He could still feel her.
“What’s happening?” The Shevran poked his head out of his cabin and flushed crimson. He bobbed and swiveled his head and blinked his yellow eyes slowly. “Is the fire out?”
“There was no fire,” Haftan said. “Only some leaked coolant against hot wires.”
“It smells terrible. I’d hardly recommend your transport to anyone hoping to travel in comfort.”
“How disappointing.” Haftan’s tone said otherwise. “I seem to remember you forcing your way aboard.”
The scaly head bobbed twice, a sharp, short movement. The trader’s cheeks turned orange and then flared yellow. He said nothing, however, and his thin lips twitched.
“And now, we have sabotage aboard.”
“Sabotage?” The Shevran’s lips snapped open and shut. His teeth flashed, as yellow as his cheeks. “What sabotage?”
“We have a coolant leak,” Haftan stated. They had no proof, however, that the leak had been engineered by anyone on board. Calling it sabotage was a bold move, and it set the Shevran to bobbing again. No doubt that had been Haftan’s purpose, to call the man out, to see if he might slip up.
But the trader reined in his fury. He froze for a breath, blinked his eyes again and then tilted his head slightly. “Sabotage is a serious offense. You have proof of this?”
“I might.” Haftan smiled, but he’d lost his diplomatic slickness. His edges were frayed by stress and smoke. He’d reverted somewhere, looked more like he had back on Shroud. “Once I’ve peeked in that special case you’ve brought on board.”
The Shevran hissed. It started low, so quiet that Shayd looked behind them, as if the coolant leak may have spread to the halls now. It grew like a storm, and when he turned back, the reptile’s face was scarlet. His body had frozen again. His head tilted to the side as if to strike, and his eyes pinned Haftan in place. He said a single word, “No,” and closed his door panel, stepping back at the last minute so as not to be shut in the thing.
“No?” Shayd stared at the room. “He said no?”
“And there’s not a damn thing we can do about it,” Haftan said. He turned back toward the engine room and stared at the thinning haze.
“Mofitan could…”
“The Shevrans are a member race of the Galactic Summit, which forbids unauthorized search and seizures. Unless we had a court-approved directive, we’d be violating a major code of ethics and forfeiting any chance at membership regardless of what tasks we do or don’t complete for Tout.”
Haftan had studied the Summit’s dictates more than they’d suspected. Shayd might have ignored the rule, in particular because Galactic Summit membership was in direct opposition to his personal goals, but Haftan stood firm. His head shook, and there was a defeat in his stance and manner that tugged at Shayd’s sympathies. Haftan wanted that membership. He’d based his future on it as plain as the lines deepening around his eyes.
Who else would be sunk if they didn’t join? Had all his people’s hopes settled on the Summit as well? If so, Shayd felt even more akin to Rowri. Their people had tried to use them both.
“Where is he?” Mofitan’s growl burst into the hallway ahead of him. He followed it out of the lower level, storming at full tilt in their direction. “Let me just get my hands…”
“He’ll get us banned,” Haftan whispered. “You’ll have to help me.”
Haftan strode away from the Shevran’s room, intercepted Mof before he’d even reached the priestesses’ cabin. He put his arms out, blocked the passage, and turned a desperate glance back at Shayd. It would take them both to diffuse Mofitan, to keep the huge man from tearing down the Shevran’s door and throttling the trader.
He’d have to help, for Haftan and his people, but inside he couldn't stop thinking that letting Mof ransack the trader’s room would solve all of his problems. He pictured it, while he marched to Haftan’s aide. Mof would kill the reptile, the Summit would ban them from membership, and he’d whisk a Choman priestess into his arms again.
Chapter Nineteen
Jadyek set the skimmer down without a bump. The prison crater blocked out the light filtering through the Shroud, left the platform darker today, shadowed at the edges. He waited for the guards to notice him, to approach the craft before he opened the side door and waved one arm, the hand that bore a milk-white cabochon and labeled him as a member of the Shrouded Council.
