Shrouded: Heartstone Book One (8 page)

“You have it.” Dolfan stiffened. He knew exactly what the bastard wanted, but he wasn’t going to get it. “All contracts are pending only until the buyer inspects and signs off on the product. You know that, I suspect.”

“We wish to inspect the material at the source.”

“No.” He ignored the Shevran’s reaction, the chest puffing and the flush of yellow that crept across his gills. “That is absolutely out of the question, of course.”

“Allowing a delegation to inspect the goods on site would save your operation a great deal of the cost to transport goods that might eventually be rejected.”

“Reject away.” Dolfan leaned forward. He stood a good head taller than the lizard and he intended to use the fact to his advantage. The Shevrans understood posturing. But apparently they didn’t understand diplomacy or the terms of their trading agreement. “You are welcome to refuse any shipment or any portion of one. Go right ahead. We are more than happy to absorb the cost of transport, though I doubt we’d need to. The list of traders awaiting access to Base 14 is long and distinguished. I’m certain someone would be more than happy to take any of your shipments.”

They’d be happy to take the Shevran’s place as well, and the man knew it. His whole face went yellow and his neck bobbed slightly—a sign of aggression, but Dolfan let slide for the sake of business.

“You cannot keep the universe at bay forever,” the Shevran hissed.

“Oh, I don’t know. We seem to be doing a fine job of it so far.” Dolfan grinned and shrugged. The subject shift, however slight, was a win for him. He doubted the man had ever refused even a portion of goods delivered, or ever would.

Still, as the trader turned and focused on inspecting the crates of gem rough, Dolfan frowned. The whole act had been a ploy to get Shevrans on the core. He’d dealt with the same thing often enough. Too often, in fact. He watched the green fingers paw through the stone and shook his head. Everyone wanted to be on the surface. Everyone wanted a peek below the Shroud.

He might tell a merchant or two that they had it under control, but somehow, he wondered.
Could
they keep the universe at bay? Base 14—the whole trading outfit—seemed like a good idea. It had worked for the first few years, but the distraction had worked too well. Perhaps the quality of goods coming out of the core would cause even more trouble.

He glanced up to the high screen and watched the arrivals and departures scroll over their heads. Mofitan’s shuttle had left the platform. The elevator cars were the only road to the planet’s surface. For anyone nonnative, there was only one ticket that earned you a ride down. And that ticket, the one that brought brides to the Shrouded, was a one way trip.

“
N
ow
this
is choice
.” Tarren sat cross-legged on the bunk opposite Vashia and eyed the blue wig. She turned it over and ran her hands down the silky strands. “Where did you find it?”

“I traded for it.” Vashia leaned against her pillow and smiled at the ceiling. Their stuff had been returned once the transport was cleared of Eclipsis, but the wig she could definitely live without. “You want it?”

Tarren dropped it too fast. She shook her head. “No, no. It’s just nice.”

“I was going to leave it behind when we got there.” Vashia shrugged. “If you don’t want it, I’ll probably throw it out.”

Below them, directly under Tarren, Murrel snorted and rolled over in her sleep. Since the mess hall altercation, Tarren spent more time in their room than her own. She slid the wig back into her lap and kept her eyes on it.

“Do you believe what she says?”

“Murrel?” Vashia chuckled. “That depends. Which part?”

“All that fairy tale crap.” Tarren lay down and rolled onto her side to face Vashia. She fixed a skeptical expression. “All that stuff about the crystal picking your perfect mate.”

“No.” Vashia stared back and saw a flash of disappointment cross Tarren’s face. “Not really. Do you?”

“Course not.”

Damn. She’d dashed whatever secret hopes Tarren was hiding. The tough note to her voice was proof of that. Vashia had given her the wrong answer, but what else could she say? She didn’t want any of them swallowing Murrel’s rubbish. She didn’t want them to get those kinds of hopes up, but she felt guilty anyway.

“You know,” she began, trying to force some optimism into her voice, “I’m sort of just hoping I won’t be sold, or beaten too much, or anything weird.”

“Hell,” Tarren snorted, “we’re all hoping for that.” Her sigh filled the cabin. “But what are the odds?”

