs. You can do this. We need people who know the difference between right and wrong.” He took Catling from the guard’s arms. “Head up to the seventh tier. Tell them I sent you. Tell them the truth. See Tora; she’ll know we s
poke. That’s an order.”
The bearded man pursed his lips, shrugged, and started back up the steps like a man late for a scolding.
“Nial,” Kadan called. The guard turned, his shoulders sagging. Kadan smiled. “Have Tora see my mother, will you? She’s not well.”
The guard dipped his chin and gripped his forearm in salute.
Kadan shifted Catling’s weight. Ahead of him lay one more flight of steps and the ramp. He finished his descent and hurried down to the piers, freeing waves of peace toward anyone who glanced his way. Fumbling for his balance, he climbed down the narrow steps to the ferry and called Minessa’s name. The door to their cabin opened, and he whisked Catling inside.
“Founders help us,” Minessa rushed to the narrow berth and pulled back the blankets. Kadan lowered Catling to the bedding.
“Algar fed her godswell,” he said, stepping back. “She’s a twitcher… and she’s been raped.”
“Nessa,” Catling whispered as tears welled in her eyes.
“Oh, Catling.” Minessa removed Kadan’s rumpled cloak and covered Catling with blankets. She sat on the edge of the bed and held Catling’s hand. “May I use influence on you?”
Catling closed her eyes, tears tracing her cheeks. “I’m thirsty.”
“Of course.” Minessa brushed the damp hair from Catling’s pasty forehead and looked up at Kadan. “Would you bring a carafe of luminescence?” She smiled. “And order up some hot water.”
He blew out a breath, relieved as Nessa took control. “I’ll see the captain about departing. I want us on the river before the next bell.”
Once on deck, he quietly shut the door. Over the Blackwater, the vault of night was studded with pearls. The river shone, a ribbon of luminescence winding from the shadowed forest.
A half-gold convinced the captain and crew to depart before the ninth bell. “Bring me a pitcher of rich luminescence and a basin of hot water. And clean clothes for a small woman.” He placed a silver coin in the man’s hand. “I would answer questions, Captain, but I choose not to. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
He provided everything Minessa asked for and sat guard duty on a crate not far from the cabin’s door. The ferry cast off and began its journey down the Blackwater. The ninth bell rang. Mur-Vallis glowed like a magical flower in the night and faded into the distance.
Minessa stepped from the cabin, draped in her woolen cloak. “She’s sleeping.”
“Thank you for being here.” He caught her hand, and she sank down beside him. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her tight.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “I eased her terror, cooled her fever, and slowed her heart rate. The drug took a toll, Kadan. I reduced the constriction in her brain and worked on her digestion. Tomorrow I’ll soothe the beginnings of cramps and contractions to reduce vomiting. I believe the luminescence will help flush out the godswell, though I don’t think I can completely prevent her suffering.”
He understood and kissed her forehead. As the narcotic’s effect diminished, most twitchers shook their bones loose. “Your touch is a blessing.”
“There’s something else,” she said, taking his hand.
He held his breath, afraid of what she’d say, the dread in her tone blanketing him like a shroud. “Tell me.”
“I probed her most private corners,” she whispered, “healing the wounds of her rape. Kadan, in the core of her, I found a second heartbeat, a fluttery weak one. Your uncle has another victim. Catling is with child.”
Chapter Forty-One
Gannon knelt in the pre-dawn gloom and cringed at the spider dangling from a dusty web over Tiler’s head. “Hold still.” He reached up with his dagger and tried to gently swing it from its airborne hover. The thread severed and the furry creature dropped onto Tiler’s back. He whacked it with the flat of his blade. “It was nothing,” he said when Tiler eyed him.
“Big old crawler.” A skinny, blond man squatted in the tight quarters across from Gannon, holding a lantern of faded luminescence. “Place is swarming with them. Bats too.”
“Bats?” Gannon shuddered. In addition to spiders and bats, he estimated that seventy men huddled under the ramp to Lim-Mistral’s first tier, a thousand more waiting in the shadows at the warrens’ edge. Those were the ones he could rely on—organized men and women with adequate leadership who understood the goal and wouldn’t muck things up with needless looting and innocent blood. Beyond that, his control waned, questionable at best. Manus hadn’t been amenable to gentler tactics, and the current plan was far from flawless.
He swatted at something fluttering by his ear. It toppled to his leg. A powder moth. The fourth bell couldn’t ring soon enough.
Beyond the ramp, the markets were hushed. Darkest Night lay an eve away, the cloudless sky barren but for the twinkling stubbornness of stars. Superstition would lend him a hand, even though the moonless night made little difference with the river’s ever-constant glow.