The men lowered their rifles and slowed at the sight of it. He didn’t have an appointment, but Jadyek did have some status. As a representative of the King, he should be able to bluff his way inside. He should, but his stomach still clenched with nerves.
He tried to hide it, climbed out of the craft with more cockiness than he usually wore. He stood tall and crossed his arms in front of his chest until the men had drawn to a halt in front of him.
“The Palace didn’t inform us they intended to visit again so soon.” The bolder of the two spoke. He held his rifle at an angle, hadn’t completely dropped the weapon.
“No,” Jadyek said. He took a slow breath and acted like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t unarmed and pondering treason. “This one was meant as a surprise.”
“Another inspection?” Still the weapon held position, neither pointed at him nor threat-less either.
“I remember you.” The second guard spoke up, and the first’s gun dipped safely away. “You were here with the other one.”
“Yes,” Jadyek said. “We finished the initial inspection, and had a few further concerns.”
“The director isn’t expecting you.” They shared a glance, an understanding he wasn’t privy to.
“No.”
“He isn’t here.”
Jadyek watched them exchange a different sort of look, a happier, sneakier look. The prison director, or someone equal to him, should have been on site at all times.
“I’ll speak with his relief then.” Their mood straightened his spine, gave him the extra confidence to feign the authority he didn’t have. “I need to inspect the lower level as soon as possible.”
“No one’s here,” the first guard said. His gun hung loose now, and his grin said his heart would not break if the prison director got into trouble. “He nipped off for a visit home.”
“I see.” Jadyek straightened his tunic and checked his wraps. Slowly, act irritated not anxious. “He does this frequently?”
“Oh yeah.”
“And neither of you have chosen to report it?”
Their joy dampened. A shadow fell over the men as well as the crater, and Jadyek rushed to amend it. He wanted them pliable, not defensive.
“I suppose you have orders not to?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s imperative that I re-inspect the lowest level of this prison, gentlemen. As soon as possible.” He could already feel the Heart song dragging him toward the doors, the lifts and the dark belly of the Core. “Shall we call the man back or can I get on with this?”
He held his breath while they tried to sort it out. Would calling the boss back get them in more trouble or less? If he guessed correctly, they were nothing but tickled about the director himself getting caught. They wanted their own necks safe, however, and in the end, decided helping him at his task was the fastest way to assure that.
“This way, sir.”
“We’ll have the inner guard take you.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t want the escort, but followed them to the main doors as if he were happy for it. Asking to be alone with the biggest criminal in their history would probably count as one step too far. He hadn’t chosen it. He reminded himself of that while the guards explained the situation to their confused coworker. He’d only ever wanted to fit in, to make a good enough show as a Council member.
“He’ll take you down,” the first guard told him. He waved Jadyek into the prison, into the dark hall and the lights that he wouldn’t need once the heartstone glowed for them again. “Mantil will show you down.”
He belonged here, or anywhere else, so long as he was with his bonded.
They reached the lift. Mantil paused before pressing the controls. He looked at Jadyek for instructions. So easy, to just slip in. It had to be fate.
“The lowest floor,” he said.
The lowest. The dark of the Core, the light of the Heart, and the man whose smile Jadyek would brave anything for.
*-*-*
Rowri floated through the vision again and again. She dreamed it, and held onto the seeing as if her life depended on it. Inside the shelter of Shayd’s arms, she felt safe. Her future clarified into a beautiful dream, a garden paradise where she could truly enjoy the kiss. She could stay with him forever.
Like always, her focus drove the images away. Clinging to the moment broke it, and the Shrouded Seer vanished. The seeing didn’t end, however.
