Eclipsed (Heartstone Book 3)

by Frances Pauli

  “Yes.”

  “Is there nothing we can do?” Jadyek breathed against him, curled near his neck, and let the beating of their heartbond flare and wind around them. Destiny. The Heart had meant for them to be here. It had to have a reason. Dielel stroked the side of his love’s face and then reached for his other hand, for the hand that still bore a prince’s ring. He lifted Jadyek’s fingers and turned them, so that the cabochon of heartstone shifted and flashed in the auxiliary lighting.

  “You think we can trade it?” Jadyek asked.

  “It is yours, love.”

  “Then we trade it.” Now Jadyek’s voice had the confidence, and the reassurance flowed the other way. It soothed Dielel’s nerves, to hear the eagerness. He’d be willing to do what was necessary. No argument. “So long as I have you, I don’t need it, Dielel.”

  “So long as we’re together.” They were, as ever, in agreement. If the stone could buy their freedom from the devil then, maybe, the Heart really did watch over them. He smiled and let the pulsing of their bond bolster the idea. “So long as we’re together.”

  Chapter Eleven

  They shot at their vermin at all hours of the night in Banshee. It made a hellish mess of Mofitan’s dreams, and he woke with a start, panting and struggling to sort out where in the devil he was. The platform in the center of his shack only qualified as a bed by proving softer than the floor of the slave ship. He cracked his neck, rolled to his feet, and peered through the rusted cracks in his walls at the shadows passing on the other side.

  Banshee certainly had more foot traffic in the morning.

  Considering his shed had no hygienic facilities, the time had come to find some and fast. He threw on the same uniform Curel had provided him, removed the knife from beneath his slab of a pillow, and tucked it back inside the top of the suit before fastening it and hauling ass out into the glaring Eclipsan sunlight.

  Even bathed in solar radiation, the Banshee mine looked gray. A trickle of miners wandered past his shack, emerging from the line of similar buildings and all flowing in the same direction. Easy enough to follow suit, to fall in, ignore the looks he earned, and keep his eyes down. The air stank of old eggs. The mists glimmered in the daylight but in a way that had no magic to it. The atmosphere shone with chemicals that even looked poisonous.

  He spotted the woman before his tide of workers neared their destination: Corah. Mofitan pinched his ring finger to silence the memory, the crutch of looking for the heartstone’s response. He didn’t want it. Not with Dern’s right arm standing like a rare bird among the filth. She twisted to one side and the other, looking, judging, probably searching for him.

  Mofitan made sure to be scowling when her eyes finally picked him out.

  The buildings they passed clustered around the rim of the primary mineshaft, an enormous tunnel boring straight into the Eclipsan surface. The quarter-mile opening choked with machinery, pipes, belts, and access ladders, few of which showed any sign of productivity this morning. Only the gases in the air gave away the mine’s functionality. The mammoth display read out the statistics overhead: “Damps today: Blue. Output: 36% standard. Tunnel Four: Out of Service.”

  Mofitan stopped his feet when the rest of the herd began to disperse. The current of miners parted as each man scurried toward his destination. Down ladders and into hover transports, the Banshee crews moved out, leaving Mofitan and Corah standing nearly parallel outside a low red strip of a building. She blinked at him, stiffened her spine, and put him on the offensive with a raised eyebrow and a gentle tap at his mind with her damned probing.

  “Don’t.” He pointed a finger at her first, let his head roll in her direction after it, slow and unconcerned. The shock on her face told him she wasn’t used to being caught at her fancy spying tricks. The furrow between her eyes told him she didn’t like it either.

  “Mr. Mofitan.” She meant to chastise him maybe, to order him to let her inside his thoughts. Hell, maybe it would get them out of here and closer to Dern again if he did. Faster, at least, than finding a way to catch the man’s eye from halfway across his sector. Maybe. But somehow he knew it would give her way too much satisfaction. She’d think she’d won her way in, cracked his defenses, and Mofitan had no intention of letting this woman win. Ever.

