The Warlord's Daughter (19 page)

The commotion had Bolivarr shaking his head. “Well, it’s the safest place on the ship they could be.”

The priestess opened the door. “My children, I have been a bad member of this crew, keeping the girls here past curfew and not making sure they had their PCDs.” Technology was not something at the tops of many priestesses’ minds, particularly one as advanced in years as Chara. “They were immersed in their translations, and wanting to hear the old tales. I’m afraid I let it get out of hand.”

“The cadets should have known better,” Hadley said sternly, but wanting to smile at the sight of the way M-19 and Ellen stood, shoulders pressed together, at perfect attention. “No matter how fascinating the task, duty comes first.” She turned to them. “Number one, accountability.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you realize I was moments away from initiating an all-ship call to roust you two out from wherever you were hiding?” Bolivarr also managed a frown at the upset girls. “That would have compromised the sleep cycles of a third of the crew, and thus the safety of this ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

The pair looked positively gloomy.

“Would you care to come inside?” The sister invited them in with a wave of her gnarled hand. After a point the aging process was beyond the reach of nanomeds. Hadley guessed the priestess to be at least 130.

A reproduction of an ancient text lay open on a table. The room was lit dimly, the scent of incense thick. Hadley almost sneezed.

Bolivarr halted by the table. His gaze stumbled over the pages of the open book. The sister watched him carefully. “They’ve worked long and hard on their translations,” she explained as he studied the runes. His face was unreadable, his body tense as he traced the shape of the five marks with his hand.

“The five marks point the way to the inner Keep on Ara Ana,” Ellen said, reciting. “‘Closed to all but she with a heart pure and true.’”

“Maybe it’s one of us,” M-19 said, equally dreamy. “We’ll be able to open it.”

The people of Earth were as prone to believing fairy tales as Taloans, Hadley thought.

“Pure and true means ‘priestess’ in the old tongue,” Sister Chara explained. “Priestesses take vows of poverty. And celibacy.”

“On the
Cloud Shadow
it means that those pure and true of heart don’t miss curfew,” Hadley scolded, girding herself against their crushed expressions. “Soldiers also understand when they have to be confined to quarters as a consequence for ignoring it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused.

The girls’ sincerity tugged at her, and reminded her a bit of herself. “I love your enthusiasm. But I need to
know that when all hells breaks loose, my people are where they need to be—or where they say they are. No matter where you go in your careers, rooks, those you fight with—” she stopped herself, remembering the treaty “—and those you protect peace with expect and deserve the same from you.”

Goddess, Hadley thought as she watched them go. She’d just told the prince-consort’s niece to go to her room. Although they’d taken the lecture like troupers, it made her feel a bit guilty. She’d been in their boots not so long ago. But she was a young captain, untried; if she looked the other way too often she’d soon lose respect of the crew. Admiral Bandar said that being captain of a ship was a lonely job. Hadley was lucky. She’d tasted only a little of that truth. She had Bolivarr.

He scanned the runes. “What’s this one, Sister?”

“It’s the symbol for a key.”

He nodded. “And this?”

“Keeper.”

He tapped his finger on the last symbol, his eyes narrowing. “I know this one. I know what it means. Keeper…” He grabbed a stylus as if about to sketch a picture on the datapad, dropping the stick a moment later to press a fist to his forehead. “Gods,” he said tightly. Fist clenched, he gave his arm one quick shake, as if holding an enemy at bay.

She rushed up to steady him. “Pain” he coughed out. “Searing—Gods, those bastards.” Swallowing convulsively, he turned regretful eyes to her. “They don’t want me to remember,” he half whispered. “Every time I get close, every time I feel I’ll break down that wall and see,
finally see,
it’s like a knife plunged in my head.”

Sister Chara made a small sound of horror. Hadley had, too, the first time she’d heard Bolivarr use that expression to describe the inhumane methods of thought suppression practiced on Imperial Wraiths to ensure they never recalled what they weren’t supposed to. She supposed it would have been cheaper and less work to simply kill the wraith to keep a secret, but their training took too long. Too much was invested to throw them away. So they turned the wraith’s own mind into a vault never to be opened—without killing them.

She rubbed a hand over his back. The muscles were rock-hard with tension. “I know what it means.” He gazed at the runes the way a man dying of thirst eyed a glass of cold water held just out of reach. It was the closest she’d ever seen him come to recollection. He was standing at the edge. All he needed was the right trigger to push him to the other side.

Again he recoiled, hissing in pain.

“Let it go for now,” she coaxed. “It’s not time. Don’t force it.”

Squinting from his headache, Bolivarr swiped a hand over his face. “I’ll make sure the rooks made it back to their quarters. Knowing those two, there’s no telling where they might end up.” He walked into the corridor, unsteady on his feet.

