Catling's Bane (The Rose Shield Book 1)

by D. Wallace Peach

  “You wish me to shield you,” Catling said.

  “Clearly.” Lelaine smiled. “What you offer is invaluable to Ellegeance.”

  “Why?” Catling’s face flushed. “Your influencers swear oaths to you. Order them not to manipulate you.”

  “Catling!” Vianne’s voice cut with disapproval.

  Lelaine’s raised hand quelled any further interference. “They do and I do,” she replied. “Such a promise would suffice if they proved trustworthy and if it applied to all influencers including those sworn to the provinces. Unfortunately, neither is the case.”

  “Our oaths,” Vianne said, “are first to the realm and—”

  “I’m well aware of your oaths, Doyen.” Lelaine waved her to silence and addressed Catling. “First to the realm does not translate to the person of the ruler or the royal house. It refers to the Influencers’ Guild’s assessment of what is desirable. Second, they swear loyalty to their own guild, a redundant oath in my opinion. As queen, I shall be third in line along with every high ward and guildsman with a spare pocket of gold.” She swiveled to Vianne. “Am I wrong?”

  “Not entirely,” Vianne confessed.

  “Not at all, Vianne.” Lelaine laughed. “Except perhaps in your case, or we wouldn’t be sitting here. I suspect you prefer me over one of my would-be suitors.”

  Catling stared at the young heiress. She’d never seen anyone, not even Dalcoran, speak so dismissively to Vianne. Merited or not, Lelaine’s confidence added years of authority. Whether she’d make a proficient or appalling queen was up for debate.

  The question tumbling at the back of Catling’s tongue regarded choice. Vianne had never hidden her belief that Catling’s shield was as capable of destroying Ellegeance as it was of saving it. Catling was a pawn in a play of power, and Vianne would eliminate her if she believed the threat outweighed the benefit. Such possibility dimmed in light of the heiress’s interest. Vianne had yielded a portion of her power, and Catling gathered it up before it faded away. “How long would my shield be required?”

  The heiress blinked at her. “Surely until one of us rests in the sea.”

  “I intend to go home long before then,” Catling said, ignoring the irritation radiating from Vianne like a blinding fog.

  “That hardly seems wise.” Lelaine twirled a ringlet with her finger. “Vianne, please share a glass of wine with me.”

  Catling rose without waiting for Vianne’s nod. On the elegant sideboard, servants had left a carafe of wine and dish of evening sweets. She filled two goblets, set them on a tray with the confections, and delivered them to the women.

  The gold on Lelaine’s fingers gleamed as she accepted a goblet and plucked a treat from the tray. “I offer you a life of luxury in Elan-Sia, a role in securing the future of Ellegeance. Swear an oath to me, and I shall guarantee greater protection than the guild can ever provide.”

  “Catling requires training in court manners,” Vianne pointed out.

  “It’s too soon regardless,” the heiress said and sipped her wine. “My power is precarious while my father lives, and any alliance I forge will be perceived as a threat. Those with a penchant for the throne aren’t above eliminating me and certainly have no qualms about murdering anyone else. Let them influence me; I haven’t bonded yet despite their best efforts, and my father cannot force me.”

  “I realize I may be a fool, Heiress.” Catling held the tray before Vianne, who accepted the goblet and declined a sweet. “I have always planned to return home after my service to Ellegeance, today more than yesterday.”

  “But why, Catling?” The heiress tilted her head. “You have nothing to return to. Whitt is in Guardian and your family is dead.”

  Catling’s bones turned to water. She stumbled, the dish of treats sliding from the tray and clattering beneath a chair. The heiress frowned; Vianne rose from her seat. Catling’s breath seized, disbelief denying the simple words. Surely, she’d misheard. Whitt would have told her. Vianne would have known. Catling’s wail leapt from her mouth with her plea, “Vianne?”

  “Oh, Catling.” Vianne clutched her to keep her from collapsing. “He didn’t tell you. I was certain he’d tell you.”

  “Tell me? Tell me what?” She shook her head and pulled away. “My family isn’t dead. You’re lying. He would have told me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Catling,” Vianne whispered. “I wish it wasn’t true.”