Fourth-bell would chime early enough to catch most of the city abed. Securing the guards was his first objective and the greatest obstacle since their housing dominated large portions of the first tier. Once the defenders were tucked away behind their barracks’ doors, the vigil would begin.
The bell pealed, and Gannon nearly jumped clear off his bones. Scrambling into a crouch, he shuffled from beneath the ramp with Tiler and the other men. They turned up the ramp, walking at a casual pace. Eight guards idling at the top took notice and popped to attention, weapons fumbling into position. They fanned out across the tier’s lip, exchanging worried glances. A couple peeked over their shoulders, presumably looking for a place to run.
Gannon held up his empty hands, his dagger tucked into his belt. He raised his voice, “My name is Gannon. I’m here on behalf of Her Radiance Queen Lelaine-Elan with a proposition for High Ward Manus-Lim.”
“Back off the ramp,” a broad-chested guard demanded.
A smile snuck across Gannon’s face, the rebuff expected. He continued climbing ahead of his companions, shouting his rehearsed spiel, hoping the same unfolded on the other ramps. “In five minutes, a thousand men and women will storm each ramp. This is a peaceful takeover of the first tier only.” The guards’ spear-tips tilted forward. Gannon kept walking, his hands up. “Our presence on the tier will last until Manus agrees to the queen’s terms, the same terms already accepted by High Wardess Glain. If you resist us, we will fight you. If you let us through, you and your families will be unharmed.”
He stopped and waited. Tiler and the two other men edged up next to him. He watched the guards’ jaws drop as behind him he heard the shuffling of a thousand pairs of feet and the murmuring of a thousand tongues.
“We can’t let you through.” The same guard who had first spoken shook his head, his statement bordering on a question.
“You can,” Gannon persisted. “Or we will go through you and blood will spill, ours and yours.”
Two of the guards dropped their spears. Then somewhere else in the tier’s shadows, someone screamed. A spear launched into the night and ripped into the stomach of the man to Gannon’s left, throwing him backward. The crowd behind him roared and surged up the ramp. The guards bolted for the barracks, shouting warnings.
“Run!” Gannon yelled at Tiler, afraid they’d be trampled. At the ramp’s peak, he spun aside and shouted at the mob. “Secure the barracks! Respect, dignity, justice. No blood or we’ll fail. Respect, dignity, justice.” He jabbed Tiler in the ribs until the enforcer took up the chant. “Respect, dignity, justice!” The men and women running into the tier’s lanes echoed the call.
Glass shattered, and another scream broke through the chant. “Gods damn it!” Gannon got in Tiler’s face. “We need to protect the stairs and lifts to the upper tiers. Put men on them if they aren’t there. Go!”
Tiler nodded and jogged off, snagging two other men by their collars. Gannon ran in the opposite direction. The east staircase was blocked by a score of armed women. “Don’t
let anyone through,” he shouted and veered into the lanes heading for the nearest lift. He careened around a corner and took a punch to his cheek that cut his mouth on his teeth and knocked him to his knees. His dagger clattered to the tier, and he grabbed it before lurching to his feet.
A knife flicked by an inch from his nose.
“It’s Gan!” someone shouted. The man with the knife backed up and turned to rejoin a fight. Three cornered guards jabbed the air with steel-tipped spears, fending off a gang of eight men with murder in their eyes. A fourth guard lay curled on his side suffering a barrage of kicks to his back and arms.
“Stop!” Gannon shouted and ripped a man from the assault. “Stop!” He shoved another man who stumbled into a wall. His dagger in front of him he stood over the guard. “Who’s side are you on?” he bellowed at them. “No blood or we fail! Back off, now, or I’ll kill you myself!”
“They started it,” a man yelled, his nose bleeding over his beard.
“We started it!” Gannon barked, his head pounding from the punch. “And we’re going to end it with respect, dignity, and justice. That’s not going to happen if you assjackers prove their case.” He pointed to the guards with his knife. “Get inside your barracks and stay there. Leave the spears and take him.”
The guards hesitated, then laid down their spears, lifted their wounded man, and hurried away.
“Now you!” Gannon waved his dagger at the group of sour faces and spat a gob of blood. “Help us out here. If we can get control of ourselves, Lim-Mistral will surrender. Don’t wreck this chance because it’s the only one we get. Make sure no one heads up the stairs. A couple of you come with me. The rest of you break into two groups. See if you can settle things down.”
The men loped off. Gannon ran ahead of the two he commandeered, a bald hulk and the man with the bloody nose. He left them at the south stair, bolstering the scanty crew that talked down a rowdy crowd of tier dwellers. “Keep telling them their safe,” he shouted at the apparent leader over the noise. “Tell them Gannon needs to present the queen’s terms.”
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