Oathbreakers' Guild

By D. Wallace Peach

Catling, an aspirant of the Influencers’ Guild, learns to wield the power of the garden carved into her skin. Friends are fewer than enemies, and those who wished her dead now plot her failure. Sworn to the young queen, she enters the world of Elan-Sia where the powerful maneuver for control of the throne.

Amidst rising unrest in the south and increasing pressure from the seafaring Cull Tarr, the high wards of the tiers plot rebellion. Gannon stirs the warrens, and Whitt marches with the warriors of Guardian. Propelled by revenge, Catling journeys to Mur-Vallis. Her mission—to assassinate the man who stole her past, a task that will define her future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. Wallace Peach
• Release date: Apr 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781635354201

D. Wallace Peach

D. Wallace Peach started writing later in life after the kids were grown and a move left her with hours to fill. Years of working in business surrendered to a full-time indulgence in the imaginative world of books, and when she started writing, she was instantly hooked. Diana lives in a log cabin amongst the tall evergreens and emerald moss of Oregon's rainforest with her husband, two dogs, two owls, a horde of bats, and the occasional family of coyotes

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Table of Contents

Oathbreakers' Guild

Map

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Farlanders’ Law

About the Author

Books by D. Wallace Peach

Map

Chapter One

Darkest Night.

Contrary powers waged war in her skin. Her shield, the rose birthmark encircling her eye, the singular force that had mangled her youth, was the realm’s secret salvation. Or so her mentor dreamed. Catling’s reflection brushed fingertips along the petals’ imperfections, edges tattered, small holes where pink skin shone through.

Her shield severed the influence controlling a kingdom, broke the sway that moved a heart between love and fear, a body between pleasure and pain, life between healing and death. Vianne had sighed with relief to find the shield intact.

Catling turned in the mirror, her underdress draped around her waist. A garden of luminescence carved her back, colors climbing her neck and capping her shaved head. Vines curled, wending between flowers, dragonflies, and a crimson bird, its wings flared.

Red feathers, the distilled hue of death.

The power of influence was now hers, despised and untried. She would master its mysteries, wield it as a weapon, and when she’d taken her revenge, she would rip it from the realm.

The Poisoner does fine work. Vianne lingered in the doorway to her chamber. Her words were complimentary, but Catling couldn’t help wonder if she heard a trace of envy. A whip’s scars striped the beautiful woads on Vianne’s back.

Catling pulled up her underdress, covering the design. Why do you call him the Poisoner?

An old term, Vianne said. The bleaker reaches of influence are hardly pleasant. We aren’t from this planet. Luminescence doesn’t naturally course through our veins.

Whether Vianne’s understanding was fact or supposition, it mattered not. Catling finished buttoning her jacket. I’m ready.

Well then, to Dalcoran.

Darkest night marked mid-season, all three moons shadowed in the night sky. Lanterns of luminescence hung from the branches of potted trees in the twelfth tier’s central garden. Overhead, a vault of infinite blackness glittered with a swath of stars.

Catling strolled beside Vianne, skirting a fountain as they crossed to the Founder-made hall. A new aspirant, she would face the four doyen of the Influencers’ Guild. Other aspirants submitted to an examination prior to receiving the needlers’ woads. That way, in the event they proved unsuited to an influencer’s life, the doyen could simply send them home.

For her, the dream of escape remained an illusion. Her life refused ordinary paths; destiny broke all rules.

Vianne tapped the door’s panel. She led the way down the hall, straight backed, her cinnamon hair threaded with pearls and pinned up, soft streaks of gray adding dignity. The green woads on the back of her neck curled above her ivory collar in delicate vines.

Ancient artwork decked the smooth, gray walls, and the plush carpets felt as soft as grass beneath Catling’s boots. Tubes of luminescence glowed overhead.

At the hall’s end, Vianne inhaled and opened the door. Catling paused, judging the mood within and testing for influence. Vianne glided across the salon to join the other doyen who’d arranged their cushioned chairs for an interrogation. As the senior doyen, Dalcoran occupied a central seat, his frame stiff with ever-present discomfort. His refined features, fine hair, and perfect attire lent him a fragile appearance that belied the strength of his convictions.