  “No,” she insisted. “It can’t be. Not everyone. Not all of them. He would have told me. He said… No, no, this isn’t possible. He would have told me.” A sob broke from her heart, crushing any further words.

  “My regrets.” Vianne closed in and stroked Catling’s hair. “I thought you knew.”

  Catling wrenched away. Her body blistered with rage, fists balled as hard as stones. “How long have you known?”

  The heiress deferred to Vianne with an open palm.

  “Years.” Vianne sighed and retook her seat. “It happened days after we left the stead.”

  “Because of me.” Fury transformed to stark horror, the realization punching her in the chest. “Because of my shield.” When Vianne failed to reply, Catling sank to her seat, the heel of her hand to the red rose encircling her eye. She envisioned the faces of those who formed the only family she’d ever known. Pain streamed from her heart, pumping like blood from a severed artery. “Why didn’t Whitt tell me?”

  “To spare you,” Vianne said. “What could you have done? You were a child.”

  “Algar?”

  “I have no reason to suspect otherwise,” Vianne replied.

  Catling faced the heiress. “I will give my oath on one condition.”

  “I’m not accustomed to conditions.” Lelaine met her eyes with a clear warning.

  “Allow me leave to kill Algar when I ask it.”

  Vianne’s back stiffened.

  The heiress didn’t laugh though an amused smile tugged at the corner of her lip. “My, you are fearsome even for a child of the warrens.” She leaned forward in her chair. “We are not equals, Catling. Do not forget that fact. Serve me, and should the opportunity arise, you may take your revenge. I shall not weep a tear.”

  Drawing in a breath, Catling slid from the chair to her knees before the heiress. She closed her eyes, the world dark of meaning. Whitt had uttered his farewell; there was no one left. Head bowed, she spoke her promise, “I swear my first binding oath to Heiress Lelaine-Elan of Ellegeance. I am yours to command.”

  Lelaine placed a ringed hand on Catling’s head. “Accepted into my service and protection from this day forth.” She leaned back in her chair and drained her wine goblet. “You will not be disappointed, Catling, and neither will I.”

  With a nod, Catling stood and returned to the window, sharing her silent tears with the moons. Floodwaters rose in the delta; she would celebrate fifteen years on Brightest Night, and all her dreams were dashed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  With each jolt of pain, Vincen had screamed for mercy. Kadan refused to howl. Nor would he beg or blubber as Poet had done. Calm and deliberate, he stripped off his shirt, revealing the fractal woads carved into his arms and back, the accumulating source of his talent. His hands slipped into the holsters hanging from the gibbet, and he embraced them with a strangling grip. He’d stood there once before and knew what agony lay ahead.

  This time, they’d rip him open.

  Relaxing his breath, he went inside himself, separating his consciousness from his body. A trick he’d learned well in Mur-Vallis when his uncle mislaid his good temper.

  The four doyen faced him. Dalcoran, his mentor, stood rigidly serene, the sculpted features of his face locked in indifference. Kadan wasn’t surprised; he expected to feel the man’s displeasure, not see it.

  Vianne’s aspect lacked any sign of satisfaction, yet her tight mouth betrayed her determination. She would teach him a hard lesson. Tunvise pursed his lips in disappointment. Only Piergren seemed amused by the ordeal, winking at Kadan
with an assurance of kindness or brutality, Kadan could scarcely guess.

  Dalcoran raised a hand, and the aspirants gathered in the central hall of Ava-Grea’s tenth tier fell silent. “Our guild serves the realm, not our whims. Our gift requires restraint; our credibility demands trust. We are effective because our power is controlled. One rogue among us and we are all tyrants.” Dalcoran paused, and Kadan closed his eyes, waiting for the first strike.

  “Our code forbids an aspirant from using unguided influence. Kadan-Mur is guilty of employing influence to torment. And so he will be tormented.”

  Kadan gasped as a dagger of pain shot up from his heels and exploded in his head. He clutched at the straps, every muscle in his body contracting. Another wave blew through him. His knees twisted, and he would have fallen if his hands didn’t maintain their deathly grip. Before the sensation subsided, his back lit up like a torch. His skin screamed in a pyre of white flame. “It’s not real,” he cried and retreated into his head as a guttural wail erupted from his gaping mouth.