“You know most rumors do have a seed of truth to them.” Vashia had to give her something. She felt like the queen cynic at a convention of the downtrodden. “Maybe it was just so much better than what everyone was used to that it seemed like a fairy tale.”

“I bet that’s it.”

“Me too.” The hope in Tarren’s voice would have made her laugh if she hadn’t been so terrified of their immediate future. How could someone like Tarren—someone who had been beaten, mistreated, and who knew what else—still have a streak of optimism? If the alpha prostitute could imagine a fairy tale ending, why couldn’t the governor’s daughter?

For whatever reason, Vashia couldn’t hope. She couldn’t imagine anything at the end of the journey—not a fairy tale or even a horror. Her mind evaded the topic like a shadow cat dodging the moonlight. In her mind, nothing waited. Nothing neared with each passing day and no husband could possibly claim her on Shroud or any other world. She told herself that repeatedly while she listened to Tarren fall asleep.

W
hen Jarn entered the room
, Kovath turned away from his post at the window. The governor tilted his head to one side and ran a hand over his mustache. His boot clicked against the flooring.

“It’s done,” Jarn reported. He watched Kovath’s face and catalogued the emotions he saw pass over it. “She’s on her way to Shroud.”

“She signed up?” The shock in the man’s voice confirmed that he never really believed the plan would work.

The idea to take Shroud had been Kovath’s, but it was Jarn who’d seized the idea and nurtured it to full fruition. Between them, they’d worked out a way to invade without repercussions. The lesser governors on Eclipsis would back anything Kovath did, in particular if it padded their own pockets. The Galactic Council, however, would never stand for unprovoked invasion.

If the circumstances warranted it, however, if a father were simply trying to retrieve his lost child, the popular sympathy could go a long way toward justifying the act. The whole galaxy wanted to know what was on Shroud, wanted a piece of that particular planet. If Kovath found a way to win it that could be sold to the people as unavoidable, no governor in the sector would question him. All Kovath had to do was play the doting and concerned parent.

If the governor could manage that much.

As it was, he let Jarn do all the footwork. If the plan fell through, Kovath could pin a great deal of the blame on his head. “She took the bait,” he said. “She didn’t doubt Samra for a second.”

“It seems like an overreaction on her part.” Kovath frowned, bringing his thick brows closer together. “Not like her, to be so extreme.”

“I made certain she knew the alternative would be unacceptable.”

“You’re a dog.” Kovath made the insult a statement of fact. They both knew what Jarn was capable of. He’d already pulled off the impossible, had wiggled his way onto Moon Base 14, had allied himself with the Shrouded traitor. Now he’d set the child in motion as well and all they had to do was wait for her to get herself good and lost on Shroud.

“The point is,” said Jarn, swallowing his irritation, “that the plan is moving forward. I’m leaving tomorrow morning for the Shrouded moon.”

Despite his services, Kovath didn’t trust him. Jarn knew this, and it never bothered him usually. But he’d recently discovered that the governor had completely ignored the part of their plan that mattered most. He hadn’t changed his will and, should the unthinkable happen, Kovath’s entire estate fell to his daughter and not Jarn.

“Good.” Kovath nodded. “You have things in order for the next step, then?”

“Yes.” Jarn tapped his fingers together. He’d require delicacy on this matter. Kovath mustn’t guess he’d been at the governor’s personal files, or that he’d managed to ferret out every pass code the man had thought up over the years. “And have you arranged for the other portion?”

Kovath’s eyes widened for a second. Then he smiled like the devil and nodded. “Of course.” He was lying, and his expression sparked and said he savored every minute of it.

“Everything is secure?” It damn sure wasn’t. Jarn watched Kovath nod again and fought against the urge to throttle him. The governor wasn’t budging. He could see that much. Kovath had amended the plan to include his own little safety net, and it left Jarn out in the cold. It left him under the governor’s thumb, exactly where Kovath wanted him.