  “It’s Mof.” He smiled so wide his cheeks complained. “If you want to know something, you can always just ask, right? Straight up? But then, that’s not your style, is it?”

  She opened her mouth, and for a second, he thought he might have made his point. Certainly, her scowl softened. Her eyes went dark and pensive. But the door to the red building opened before she could make her answer, and he was left to wonder if she was very good at acting, or if he’d gotten his first peek through a crack in her tightly sealed armor.

  No time to find out now. The man standing in the door behind her cleared his throat, a sound that managed to drown out the constant hissing of gas. Corah turned to face him, and Mofitan moved up beside her, put himself on defense despite how irritating she could be. This new guy had a look about him, an edge that Mofitan recognized as dangerous. He’d eyed the woman too, a long dragging look that said more about his character than her appearance.

  “You’re Dern’s problems.” He spoke like the growling of a predator, and Mofitan’s throat rumbled in response. “Sent to us to sort out it seems. Typical.”

  “Are you not an employee of Gervis Dern?” Corah snapped and managed to look even more rigid. Bad move, if Mofitan read this guy right.

  The man ignored her and turned his back on both of them, pushed his door open again, and growled over his shoulder. “Come inside.”

  Mofitan scrambled ahead. He made sure he got to the door before Corah did, and he went in first. Inside, a long counter crossed an office with barely enough room for two people to crowd in. Behind the barrier, rows of shelving trailed away into the building’s length, piled with supplies and gear and dotted in places with filing cabinets and security lockers. Their grumbling host opened a segment of the counter and squeezed behind it, allowing them just enough room to stand facing him.

  “You’re assigned to the repair unit.” He didn’t look up, spoke at them while he tapped a few of the buttons set into his filthy countertop. “Tunnel four. I’ll get you some gear.”

  “Us some gear,” Corah spoke up, her voice reached behind the counter somehow, earned a derisive snort from the big requisitions man.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I have direct orders to observe him.”

  “You won’t last down there, lady. It’s a mess.”

  “If you’ll find me some appropriate footwear, I’m quite certain I can navigate whatever he can.”

  “Lady, does it look like I carry anything in your size?” The guy took his time examining her, made sure his eyes knew exactly what size she might wear. He shook his head again, but Corah failed to note any of it.

  “Something close ought to do.”

  “No way.”

  “It’s not really your decision.”

  Mofitan squeezed farther to one side of the room, let her approach the counter and the man who gaped openly at her now. He watched them both, her fists clenched into inefficient knots at her sides, the big guy’s expression shifting from a leer to anger.

  “I take care of the crews, see. And you won’t even be able to navigate the rubble down there. Yer too small, and there’s no way in hell I’m sending you down in that pit. It’s too dangerous.” Mofitan was in agreement with him, right up until he added, “You’ll wait up here with me and the boss.”

  “I’ll carry her.”

  “What?” They both said it, in unison even, but it was Corah who spun on him. It was Corah he watched chew on his suggestion and reject it, though it would probably save her life.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Exactly,” the bastard behind the counter agreed. “It’s just not possible.”

  “She comes with me.” Mofitan crosse
d his arms and glared at her, dared her to argue. Shroud on fire, she’d been the one to demand it in the first place. “I’ll make sure she gets through safely.”

  “What game are you playing?” Corah rounded on him now. She tucked her fidgety hands against her hips and leaned so close to him that he could smell some kind of fragrance, floral. Who wore perfume in a damn mine?

  “I’m definitely not playing,” he growled and inhaled a lungful of blossoms.

  “Why would you want me down there?”

  “Maybe I have something to prove.”

  “Maybe you’d like to toss me into a pit.”

  “Maybe I would.” He smiled and leaned down so that their noses lined up and he could see the lights reflecting in her wide eyes. “But that would hardly serve my purpose.”

  “What purpose?” There. A light touch again, a tapping at Shayd’s mind shield. If she meant to slip in while he was angry, to use the fight to break his control, she’d have to try a lot harder.