She saw darkness and metal walls. They shimmered in low, artificial light, casting tall shadows around her. Things rattled and scratched beside her, and yet she couldn’t see them. She’d been strapped down, and her view was fixed straight up. Her head would not move, nor could she bring her body to struggle against the restraints. It refused to obey her commands even though her mind was frantic to direct it. Her thoughts shifted forward and back, shadows themselves. She made no sense of them, and only the scratching allowed her to focus at all, to regain her senses enough to register the room, the straps, and the noises in the dark.
Her Uraru was silent, drugged and inaccessible. The contact that had never been broken faltered. The cat had abandoned her. Her breath blared in and out, too fast. Her heart raced, but the thought scattered again, flitted to another corner of her fractured mind before she could think clearly enough to fear it. Voices moaned at the edge of the room. They wandered in and out of her hearing, strange and stretched by her malfunctioning senses.
“Beast is subdued, sir.”
“With the demon pinned, will she still see?”
“Yes.”
The scratching silenced. Rowri felt its absence to her right and a new sound on her left, hammering, a distant thump she called footsteps before her mind wavered again. Demons and beasts and something holding her to a table.
A gray orb hovered over her. She blinked through tears, fluttered her eyes until the image cleared enough to call it a face, a mask of evil threaded over and over by blue lines. It smiled and the lines tangled. Dark eyes squinted at her, made her a bug to examine.
“Make her see,” the voice said. “Make her see for us.”
Rowri screamed. She sat up easily, but her head banged against the ceiling. The bunk shook, drew her out of the seeing and brought her fully awake. She sat on the top cot, inside her and Senior Priestess Omira’s room on the Shrouded vessel that would take her to meet the Tolfarian that was supposedly meant to be her husband. Now, she felt the ice of her seeing in her veins. The Tolfarians had different plans for her. She’d seen as much, and though her body trembled with the memory, her mind answered what it had been trained to know.
That which is seen must come to pass.
She would go with the Tolfarians. She would leave Shayd, leave his Heart behind and go with the Choma-tolfari after all…and she would pay for it. She would suffer and her Uraru… How had they subdued the cat? How could they, and why?
The door to the room slid open, and Rowri hunkered lower on the bunk. She pulled the thin cover up as if in defense. Omira stood in the entrance, but she slipped inside quickly and triggered it closed. Her movements were too swift for her usual grace, and she spoke softer and with a tone of conspiracy darkening her words.
“Hurry and get up, Rowri. The Tolfarians are on the way. Our hosts have summoned them to assist with our repairs. What’s wrong?”
She’d flinched, and the trembling returned with force. They were coming here? She’d run out of time, and now, the visions had caught up with her.
“Rowri? You’re pale as a dawn flower.”
“H-here?” Her fingers burrowed into the blanket and she scooted back until her spine flattened against the wall. “No.”
“Are you just waking up? Rowri!” Omira was at the side of the cot, and she didn’t remember seeing the woman move. Her eyes were all scrunched up and she frowned at Rowri. Her eyes had dim circles under them, purple blotches that hadn’t been there on Choma. “You’ve seen something, child?”
Rowri nodded her head, but had no voice to offer. She couldn’t speak of it, yet Omira read her terror plainly enough. Her face fell, and Rowri saw resignation there, but no surprise at all.
“How bad is it?”
“Senior?”
“You will suffer, I fear.”
“Yes.” The word hissed out, a shared secret, a conspiracy against their faith, and yet Omira only nodded.
“I am sorry for it, child. I am, but that which is seen must—”
“Why!” Rowri howled, and then bit her lip at her own blasphemy. To shout at the Senior Priestess? How had she come to this in so little time? “If we see a warning, I mean. Must we stumble into the trap?”
“The alternative is always worse, child. Always.” Omira put up her hand, cut off the protest Rowri didn’t even have time to make. “Listen, Rowri. We don’t have a lot of time. The Tolfarians will be here soon. They will escort us to Vade and then they will take you. They will set foot on Choma. I have seen it. If you will suffer, I am sorry for it, but suffer you must. Know this, child, if you can. You will survive that suffering.”
“Senior?”