Another victim of the whip, Piergren stood by the wall, legs planted, fists on his hips, his face a mask of stony suspicion. Sweat dampened the swarthy man’s shirt, and he wore no jacket. Catling had never cared for him, not only the unkempt roughness of his appearance but the dark leers and aggressive energy that underscored her slight size and her vulnerability in the face of brutal strength. Until Dalcoran had ordered him whipped, he’d used his power to grope her with influenced pleasure. Had he learned his lesson?

Tunvise occupied the chair to Dalcoran’s right, the old man’s fingers laced over his belly, a drowsy sag to his eyes. Vianne tapped his shoulder, stirring him to wakefulness. She assumed the seat beside him and beckoned Catling in.

Catling entered and bowed. My respects.

If you would both step forward, Dalcoran said.

Both? His instructions baffled her until she tracked his gaze. Kadan stood by an open window, initially beyond her vision. He approached the doyen, his interest flickering to her shaved head and the woads ornamenting her skin. No mischief colored his face, his expression tightly controlled. All of them suffered wounds and flaws, none of them free of pain or infirmity. The Influencers’ Guild suffered a maelstrom, and she spun at its vortex.

She obeyed the doyen, moving closer, Kadan falling in beside her.

So, here we are. Dalcoran sighed. I thought it best to be forthright regarding expectations. I’ll hear no misunderstandings. In fact, I’ve endured enough internal chaos to last me an eternity.

Vianne met Catling’s eyes, a mask of serenity hiding whatever opinions and feelings stewed beneath her skin. Catling is an aspirant of the Influencers’ Guild. She has two years’ worth of woads, but no training, which will commence immediately. We decided to pair the two of you for purposes of remediation and to address the less than tolerable nature of your relationship.

Catling blanched, stifling the urge to glance at the young man beside her. She sensed nothing from him, not a trace of fidgeting or the barest flutter of nerves.

Furthermore, Catling, you will reside in the dormitory beginning this evening. In light of Qeyon’s… Vianne steeled herself. In light of Qeyon’s death, you will join your peers for lessons with the Academian Guild.

Do either of you have any questions? Dalcoran asked.

None, Dalcoran-Elan, Kadan said.

No, Dalcoran-Elan, Catling murmured, though her head babbled with so many questions they leaked out her ears.

Excellent, the doyen said. Vianne will continue to explore Catling’s shield and will report back to the council regarding her progress. You will both abide by guild codes and refrain from any use of influence or shield unless instructed… without exception. Aside from the heiress, we are the only souls who know of Catling’s ability, and so it will remain. I will not tolerate a breach—from anyone.

Catling assumed Dalcoran directed his warning at every soul there except Tunvise, the only one, aside from himself, yet to flip the guild on its head. She kept her mouth closed, waiting for the dismissal, which would free her to loose a barrage of questions at Vianne.

Dismissed, Dalcoran said. Kadan, if you would linger a moment longer.

A slow sigh escaped Catling’s chest, and she stole a glimpse at Kadan. He returned the brief inspection, his body wooden, an absence of sentiment in his eyes. She didn’t know what to think, how to feel.

Catling, Vianne called from the door.

Kadan nodded, the acknowledgment a slight concession. Catling turned her attention to Vianne and followed her into the garden.

You need to pack, Vianne said, without a glance back.

Why am I paired with Kadan? Catling hurried to catch up.

It wasn’t my choice. He’s Algar’s nephew, and the two of you share a thorny start. Dalcoran insists Kadan has learned his lesson, and his manner seems changed if somewhat subdued. The council believes you will learn faster if challenged to stretch your power, and he will undoubtedly stretch it. I couldn’t disagree.

Thorny start seemed an understatement. Kadan had badgered her without end, wielding influence to pinch her, make her itch, and flush her with embarrassing pleasure. Three times, he’d faced the doyen’s penalty.