  The pain ebbed, and he waited, panting, the unpredictability torturous. Starting in his fingers, every joint wrenched, his body mangled and plied apart. His stomach lurched as the misery morphed into a scathing rash. He clutched the straps to prevent his fingers from gouging his skin. When that too faded, he sagged from the straps, heaving, waiting for his next maiming. His heart pounded in his ears. Had even a minute passed? How long and how much more could he tolerate?

  Dalcoran broke the silence. “I speak in warning to each of you. As aspirants to the Influencers’ Guild, we gift you with woads we cannot rescind. Our methods are severe but not without cause. We impress upon you the responsibility of power. You will obey our codes as aspirants, for as initiates the penalty for disobedience isn’t expulsion or pain. It’s death.”

  A sweet sensation of peace trickled down Kadan’s body. Tactile pleasure loosened his muscles, and his roiling stomach came to rest. He opened his eyes and got his feet under him, uncertain they’d hold him. His entire being felt depleted, and he shook with exhaustion.

  This time was worse than the last; yet, he’d endured it. He’d been careless, too confident, carried away by the game they all played. The doyen had made an example of him, and he knew why. Minessa had turned him in. It was Vianne’s pet they all protected. Catling bore the blame.

  ***

  “Has he harried you since his penalty?” Minessa asked.

  Catling shook her head. They strolled through Ava-Grea’s fifth tier, her favorite. The promenade stretched three times as deep as the ones above, the entire level dedicated to cultivation. Water misted from an intricate web of overhead tubes. Luminescence and refracted sunlight blended to paint the very air. “I don’t know how they knew. I never named him. Only you…” She stared at her friend. “Nessa?”

  “I told Tunvise. I had to Catling. For you but also for Kadan.” They wandered beyond the rainbows of mist to the rail. In the swamp around the city, boats of myriad shapes and sizes mingled with fenfolk rafts. The sleek forms of waterdragons undulated below the surface.

  Catling rested her arms on the railing. She hadn’t witnessed it, but she imagined Kadan’s cries all the same. He’d made her itch and blush, gave her a headache or two. He hadn’t murdered her family. “Every rumor says the punishment was cruel, Nessa. I never wanted that.”

  “We’ve all heard the doyen’s warnings. Guild rules are exacting and penalties severe for good reasons. Kadan wouldn’t have stopped until he was dead.”

  “The rules apply to other influencers. I don’t matter.”

  “Of course you do.” Minessa waved her words away. “Influencers have to earn Ellegean respect every day, or they’ll cast us into the sea. Influencers who terrorize jeopardize us all.”

  “They should never have accepted him. He’s from Mur-Vallis, Algar’s nephew, for Founders’ sake.” Catling stifled a growl for the man she would kill without a trace of remorse.

  “My point exactly,” Minessa said. “He needs to learn kindness, or at least, restraint. And my lecturing him certainly made no difference.”

  “You lectured him?” Catling failed to keep the shock from her face.

  “Someone needed to. He wishes to become a powerful influencer, and he has a gift. Dalcoran is partial to him and looks the other way. Piergren dismisses everything as harmless pranks. Vianne can’t watch you every moment, and you wouldn’t tell. I had to do something.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I believe he’s redeemable.” Minessa fanned herself. “He’s simply afraid of being vulnerable.”

  Catling frowned at the description of Kadan as fearful. “He’s hardly fragile.”

  “Not fragile but, perhaps, lost. Imagine a youth with such an uncle. My father seldom speaks poorly of anyone, and yet he bears no respect for High Ward Algar.”

  “I saw your father in Elan-Sia.” Catling propped a boot on the lower rail. “Barrick-Kar was the only one who advised the king to listen to reason. He supported Guardian’s commander regarding the Far Wolds, and he wasn’t attempting to bond with the heiress.”

  A laugh burst from Minessa’s lips. “A host of widows in Kar-Aminia will be relieved to hear it.”

  The remark pulled a playful grin across Catling’s lips, and she kissed her friend’s cheek. “I haven’t met more than a handful of people who are genuinely kind. You’ll make a wonderful mercy.”

  In two years’ time, Minessa would complete her studies and return to Kar-Aminia. Catling glimpsed the shimmering woads already peeking from her friend’s neckline and sleeves. “You won’t tell me how you acquire those, will you?”