After he was safely gone, Hadley leaned over the small table, her weight resting on her hands. Sister Chara observed her, her expression one of compassion. “It must be difficult to see him suffer, Captain.”

“Very. I don’t always know how to help.”

“Being there is the greatest help.”

Hadley smiled softly. “I hope so.”

“Sit, please.”

The woman did so herself, leaving Hadley little choice. In a way, it was with relief that she joined the priestess. The woman was a religious figure and Hadley did not have to worry about displaying what could be perceived by others on the crew as weakness. Save Bolivarr. He was her best friend. She told him everything.

“I think your Bolivarr knows much about these ancient symbols—more than even me. I see how the boy struggles, how he wants to know more. And yet doesn’t want to. He fears what he is.”

Shivering, Hadley leaned forward and tapped a finger at the runes. “Key. Keeper. Tell me what they mean.”

“Keepers were the original guards of the goddesses. Heaven’s knights. Keys were specially chosen priestesses. They possessed the ability to open the sanctum on Ara Ana. The privilege is passed down through maternal bloodlines like divine blood is passed goddess queen to goddess queen. There were several such family lines at one time. Quite possibly, they’re all dead now. The Hordish campaign of genocide played no favorites, child. My research on this subject has been my life’s work. It’s why I was invited along on your expedition.” Chara dropped her voice to a private tone. “Scholars of antiquities like me believe Keys and Keepers existed.
Do
exist. And that there is a clandestine group of Imperial Wraiths who carry on the tradition, chosen and trusted through the centuries to protect the Keys and keep the birthplace safe—and secret.”

“So you think Bolivarr may be a Keeper,” Hadley whispered, her heart racing.

“Or he hunted them for the warlord, if the warlord knew of them. I don’t know which.”

Goddess.
The thought chilled her instantly.

“See, if the warlord wanted to find the birthplace and the legendary treasure he’d need a Key. The way to a Key is through her Keeper, her protector.”

“But Keepers and Keys are
Drakken.
” The “godless” Drakken as guardians of the birthplace and its sanctum? “The birthplace is Coalition. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you realize that the schism was more than simply Drakken and Coalition splitting. It was a rift within the very order itself. In those days it had nothing to do with the two sides we know. Those staying behind in the original Hordish lands didn’t want the others fleeing with everything. They refused to let the contents of the sanctum go to one side and not the other. Not until they were assured the galaxy could be whole again. They’ve kept it under their protection ever since, throughout the entire war.”

And now the war was over. Previously forbidden regions were opening up, relics were being recovered after being plundered, hoarded and plain old forgotten for centuries.

Was Bolivarr keeping the ultimate secret? Was Bolivarr a wraith-protector, a Keeper? The alternative was unthinkable.

A
FAMILIAR CHIMING
dragged Hadley awake. Then she felt Bolivarr’s arms slide from around her waist. Goddess, they were still in bed! Silent and in need of her, he’d come to her quarters after assuring the cadets were safe. He’d made love to her with an almost desperate edge she’d decided not to question. It left them both exhausted. The last thing she remembered was spooning afterward, then—

“Captain Keyren.” She groped for her PCD and hooked it over her ear. Even as she spoke, Bolivarr was pulling on his uniform pants. Everyone knew they had a relationship that preceded this mission. They were supposed to keep the intimate aspect of the affair from the eyes of the crew.

“It’s me, Garwin.”

She winced at the archaeologist’s complete absence of military protocol. “Go ahead.”

“I thought you’d like to know that we’re ready to establish orbit.”

Outside the floor-to-ceiling porthole in her quarters, a lovely planet rotated slowly below, closer than ever before. The planet everyone hoped was Ara Ana, perhaps her more than anyone else after last night’s revelations.

Cloud strewn oceans cast soft, bluish light into the room. Where day became night over the curve of the planet, equatorial storms flickered like glow bugs on a Talo summer evening. They’d been in sight of the planet for well over a day. Even from that distance she’d been hypnotized by the beauty of the far-flung world. The pull was even more so now.

“I can’t reach the security officer,” Garwin said.

She snapped her gaze from the scene outside and exchanged a pained glance with Bolivarr. “He’s with me. We were meeting late.” She winced even as she said it. It was the middle of her rest period. What “meeting” would go that long?

She ended the call. “Flarg.”

Bolivarr touched her arm to reassure her. “I should have known better than to let us fall asleep.”

She grabbed the edges of his unbuttoned shirt and pulled him close. “But it was wonderful. It’s been too long since we stayed the night together.”