She crossed the garden with Vianne. A light breeze perfumed the late-Summertide night with the sweet scent of ripe fruit. Catling brushed a hand over her smooth head, the sensation ever curious.

By the central fountain, Vianne halted as if whatever collected in her head had erected an impenetrable barrier that she couldn’t step across. Catling, you must not use your shield without permission, no matter how much you may wish to. Piergren and Dalcoran need only the slightest lapse.

To kill me. She saw no point in softening the words.

Perhaps. Vianne faced her. Influencer training is not kind. You experienced the extremes in the Poisoner’s pools. They will push you harder than they push your peers. They will expect you to harm, and you will be forced to endure the harm inflicted by others, by Kadan. Do not use your shield. Bear it and then seek me. We have the heiress’s protection, and we shall use it.

Piergren?

He owes me his life, Vianne said. Yet, we are human, and despite our most noble intentions, our natures are flawed. The range of what qualifies as acceptable is difficult to define when dealing with influence.

Catling shuddered, the warning burrowing into her skin. Despite her hopes, the threats and secrets hadn’t changed. She released a silent sigh. Thank you, Vianne. I will do as you say.

Now then. A smile lit the doyen’s face. I have a surprise for you.

***

Kadan stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back while Dalcoran finished with Piergren and Tunvise. His influenced beating had nearly killed him, and he still suffered nightmares that left him bathed in sweat and staring at the ceiling with a racing heart.

Dark dreams trapped him in Mur-Vallis, milled beneath his uncle’s heel and molded by fear. High Ward Algar believed power equaled entitlement, privilege without consequence, brutality acceptable in the maintenance of one’s stature. His uncle had encouraged a careless mean-spiritedness. Kadan had complied. Why wouldn’t he?

His inclination for mischief had followed him to Ava-Grea. Why he’d chosen Catling to badger, he had little idea. Because all the aspirants tested the limits? Because she wasn’t an influencer and therefore fair game? Because she was Vianne’s pet, a girl of the warrens with status of her own? He’d forgotten that here he held neither power nor privilege.

A lesson he’d remember.

When Piergren and Tunvise exited, Dalcoran closed the window and waved him to a seat. Do you have questions?

Kadan sat on the chair’s edge and considered what the doyen expected. None, Dalcoran-Elan.

You’ve traveled a precipitous road, Kadan, and I believe your experience has granted you a weightier respect for our guild. The burden of responsibility to the realm is not lightly borne. Dalcoran sank into his chair. You are broadly talented. In time, you may earn a place in Ava-Grea… if you show yourself worthy.

The last statement lodged in Kadan’s mind like a barbed hook. Did the doyen speak of the present and his role as aspirant? Or did he refer to the future? My uncle expects me to return to Mur-Vallis and serve him.

High Ward Algar exaggerates the scope of his power. Dalcoran arched an eyebrow, amusement thinning his lips. Your oath is to the realm and the guild. If we choose to apply your talents elsewhere, we shall do so.

A mountain of tension crumbled from Kadan’s shoulders as the potential for a reprieve flowed to the ends of his fingers and toes. A smile creased his face. I would like that. Thank you.

Then we shall keep that goal in mind, Dalcoran said. Now, I require your assistance.

I will do my best.

The doyen leaned back, a slight wince of discomfort pinching his face. You will assist this girl in learning her skills. I want you to drive her, challenge her. Do you understand what I’m asking?

Kadan’s smile fled as caution wormed beneath his skin. I’m to help her catch up.

Without question. But there is something more.

A blank mask slid over Kadan’s features as he sat back, distancing himself from the doyen. What is it you wish?

Dalcoran’s eyes narrowed. I am not suggesting you break the guild’s codes, Kadan, for such action would surely demand your death. You will not influence her unless instructed to do so by a doyen as part of your training. I have little use for oathbreakers. Is this point clear?

Yes, thank you. Kadan cringed inwardly at the admonishment while simultaneously sighing with relief.

In the interests of the realm, the guild needs to learn how much Catling can bear and at what point she breaks. We must know her tolerance for pain and fear. Dalcoran met his gaze. This is not a meaningless act of spite. Her power is flawed; she’s unable to shield herself and others at the same time. If she’s charged with shielding another from influence, how much agony can she resist before she shields herself?