“Good,” said Jarn.“I’m sure it won’t be necessary, but with the girl on Shroud, who knows what might happen to her.” Or to Kovath, had he signed her damned inheritance over to him according to the plan. Jarn had no doubts to that. Kovath hadn’t placed the girl in his will for any reason other than to thwart him. He’d done it specifically to keep Jarn under control.

“Of course it won’t.” Kovath grinned outright.

The bastard knew he knew about the lie. No matter. When he’d put both Kovath and his obnoxious daughter in their graves on Shroud, Jarn could worry about the little details. He could forge the damned will if necessary. He had the governor’s pass codes, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d signed the man’s name.

He smiled and bowed his exit from the office. It would be a hiccup, nothing more. A simple trick and his future would be secured. He had a flight to catch in the morning. Then, once they’d handled things on Shroud, he’d get right on it.

T
he engines stopped rattling
as they entered orbit. Vashia hadn’t even noticed the hum for days, and her legs had grown so used to the vibrations that she staggered a little at their absence. The hall outside erupted with chatter, nervous giggles, even a squeal or two. They’d reached Shroud. They orbited a short docking procedure away from whatever fate they’d sold themselves into.

“Holy shit.” Tarren sat up on her bunk and stared wide-eyed at the door. “Are we there?”

“I think so.” Vashia smiled, though she felt more like puking. Her stomach clenched against the worries she’d been suppressing for days. “We’ve dropped into orbit.”

“Hmmm?” Murrel moaned from her own cot. She rolled over and cracked an eye at Vashia. “You’re up already?”

“Yeah. I think we’re there.” Vashia ducked under her cot and pulled out the drawer she’d claimed for her solitary outfit. She slept in the ship-issued jumpsuit, and she’d tossed her slave rags as soon as she had something else to put on. She pulled out the clothes Samra had leant her and stared at them. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Me too.” Murrel made a show of choking loudly enough to quench any urge Vashia might have actually had.

“Ugh.” Tarren slid her legs over and dropped down beside Vashia. “I think I changed my mind.”

All three of them laughed then, nervous and hesitant giggles that sounded forced but somehow managed to get them through, to get them all moving. The voices in the hall faded in and out. A thunder of feet when the girls ran from room to room, a blast of laughter and the opening and closing of doors. “I feel like I’m back in school.” Vashia said.

“Oh yeah.”

Murrel added her input too quickly. From the look on both of their faces, she guessed neither Tarren nor Murrel had gone to school—one more thing to feel guilty about. She shook it off. They were all in the same boat now. Like it or not, they were all about to discover their new home world and the husbands that came with it.

“You all right?” Tarren put a hand to her shoulder and leaned down to see her face. “You’re looking kinda green, Vash.”

“I’m okay,” she said, though she really did want to throw up. Maybe later, when Murrel wouldn’t be tempted to mimic. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure.” Tarren nodded. “Sure you will.”

T
hey docked
at Moon Base 14. The ship slid into the bay easily and without any jostling of its terrified cargo. Vashia sat in the bay between Murrel and Tarren and watched the rear hatch like it was a rabid gutter slug, like it might jump out and suffocate them at any second.

They all huddled toward the end of the cargo bay, and their coordinator paced between them.

“He’s not exactly helping my nerves any,” Tarren whispered.

Vashia smiled, though she didn’t feel any better, and nodded her agreement. She’d just been thinking of how good it would feel to strangle the man. What did
he
have to be worried about?

A comm at his belt brattled and fourteen women jumped out of their skins. Vashia’s heart slammed into her throat and back. Her hands kept shaking, even after he’d apologized and answered the damned thing. Someone was ready for them. Someone waited outside. She thought about puking again, but, after looking at the determination around her, the discomfort and the bald faced terror on her fellows’ faces, she convinced herself to buck up. She could take it.

The door whined and cracked a few inches. Light slid into the bay—a square halo marking their gateway to the absolute unknown. Vashia stared at it. She heard the creak of metal and saw the light widen as it lost the effect and became just an ordinary opening. The sound of ships’ engines filled the bay, leaking in from the base outside and drowning out their coordinator’s prattle. More apologies perhaps. She thanked the cacophony for sparing her another round of “so sorry.”