  “It’s a mystery I’m forbidden to share.”

  “At least someone minds their vows.” Catling rolled her eyes. Minessa swayed and stumbled, the color draining from her face. A hand clamping her stomach, she bent over and retched.

  “Nessa?” Catling hovered. “What’s happening?”

  “I feel horrible.” Minessa wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and sank to her knees.

  Influence. Catling sensed it and turned in a slow arc. She searched the tier, testing for power, attempting to visualize the threads through the skirls of airborne color. Men and women of the Growers’ Guild toiled among the elevated beds; others strolled the leaf-bound pathways.

  “Help me up.” Sweat beaded on Minessa’s forehead, and she massaged her temples, her eyes closed.

  Clouds of disorienting mist danced before Catling’s vision. She caught a sliver of a profile, shorn hair and straight nose. “Kadan.” He stood near a central pylon in the shadow of the overhead tier, pretending not to observe. “This time, I’m going to report him. I don’t care what happens to him.”

  “No,” Minessa groaned, climbing to her feet. “I know I’m contradicting every word I said, but we don’t know what the doyen will do this time. Let’s simply go.”

  Catling glanced back at her friend’s pallid face and spattered clothing. “He’s hurting you.”

  “They might kill him.”

  “I don’t care. He’s cruel and reckless, and he knows the risks.” As she swung back to Kadan, she spied Vincen peeking up from between the garden beds.

  “Catling,” Minessa pleaded, grabbing her arm. “Help me.”

  “My pleasure.” Catling stared at Kadan as she slapped her shield around Minessa.

  “Oh,” Minessa drew in a deep breath and straightened. “He stopped.” She frowned at her soiled clothing. “Please, let’s leave him. I’m fine, and he’s finished with his revenge. I need to wash. Come with me.”

  Catling nodded but didn’t avert her eyes from her quarry. Kadan stared back, brow creased and eyes narrowed. A wicked smile tugged up Catling’s lips.

  “Catling?” Minessa attempted to draw her attention.

  A twinge of fear hit Catling in the chest, and the old itch started to scale her legs. She shifted the shield to protect herself. “Go ahead. I’ll be a moment behind you. I won’t say anything to anyo
ne.”

  “No,” Minessa shook her head. “It’s over, come with me.”

  “Nessa,” Catling hugged her friend. “Please. Don’t worry about him or me. Nothing at all will happen to either of us.”

  Nessa pressed her palm to her head with a groan. “Give me your word. Promise me.”

  “I promise.” Catling shifted her shield to Minessa. She watched her friend shake her head as she passed Kadan and disappeared up the spiral stair. Catling reoriented her shield to protect herself, and Kadan swung to face her with a scowl. Vincen still crouched behind the beds, a coward too fearful of the doyen to wield his influence and too afraid of Kadan to retreat.

  Kadan’s focus shifted to those working among the vegetables. A woman whooped and blushed scarlet. Catling shielded her, and she returned to her task with a grin of embarrassment. Kadan redirected his influence. A man laughed in a spontaneous burst of joy. Catling didn’t flinch as she shielded him. Kadan chose a third target, raising a shout of pain, which fell as Catling cut through his influence, leaving herself vulnerable.

  Her stomach lurched, and she flipped the shield to herself. Vincen bolted to his feet and began swatting his arms and legs in a frenzied dance. He squealed at Catling, “Stop, stop!” Catling protected him, changed her mind, and shielded herself. Vincen shot up from the brief slump of relief, his frantic flinching resumed.

  “Now, Kadan,” she whispered as she started for the staircase. “You’ve met your match.”

  When she sauntered by him, his gaze followed her with such interest she felt pried open. He raised a finger to his lips. A truce or a threat? She nodded in return. They each held a secret neither could tell without risking death.

  Chapter Thirty

  A spool of ivory thread in her lap, Vianne tatted lace. Her fingers moved effortlessly, freeing her mind to focus on the council’s discussion. They sat in the conference chamber, each occupying their customary chairs, purely out of habit. Tunvise’s head bobbed and he sputtered awake. The old man apparently found the guild’s meeting duller than she. The day of his retirement would arrive sooner than she wished.