Kadan mulled over the implications, weighing the wisdom of the request. Does Vianne-Ava know?

The doyen nodded. However, Catling does not, though I doubt she’ll be surprised by your cruelty.

The last word struck Kadan in the chest. Cruelty had exacted a harsh toll, first in Mur-Vallis, then in Ava-Grea. He’d barely survived the doyen’s punishing onslaught of influenced pain and fear. Could he inflict that on another? Could he risk the future Dalcoran flashed before his eyes like a gold coin? He met the doyen’s gaze. Your request is reasonable.

We are in agreement then. Dalcoran rose from his chair, their discussion apparently at an end. Vianne will apprise me of the girl’s progress. I would like your impressions as well.

You will not be disappointed. Kadan bowed before retreating from the room. He would do anything necessary to be free of Algar and Mur-Vallis. He would be whoever Dalcoran desired him to be.

Chapter Two

A gust of wind blew copper leaves against the window, a tapping of Harvest’s impatient fingers. With his hands clasped behind his back, Dalcoran’s exasperation had nowhere to show but on his face. Catling eyed him where he lingered against the wall in a clay-colored jacket and polished boots, his grooming and attire impeccable. A grim-faced instructor, he pushed her to master the basic skills. She’d rather he forced her to wash the floor with her tongue.

He gestured to continue. Catling swung her attention back to Kadan. Now seventeen winters, the boy of Mur-Vallis had lengthened, his hair longer and more brown than blond, his face handsome despite the angular features he shared with his uncle.

Lips tight between her teeth, she focused. Influence was more nuanced than her shield and twice as difficult to control. She continued to refine her shielding skills with Vianne, honing the precise edges of her talent. Like a Cull Tarr blade-spinner, she could wield her weapon with practiced ease: shield one or many, shield selectively, identify who influenced whom. She could provide a full barrier, as she often did with Vianne, or fluctuate her shield’s strength, allowing the receiver an awareness of the emotional sway. Her persistent failing was her inability to protect herself while shielding others.

Catling. Dalcoran arched an eyebrow. A touch of fear, and do not cover your eye this time.

Brow furrowed, she raked a hand over her stubble of hair and then pinned her fist to her thigh. Varying the intensity proved arduous enough; she couldn’t imagine blending influences at different strengths. Even after his years of training, Kadan seemed to struggle with modulation, a fact that didn’t bode well for her in more ways than one.

She stifled the urge to cover her unmarked eye and visualize the influence as threads, the way she had learned to shield. She drew the image of fear from her consciousness, an orange spool unwinding in her imagination. The woads on her back and head warmed, and she sent out a tenuous thread, directing it at Kadan’s chest.

Kadan nodded at Dalcoran, his fingers coiling into loose fists.

Increase it, the doyen said.

Catling drew in a breath and added another thread, thickening it. Kadan’s fists clenched, and he flinched, the discomfort on his face making her cringe.

More, Dalcoran said.

The threads multiplied. Kadan’s eyes closed, his body rigid.

Increase it.

Dalcoran-Elan, Catling pleaded.

Increase it.

Catling unrolled another thread, sending it forth to join the others. Kadan trembled, his eyes opening in alarm. She drew it back, hoping Dalcoran had seen enough to satisfy him.

Now, add a touch of pain.

I can’t do it. Catling shook her head.

You will do it, Dalcoran insisted. You will find fear and pain are your friends, Catling. Love and pleasure have their uses, but when you need results, you must do what’s necessary. The effects are impermanent, which is more than I can say for other means of coercion.

Go ahead, Kadan said.

Reluctance rippled up Catling’s back. She exhaled and concentrated, imagining the yellow spool beside the orange, unrolling a single thread, snaking it forward into Kadan’s… arm. He twitched and nodded at Dalcoran.

The doyen held out his palm and gestured at the ceiling. Catling added another and Kadan stepped back, pain intensifying and compounding his fear.