  He snapped up a wall against her and grinned. “Not so fast.”

  “What are you hiding?”

  “Not your business.”

  “And you expect me to trust you down in the mine? I think I’ll wait up here, thank you.” She lowered her voice, and her eyes darted to the counter and back. “Or you could let me in, and we can both get out of here today.”

  “You could trust me, and we could do the same thing.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Me neither.” Mofitan could do stubborn as well as she could.

  “Then down you go, big guy.”

  “Big guy?” He snorted, and had to give her credit for not flinching. Even Dolfan might have. “You’re used to getting your way, I see. But tell me this much.”

  He needed to stop this fast, to wake her up to the bigger threat standing right behind her, checking out her ass while they fought.

  “Enlighten me,” she snapped. “I’m sure you have a giant intellect to match all that flesh.”

  “Yes.” Mofitan spoke through his teeth. Damn her. He needed to breathe, and the stupid room had been built for someone smaller than him and with a lot less fury than her. “It seems I’m thinking a lot clearer than you are at the moment.”

  “Oh really?”

  The guy behind the counter gave up on the show. He cracked his knuckles and sighed. “I’ll just go and fetch your stuff while you two sort this out.”

  Mofitan glared at the woman. He waited until the man’s footsteps cleared the first series of shelves. “Listen, right arm, you might not be able to read me as clearly as you like, but I’m betting you can read that guy without even trying.”

  “So what?”

  “So read him.” He stood up and made his voice loud enough to reach the back walls. “Fine then. You stay up here if you like. What do I care?”

  She only blinked at him. And she challenged his intellect? Mofitan arched one eyebrow and tilted his head toward the counter. He tried to dare her. Go ahead, read the guy’s mind. Slowly, he saw her eyes shift, saw how they lost focus and rolled very slightly up. Read him. He willed her to do it. See just what your options look like.

  He waited, and eventually her eyes grew wide. Her cheeks pinked. The real danger dawned on her, spread across her expression, and dropped her jaw. He nodded for emphasis. “Was I wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Here you go.” A thump from the counter signaled the return of their lustful friend. He’d brought a pair of heavy boots with treated soles, a welder and power belt, and a small pack loaded with who knew what. While Mofitan watched, he reached into that and removed a simple headlamp, swiveling the light until it glared out at them like a huge white eye. “All set?”

  “I’m going too,” Corah said. “The smallest boots you have, please.”

  The guy stared at her for a moment and then looked to Mofitan. His eyes narrowed a touch, and he stiffened for just a breath before shrugging and shaking his head. “Whatever you say. Gervis Dern’s orders. Whatever. I just work the counter.”

  Perfect. Much better. He might not want Dern’s spy following him everywhere, but he could live with it. He could tolerate her, at least, if the alternative was to leave her alone with this jackass. He could handle a few days in a dark tunnel with the soft scent of flower blossoms.

  “You.” She was glaring at him again, her arms crossed and chin pointing at an angle. Flowers and fury. If he didn’t get her on his side fast and convince her he was on Dern’s side, it was going to be a long few days.

  Corah sniffed and glared at him as if he were the devil. One side of her lips tilted up, but the smile turned to fire by the time it reached her eyes. She spoke with the deliberation of someone who’d just remembered they were in charge. She spoke at him, each word a micro-dagger flung for the kill. “You are. Not. Carrying. Me.”

  This was going to be fun.

  Chapter Twelve

  Down the hole she went. The giant Mofitan climbed down ahead of her, his headlamp lighting the way for them both. She hadn’t been offered a pack, and doubted she’d need one so long as she managed to stay close to him. He looked back suddenly, and Corah dropped her eyes away. Metal ladders and steel mesh landings stuck to the tunnel wall as if by magic. The opening on the other side made a dark blot she refused to look at.

  Which left her looking back at him. Damn it all. She needed to focus on where to put her feet, on keeping up and finding a crack in the man’s defenses. Imagining him having to carry her was a distraction Corah could live without. Unfortunately, his ridiculously protective suggestion had lodged itself in her inner eye and refused to vacate.