Bolivarr’s mouth curved into a sexy, sleepy smile. His glossy black hair was ruffled from sleep, his cheek creased from the pillow. He moved aside her tangled hair and nuzzled her neck. “Good morning.” Their lips touched, lingered, then what promised to be a busy day began.

They finished dressing. Quickly, Hadley brushed her hair into her “battle-bridge” chignon. The ruby earrings glinted in their box next to her bedside. She hesitated, putting down her brush. She’d taken them out to sleep. Every time she saw them, she was reminded that the proposal she’d hoped for from Bolivarr hadn’t materialized. They further reminded her that she was pink, not red, in nature. Her intimacy with Bolivarr didn’t lack in
passion and heat—last night was proof of that—but then again, he knew his way around a woman’s body. She gleaned the luscious benefits of that experience, yes, but from whom did he get it?
Silly thoughts.

Useless thoughts. She put them out of her mind as she placed the earrings in her ears. There was a planet to explore.

On the bridge, they found Garwin’s team already at work using onboard equipment to locate likely sites for their initial exploration. There was a lot of terrain to cover.

The archaeologist stood hunched over a data screen with Sister Chara at his side. Hadley slowed, not expecting such perturbed expressions when moments ago all had been routine.

“Captain, there seems to be evidence of a prior visit to this site.”

They clustered around the images. Garwin magnified them until they could almost see the leaves on the trees. “Someone’s landed here at some point in the recent past.”

“And launched.” Bolivarr traced a finger around a clearing. “Fairly recently—or at least since it last rained. It’s charred…here…all around the ring.”

Hadley studied the landscape. She’d had plenty of tracking experience on Talo. “You can still see the paths from boots crushing the grass.” The paths wound in curves and circles. “They were looking for something.”

“The sanctum,” Sister Chara breathed.

Disappointment dragged at Hadley. It was like receiving a gift and finding out it had already been opened. She’d wanted to be the first here. She wanted to be able to give Zaafran his wish of proving goodness existed—and before anyone else could. She straightened her spine
and placed her hands behind her back. “We’ll gather a team and go down to the site.” Quieter, she said, “If these visitors were looking for something, I hope to goddess they didn’t find it.”

T
HE JOURNEY TO
A
RA
A
NA
took
Borrowed Time
many days. Even though the nanodata in Wren’s pendant contained what appeared to be precise coordinates for the planet, it wasn’t until crosschecking with legend and rumors and three experienced spacefarers’ best guesses that they were under way.

Each night she slept with Aral on his mat. Their closeness remained chaste but by no means dull. They had to be careful. There was so little privacy, and every sigh or moan would carry on the small ship if they weren’t careful, but they’d quietly spent more hours kissing than she could count. Kissing and touching that left her ravenous for more.

His nightmares occurred but with less intensity, and he was no less ashamed of them. His atrocious past kept him in its grip no matter how hard he tried to escape it: torture, insult done to his body through drugs and beatings by the man who was supposed to love him, or at least care for him. She imagined him as a boy standing up to Karbon Mawndarr. That would be a nightmare come to life. No wonder his sleep was shattered. “Why only you and not your brother, Bolivarr?” she asked him as he held her close.

His body went rigid. She came up on her elbow, her hand on his face, not allowing him to escape the question. His eyes were dark and narrowed and rife with anguish. “Because he couldn’t break me.”

The sentence lingered in the shocked silence between them. “He wanted to break you—why?”

“Because he
couldn’t.
He tried for all the years I was with him. I think he realized the only way he could do so was to kill me. He stopped short of that, as I stopped short of killing him.” He exhaled, his eyes narrowing further. “If he’d hurt Bolivarr, I would have killed him, Wren. And by the fates, Wren, if he so much as touches you, I won’t stop to think, as you want me to. If he raises a hand to you, he’s done. No question. No second thoughts.”

He dragged her close, at first out of pure need, then out of desire. The kiss deepened with mutual urgency. His hands slid over the swell of her breasts before starting another luscious, downward slide. She urged him on with equally hungry hands.

“I want to make love to you,” he whispered, gasping as their mouths separated. “All night, and wake with you in my arms.” His lips brushed over hers. “To stroke you and kiss you until you were ready for me once more.” He buried his mouth in the crook of her neck, making her sigh. “Then as you went about your day, you’d carry the memory of me between your legs.”

As he whispered his carnal words, he began to touch her, bringing her to pleasure. It was not difficult; his erotic promise had already carried her halfway there. Within a few breaths she was pressing her teeth against his shoulder to muffle her moan. Grabbing her wrists, he started to mount her, then a shudder ran through his body and he wrenched his mouth from hers. Breathing hard, he swore. Her eyes opened wide. He gave her little time to ponder the acute expression on his hard, noble face before he lowered his head between her
breasts, groaning and quietly laughing out of the frustration she shared. “This is madness. I want you, Wren. I want to make you my wife in every way.”