Dalcoran’s wrist flicked, demanding more. Catling glanced at him, his expression showing none of the ire she expected. He taught a lesson, nothing more. She unspooled another thread, changing the trajectory and aiming for Kadan’s knee, drawing a wince.

Now, Catling, hold the influence. Do not let it waver. Dalcoran stepped forward from the wall. Kadan, you may return the favor.

Fear erupted in Catling’s head, and she backed up with a whimper. Her influence snapped and vanished. Blistering pain ripped over her skin like yellow fire. She stumbled into a table behind her and reached for her shield, then held it back, Vianne’s warning more frightening than Kadan’s power. Her hands shook as she covered her face and sank to the floor. Tears welled in her eyes. Dalcoran would make them practice until they got it right. Then he’d make it worse.

***

Catling pecked Minessa on the cheek before slamming a palm to the panel and flying out the dormitory door. She dashed down the hallway, late for her lesson with Vianne. Nessa laughed behind her. You forgot your cloak.

No time, Catling called back. Living with Minessa, free of Vianne’s hawk-eyed scrutiny, made the dreary season tolerable. The change in quarters had been Vianne’s surprise, a gift prior to the commencement of training. Despite Nessa’s status as daughter of the High Ward of Kar-Aminia, she was gentle-hearted, there to study the healing arts of a mercy and disregard all else to the best of her ability. She was also of mixed blood, her flaxen hair and slanted eyes setting her apart from the ordinary aspirant.

Her face scrunching, Catling stepped into a Winterchill rain that grayed into a deluge. Too late to turn back, she scurried to the neighboring dormitory. Kadan stepped out before she could knock, eyeing her dripping hair as he pulled his hood lower over his forehead. He hardly looked happy at Vianne’s command.

Catling wiped the rain from her forehead. My regrets for my tardiness.

We should go. He ambled to the spiraling staircase, ignoring her attempts to march ahead and hurry their pace. She waited for him half way up the climb to the twelfth tier. Water trickled down her neck, and she shivered. Vianne would be furious when they arrived.

Kadan glanced at her. Why does Vianne need me?

She needs someone for me to influence and shield. I can’t do both at the same time. Catling inspected her feet as she walked, hiding her face from the rain and her frown from him. Qeyon used to help us.

Whatever Kadan thought of that time and the small role he played in the chaos, he said nothing. He rarely spoke to her at all, though he obeyed the doyen, a willing partner in their lessons.

All her training thus far amounted to a simple, straightforward application of influence, with disappointing attempts at subtlety or blending. She’d learned to direct physical pleasure and pain, love and hate, and with more difficulty, illness and healing. Kadan’s influence consistently whacked her like a sledgehammer, without any refinement at all. How he expected to sway hearts and minds without raising suspicion was a mystery she couldn’t fathom. She certainly didn’t need to see his influence to feel it.

A servant opened the door to Vianne’s quarters and stared at Catling’s soaked head and jacket. She’s going to tie herself in knots, the woman whispered as she ushered them in. I’ll find you a cloth to dry yourself. There’s greenleaf in the salon.

Catling rubbed the rain from her hair though hiding her foolishness was beyond her skill. At least she no longer dripped. Kadan hung his cloak on a peg, and she led him down the hallway.

***

Vianne heard them at the door. Late and later, as usual. She sat in her customary chair, tatting a broad ribbon of snowy lace. Heat vented from the pylons, warming the room, and the luminescent tubes snaking across the ceiling brightened the dull day. The minty scent of greenleaf mingled with her perfume. She looked up when Catling and Kadan entered and frowned at the ragged girl.

If you are unable to manage your time, and care for your health, Catling, I shall be happy to supervise. Of course, that would require you to return to your room here.

I promise to take better care. Catling bowed. My respects, Vianne-Ava.

Kadan followed suit. My respects, Doyen.

Her tatting in her lap, Vianne studied the two of them. Kadan was an enigma, his face without a readable expression, so different from the boy who’d trembled on the Ava-Grea docks five years before.