“I have seen much in my days. In my duties, child. Do you not think so?”
“Yes, Senior.”
“Yes. And though it is forbidden to speak of a seeing, I am going to tell you, now, something that you must never repeat. You must forget it immediately, child. Do you understand? To act on a seeing, to encourage or to prevent it, will only cause tragedy. Our vision is a partial thing, and one must see the entire universe to know what is at stake in any action.”
“You are asking me to go willingly.”
“I am promising you that you will live, child.” Omira looked away. She lowered her voice to a whisper and her hands folded against the side of the cot. They had years etched into them, wisdom in the folds of charcoal. “You will survive this, Rowri, but in the end, I will not.”
Chapter Twenty
Tchao floated upside down. His body drifted through the middle of the room, and his muscles relaxed. His eyes remained closed and his bio-sensors flickered, the only part of him that moved at all. They read the room’s temperature as an exact match to his body’s. He wore nothing, sensed nothing, could feel nothing. His grey skin glowed with a web of blue implants, and his mind knew a moment of peace.
That moment ruptured when a communication beeped softly through his neural net. His eyes opened, and his lips twisted in distaste. A moment’s peace, it seemed, was all the Tolfarian leader was to be allowed.
“What is it?” he snapped even before he heard Mr. Prill’s irritating voice on the other end of the transmission.
“I’m sorry, sir. We have a message pending on the deep space frequency.”
“The Shrouded couriers?”
“Yes, sir.” If Prill’s tone held a note of suspicion, it was too subtle to address directly.
Tchao should never have let him near the generator. Prill had found the secret compartment, damn the man. He’d been too thorough, too good. Tchao had only just managed to explain it away, and Prill had watched him too closely for his tastes ever since.
Tchao would have to deal with the officer eventually. He couldn’t put it off too much long
er, either, but at the moment he had a message to receive. “I’ll be on the bridge in fifty seconds, Mr. Prill.”
“Yes, sir.”
The line cut out, and Tchao was alone in emptiness again. The ruined mood softened with the news of this message.
"Initiate gravity incrementally." He drifted down and slid toward the nearest wall. If the Shrouded were calling him, then his Shevran ally had successfully damaged the transport. His plan moved another step forward. He reached out and snagged one of the slick handles protruding from the wall. Only his ship of the whole Tolfarian fleet boasted a zero-g room, and Tchao found nothing more soothing than a few hours alone with his own thoughts.
He pulled his body tight to the wall and swung his legs in the direction that would soon become the floor. “Initiate return to full gravity.”
The pull came slowly, designed to ease the user into normal space again. It made Tchao impatient, and he was leaping in exaggerated bounds toward the airlock before gravity fully held him. He unsealed the room and stepped into the outer chamber, triggering the seal again before he’d completely cleared the door. He dressed rapidly. By the time he entered the hallway he was jogging. He made the lifts at thirty-five seconds, walked onto the bridge at forty-nine.
“General!” The salute rang through the crew. Tchao acknowledged it and stalked to the command chair.
“The message?” Tchao fingered his controls.
“Prepped and waiting.” Prill snapped a salute of his own, manifesting beside the chair and keying the playback. The man’s efficiency had kept him necessary. It kept him alive at the moment, and Tchao dreaded the loss of order while he’d have to train the man’s replacement.
Still, Prill’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to the side in some unspoken message to the rest of the staff. He’d definitely have to go. Preferably before he earned too much loyalty, before he could do irreparable damage to the plan.
The Shrouded pilot spoke on the comm, reported the damage that he’d spawned through his slippery contact. Perfection. Prill could suspect whatever he liked. Proving anything would come too late. Right now, Tchao had to sweep in and save the day. He had to woo the Choma-uraru, to win over the Senior Priestess and make a case for reunification. He’d have to act the hero, and if his plan was to succeed, it would have to be the performance of a lifetime.
Seen (Heartstone Book 2) Page 13