  No that picking her up would have been a struggle for him. So much muscle.

  Her foot slipped and she snatched at the railing and pulled her body as close to the ladder as she could without merging with it. No distractions. The sooner she cracked this big purple egg, the sooner she could get back to business. Plummeting into a mineshaft would help her do neither.

  “So.” She placed a careful foot down on the next rung. The boots rattled around her feet, even laced as tight as she could strap them. “What exactly is the goal here?”

  “I’d guess not falling to our deaths?” He’d reached the next landing, and he turned and regarded her with a passive, purple expression. “Or do you mean your goal?”

  “My goal? I’m not the one who jumped into Gervis’s lap and refused to answer questions.”

  “Aren’t you?” He tilted his head to the side, and his long braid swung out. “Or did I get that wrong?”

  “Mr. Mofitan.” Corah kept her touch light, settled at the edges of his thoughts without making contact. “Why are you here?”

  “Easy.” He shrugged, and the uniform stretched across his torso as if it might tear apart. “Your boss doesn’t trust me. If he stays not trusting me, I suspect I won’t live long. I take that sort of personally, you know, living. So I figure I do what I’m told, he relaxes, and I live a few days longer on the outside of a slaver ship.”

  “And you were on the slaver ship because you escaped prison?” She felt the tensing of his mind. Could be a lie, or it could be natural defensiveness. She needed to press nearer, but the moment she tried it, he snapped like a clam and cut her out.

  “Yes. I think it gets rough just down a ways. I can see where the ladder ends.” He turned his back to her and dropped onto the next ladder until only his head was visible. That grinned at her—he knew he’d frustrated her latest attempt, damn him. “I’m a dangerous criminal.”

  He said it with too much pleasure, too much gusto and pride behind it. Still, Corah couldn’t pin him down, and she didn’t relish the thought that they’d reached the hard part of the trek any more than she liked the sudden, acrid taste in the air. The damps, the miners called it. Some could be worse than others, but to Corah they all tasted like poison. She slipped quickly to the landing and reached the next ladder expecting to find Mofitan already down it. Instead, he popped back up like a gopher an
d grinned at her. “You coming?”

  “Why were you in prison in the first place?”

  “Why do you ask so many questions?”

  “Well, it’s my job.”

  “For Dern?” He reached a hand up and raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s loose in places. Better let me help you. This is the last one, and I think that’s our tunnel at the bottom.”

  Corah opened her mouth to tell him exactly what he could do with his help, but the damps swirled in and left a nasty taste. A blaring of gunfire cut her words away, and the landing she stood on tilted. She saw a flash of sparks, a swath of darkness, and a wall of irritating purple.

  “Steady.” He’d scrambled up and grabbed her, but Corah couldn’t work out why he’d needed too. Her thoughts wandered at the edges, fuzzed and wafted in and out of focus. The wall was there, the ladder, down there, and someone was shooting at them perhaps?

  “What?” She blinked at him, looked into eyes that, for once, looked dead serious.

  “The damps are making you light-headed.” His lips tightened into a line. His head shook side to side. “No body mass at all. Shouldn’t even be down here.”

  “I’ll be fine when we reach solid ground.” Her heart raced against her chest, told her she was lying to herself.

  “Will you?”

  “So long as no one shoots us.”

  “Good point. Here.” He eased her over to the rock wall and helped her sit back against cool stone. “Just sit here and don’t move for a second.”

  “Wait!” The air stank. Corah tried not to smell it, not to notice how it felt slippery against her skin. How many tons of stone was above them? How long would it take to dig them out? A heavy hand landed on her arm, squeezed too gently for its size.

  “Just don’t move. For a second.”

  She nodded, afraid to open her mouth, to let any more of the damps inside. The rock pressed against her spine, and the open shaft stared darkly in front of her. Mofitan lowered himself over the edge to her right down the last, rickety ladder. What if he left her here? What if someone shot him, or he just decided not to tell them she was waiting?