Different too from the young man nearly destroyed by his influenced punishment. Fear and pain had bred in him a wariness of the crueler aspects of his skill, a change she hoped would serve them all. His suffering had transformed him into the model aspirant, and no doubt, Dalcoran’s spy.

Thank you for your assistance, Kadan. Please have a seat. Catling will serve you tea. While Kadan took a chair, Catling poured tea for them both. She handed him a steaming cup and sank into a seat.

Finished with her lace, Vianne faced the young man, refraining from applying any influence Catling might sense. Do you know why I requested your presence?

Catling is unable to shield herself and others at the same time.

Vianne spared a glance for Catling. That alone presents its share of challenges. Yet, it also appears she is unable to influence and shield simultaneously. She sighed, still irritated with the recent discovery.

My shield blocks my own influence, Catling said.

Perhaps. Vianne’s gaze returned to Kadan. Yet, I’m the one influencing her, so she’s attempting to block me while influencing me. We require a third person. We need another participant for all of this. Dalcoran suggested you, and to be frank, you are the only aspirant with knowledge of her skills.

Kadan dipped his head. I’m willing to assist in any way I can.

The perfect aspirant, indeed. My preference is to practice without pain, and I suspect neither of you will object. She smiled as the tightness in their shoulders eased. We shall begin with something rather simple and work our way into new territory. I shall ply Kadan with pleasure and love. Please direct your gaze at Catling. Catling, you will count silently to five and then block me. Kadan, raise your hand when you experience the block.

When Kadan looked at Catling, Vianne dosed him with a swell of love and a touch of pleasure. He shifted and flushed, a smile cracking his staid demeanor. Vianne maintained her poise despite the urge to chuckle. He raised his hand and blew out a breath.

Timing, Catling? Vianne asked.

He felt the change immediately.

Excellent. Vianne smiled. I apologize, Kadan, for the intimacy. We can switch to discomfort if you prefer.

No, Vianne-Ava, I would rather avoid it when I can.

As you wish. Vianne pivoted to Catling. Now, I shall influence you. You will influence Kadan, and then block me. At the girl’s nod, Vianne injected her with affection. By the expression on Kadan’s face, Catling pumped his heart with an extra dose of sweetness. Now block me, but continue to influence Kadan.

Catling’s eyebrows pinched, and Kadan raised a hand, the effect of her influence lost.

It can’t be done, Vianne. Catling’s shoulders dropped. It’s as if I’m attempting to be wet and dry at the same time.

A variation, Vianne said. Shield yourself. We shall both influence you with caring feelings and physical ease. On my signal, you will shift your shield to block only me and apply your influence on Kadan.

It’s impossible.

You will attempt it until I’m satisfied, Vianne scolded her, willing to stretch this tryst out as long as she pleased. Begin.

Vianne applied a whisper of love over them both, scarcely enough to notice in light of the previous intensity. Kadan wore a wide-eyed smile, pushing the sensations against Catling’s barrier as if it were a matter of might alone. The effort made no difference with Catling shielded.

Now, slowly lower your shield until you sense the influence, Vianne said. Catling’s eyes popped open, and she blushed at Kadan. Endure it, please, Vianne instructed, or we shall shift to pain. Now shield me alone.

Vianne assumed the next step would fail, but success wasn’t the point. Now influence Kadan, but maintain your shield over me.

Her hands gripping the arms of her chair, Catling narrowed her eyes and focused. Her shield failed as her influence succeeded. Kadan lurched back in his seat, mouth agape. Ah, Oh!

You may both tone down your intensity. Vianne huffed, the heat in the room more than she intended. Modest affection will do. They both relaxed, blinking at each other like owls. Now, let’s attempt this again.

Chapter Three

Lelaine stared out the window at the churning delta waters. The wind keened through Elan-Sia’s tiers, and charcoal clouds smudged the bold faces of the moons. Two days past, Brightest Night had heaved up high tides while the snowmelts from the south shed a torrent of icy water. The morning had dawned with a dreariness matching her mood.