“I’m already yours in every way that counts.”

He lifted his head, his eyes questioning and dark with need. She touched his cheek, feeling the hardness of his jaw, knowing the tenderness of the man inside and not how that gentle soul managed to survive what had been done to it. “I love you, Aral Mawndarr.”

Emotion played over his face, raw and honest. “I’ll see us safe, my love. We won’t have to run forever. You have my word.”

“Hush now. It’s time to rest.” She did indeed love him, and feared it. Bad things happened to those close to her. A sense of dread followed her into an uneasy slumber. It somehow came as no surprise when the ship’s alarm jolted them from a deep sleep.

“We’ve got a target on our tail,” yelled Kaz into the confines of the small ship.

They scrambled, gathering on the bridge. A blinking icon dragged her attention to the main screen. “Who is it?” Aral demanded.

“Ion signature undetermined.”

“Flarg me,” Vantos blurted out. “They’ve got no identification at all.”

“Pirates? Rogues? REEFs?” Kaz wondered aloud.

“Or loyalists,” Wren warned. Karbon was on the loose. The resistance was a real threat. Falling into his father’s hands would be a fate worse than death.

Vantos jumped into his seat. “I’m not hanging around for the rest of the guessing game, boys and girls. They’re definitely tracking us. Everybody tied down?”

“Strap in,” Aral yelled at Wren. She’d come to know that his fear came out as anger.

Vantos whooped. “Prepare for the run of your life, folks. Hang on.”

Turbulence indicated the wormhole entry. The transit was prolonged. The ship shook hard. Wren stifled a moan and gripped the armrests. Her stomach seemed to stretch like rubber, vertigo making her head spin. A few more jolts and they were back in normal space. If only they could stay there.

The proximity alert wailed once more. “The bastard’s still with us.”

“Jump!” Aral called.

Their pursuer chased them through wormholes, one after the other. Vantos didn’t give the ship a chance to recover before making another jump. He seemed to have no sense of self-survival whatsoever. He took risks only a dead man dared. Thank fates for that.

They kept up the pattern until Kaz warned that the fuselage had heated to dangerous levels. “We’re leaking fuel and air and fates know what else. This pace is too hard on your ship.”

“Keep going.” Aral’s tone was flat. He wasn’t ready to give up.

Vantos drew an exhausted hand through his hair. “This area of space is riddled with instabilities. If we decide to jump, our best bet is here—” he magnified an image “—via this wormhole. It’s old. I’m not too sure it’s still viable.”

Jumping without looking first. Since when did that bother the man?

“And ready whatever weapons you have,” Aral said.
“If they follow us through this wormhole, we’ll turn and fight.”

“No.” With the eyes of the warlord, Wren shook her head. “If we can’t outrun them, we’ll strike a compromise. A deal.”

“No deals,” Aral argued.

Vantos echoed him. “No deals.”

“Doesn’t my opinion mean anything?”

“No,” they chorused, Kaz included.

“Not in this, Wren,” Aral said. “I know where your heart is with regard to our safety, and the reason for your guilt. It makes it impossible for you to be objective.”

She fell back into the chair, glowering fiercely over her hands that she’d once again pressed together under her chin.

I understand your need to atone for your father, but I will not allow you to commit suicide.
Aral bit back the words. She’d argue and they needed all their concentration on their pursuer.

The runner readied his weapons. “I’ve got a small bank of missiles and a couple of relativistic bomblets—should we need them.”

“On
this?
” Kaz’s expression showed her disbelief.

“This crate you mean? Yeah. Thanks to a nice, unexpected trade bonus from an illegal arms dealer in the Borderlands.” Vantos’s hands flew over the panels as he put the weapons online. “I managed to wangle a nice little profit off the record, taking arms in place of some of the money. I sold most of it afterward, keeping a few things for my ship. You never know when you might need a bomblet or two, right?”

Aral hoped to the fates they didn’t need any now.

The transit alert rang. “This passage isn’t too stable. I’ve seen some like this before, though. I think we can make it if I hold off just shy of max hyperspeed and coast out the back side.”

“Weapons alert!” Kaz cried. “They’ve armed their plasma cannons.”

Aral had fought in many a battle over the years. They couldn’t afford a hit. If they made a jump while damaged the forces of distorted space would tear them apart. “Jump now!”

The wormhole entrance wavered. It shrank then bloomed, filling the forward screen. The stars began to distort. Entry was imminent. Aral made a fist. They would make it. They
had to.
Just as they made the jump, the wormhole collapsed behind them.