Behind her, councilors and influencers wrangled with her father, the king increasingly childlike and as ornery as a rusty hinge. They’d been discussing the Cull Tarr presence beyond the surf, the delta’s shifting shoals, and a need for further dredging. It all faltered when her father began issuing orders for public executions, none of which she held any inclination to authorize. Councilors Oaron and Edark were first on the gibbet and therefore frantic to soothe the monarch’s tantrum.

She’d retreated to the view. The talk of the sea and ships and sails juddered against her father’s petulance and the councilors’ postulating with regard to Cull Tarr motives. The cajoling prattle and manipulation ground her teeth and grated on her nerves. No doubt, the royal influencers were earning their keep.

The urge to flee the room and climb aboard her little boat percolated in her chest, her wariness of the choppy weather weighing less in her thoughts. An hour or two alone would refresh her and infuse her with the stamina to endure a lengthy afternoon of more spectacular monotony.

Perhaps, Your Excellence would appreciate a bite to eat, something sweet, Oaron said as if speaking to a young son.

Have a cake brought in, her father demanded. No sense in spilling the vermin’s blood with a growling stomach.

A nap, Your Majesty, Edark said, less willing to placate. A draught of godswell to help you sleep.

Where’s my ambassador? the king shouted. Where’s Varon Kest? What are those bastard Cull Tarr doing in my sea?

The sea belongs to no one and all, Your Excellence, Oaron said for the hundredth time. Lelaine rolled her eyes at the sea. Oaron possessed the patience of the dead. Why he tried to apply reason would forever baffle her. His voice droned on in a long history lesson sure to have her father nodding off.

It’s beautiful, heiress, isn’t it? a voice whispered behind her.

Lelaine glanced over her shoulder. Gisalle-Bes smiled. A petite influencer with shiny brown locks and wide-set eyes, she exhibited a tendency to stand close enough to share one’s shoes.

Even on stormy days. Lelaine’s gaze returned to the window, and the influencer joined her. The luminescent sea shimmered as a stream of sunlight spilled from a gash in the clouds. Waves roared over the harbor’s breakwater, the spume a rainbow of hues despite the gloom.

You must love taking your little boat for a sail, Gisalle said. Such a shame that the weather’s so foul.

Her boat called, the wind and surf within her expertise, surely. She’d sailed all her life. I could manage it, Lelaine assured her.

You mustn’t risk it, however. The woman sighed, touching Lelaine’s ringlets. Your duties demand your caution. All of Ellegeance must take precedence to your desires.

Lelaine drew her hair from the influencer’s fingers, the woman maddening with reminders she didn’t require. Confidence swelled in her veins, the urge to sail, to garner a moment of freedom, blending with irritation at being told she shouldn’t… and couldn’t.

Your father has agreed to Oaron’s suggestion that we reconvene this afternoon, Gisalle said. If your schedule permits, High Wardess Sianna-Bes and one of her sons seek an audience to discuss a bonding.

A rapid succession of boorish comments paraded through Lelaine’s head, including that she had made herself categorically clear regarding Sianna’s pushy middle-aged sons, both of them. I’m going sailing, she said, her mind made up, and Founders forbid any suitors attempt to accompany me because I’ll drown them. She turned on her heel, heading for the door.

Gisalle followed in her shadow. You mustn’t, Heiress. It’s far too dangerous.

I’m quite capable, Influencer. Lelaine strode down the hallway to the pylon’s lift and slapped the panel. She spun on the woman who trampled on her toes. And I order you not to influence me.

Of course not, Gisalle replied, her eyes wide. I only advise you. The High Wardess will eventually beg your attention, and with the weather so beyond your abilities, this is the ideal time for an audience.

Lelaine stared at the woman in disbelief. The lift’s door glided open, and she stepped inside, the influencer impossible to lose. I don’t trust your guild, Lelaine said, her irritation flaring with her resolve. My skiff is the only place where I’m assured any emotional privacy. I won’t be influenced into a bond, and I won’t be badgered about my duty. Thirdly, I won’t be told what I am and am not capable of.

The woman sighed. "Well then, I might as well assist you. The guards will attempt to stop you without