Eclipsed (Heartstone Book 3)

by Frances Pauli

  Had they been too slow? Did one of the escaping vessels already carry Gervis out of reach?

  “Gervis Dern!” Mofitan bellowed like a bear and a shadow near the closest ship stopped and spun around. Gervis. Too far away to reach before he made that loading ramp. Too late.

  She stared across the space and knew she’d never reach him in time. He already eased backwards. She could hear him shouting orders, see the men behind him lining up. They’d be training weapons, they’d be… “Get down!”

  Mofitan heard her and dropped to his knees and sprawled forward. He rolled in Corah’s direction, but she’d already made it to her belly when the first shots whined over their heads. It wouldn’t take them long to adjust, to aim for the ground. “Back,” Mofitan ordered, but Gervis was ahead and forward. Gervis was getting away.

  She judged her chances of surviving a dash in that direction and came up dead.

  “Corah.”

  “I know.” But she couldn’t move. If Gervis left now, she’d never get close to him again. “I know, but…”

  A burst of weapons fire clattered from their right, close and not aimed at them. Across the pad, Gervis Dern stumbled, lurched to one side, and fell. The men swarmed him, gathered him up, and moved like a shadowy tide up their ramp and into the waiting transport, carrying him between them while around Corah, figures manifested from the haze. A hail of gunfire filled the air, drowned out the distant explosions in the mines.

  Men moved in a line past them, curved toward the ship, and continued firing long after its engines flared and spat plasma. They couldn’t close in on it, couldn’t do any damage to the hull if they hadn’t already.

  She’d seen Gervis fall, hadn’t she? Someone had shot the bastard. Not her, but someone.

  “Corah? Corah! She’s here. Fall in and hold that line. We’ve got the basin. Take the buildings and make sure everyone is in line or in custody.” A face appeared, upside down between her and the fleeing ship. It grinned a familiar smile, and a shock of tawny hair fell straight down to brush the pavement. “You in there?”

  “Niels.” Her message had made it through. The rebels had taken Banshee. And Niels. Had he shot Gervis for her? Corah swallowed a mess of feelings, a serving of disappointment and relief, and tried to smile, tried to be thankful for the rescue, and tried her best not to laugh aloud when Mofitan’s growl sent Niels snapping back to attention.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  His heartmate was a rebel spy. Mofitan watched her talking to her leader, to Niels, and tried to focus on how that put them both on the same side. He’d suspected it, of course, but proof made it feel a lot more real. He just wished her buddy didn’t lean in quite so close when he talked to her. Actually, he wished this Niels would stumble straight into a crater somewhere—and soon.

  She’d been undercover the whole time, and when the shit hit the fan, her only goal had been to take Gervis Dern’s life. This Niels had stolen that right from her. Maybe Mofitan would get lucky and she’d hold that against her friend. Except, it looked a lot like she was glad to see him so far.

  The miners that hadn’t made it to transports or fled into the wilds around Banshee had been placed under temporary arrest in their shacks. Niels’s rebels had better weapons, and had confiscated the few that the miners produced, and Banshee had quickly adopted the feel of a military compound. Armed men guarded the housing area, the lifts leading down into the craters, and had taken over requisitions where the lecherous custodian had perished trying to defend his shelves full of crap.

  Niels installed his base of operation in Boon’s office, where they huddled now despite the fact that the room hadn’t been built to house this many people. So long as the rebel leader wanted to be chummy with his heartmate, Mofitan had no intention of budging from the office.

  “Once the perimeter and facility are fully secured.” Niels looked at him, didn’t bother to hide his suspicions. “Then we can contact our people in Spectre and try to verify Dern’s condition.”

  “You hit him.” Corah sighed and leaned over the desk, bringing her face another wretched inch closer to Niels. “I saw him go down.”

  “Too much distance to be certain. Even so, if they got to him quickly enough…”

  “He might survive.”

  “Exactly. Which is why we can’t go storming back to Spectre. We need to stay here and dig in.”

  “Gervis is on the defensive. We can’t be certain Curel made it back to Spectre with him. He could be disorganized, down a few key players. We should strike a blow now.” Finally, she sounded irritated, or at least a tad crisp. “We should chase after him while he’s injured.”

  “We might take one man out, but do you think his whole operation would fold based on that?”

  “I think it might.” She turned to Mofitan then, and he saw something like hope in the look she gave him. “If we had help.”

  Had she guessed then? Had Dern?

  “Him?” Niels made it clear what he thought of the idea.

  “No.” Mofitan shook off the urge to grab the rebel leader by his throat. At the very least, he’d like to reach out and button the man’s shirt a few notches higher. Instead, he delivered the message he’d been sent to deliver to anyone and everyone who might listen. “Your planetary governor. The rightful leader of Wraith and the woman who has been busting her ass trying to get rid of Gervis Dern and anyone remotely like him.”

  “Kovath’s brat.” Niels spat the words, but cringed a little when Mofitan growled.

  Good. He rumbled again and showed the man his teeth. “She’s nothing like her father.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “I’ve seen what she’s done in Wraith.” He let Niels think on that, turned his attention to Corah. It was her that he wanted to convince, Corah that needed to hear him. “She’s made life better for everyone. No slave ships land in Wraith. There are trade schools, assistance programs. The streets are safe there.”

  If Corah’s eyes softened, Mofitan’s speech had the opposite effect on Niels. The man had no interest in hearing about reform. He had a revolution fixed in his sights, and it wouldn’t stop at Spectre. Any fool could see that. Any fool except the ones that followed him. He shook his head and laughed, patronizing, arrogant.

  “I expect you work for this Vashia?”

  “We are friends. I help her because I believe in what she’s doing.”

  “Good friends?” His eyes darted to Corah. Mofitan saw it, and understood what the guy was doing a second too late. He saw it, on Corah’s face, in the shadow that fell over her and the way she stiffened.

  “She is married to my best friend.”

  “Dolfan?” Corah put hope in that name. She’d picked it from his thoughts or remembered. Either way, he could easily reassure her.

  “Yes. They are true mates, bonded at our Heart ceremony. It is an unbreakable pairing.” It sounded reasonable to his ears, precious. But they both stared at him, and he sensed he’d lost their understanding. “She’s married to Dolfan.”

  “Oh.”

  “Who cares?” Niels snapped and waved his arms to the walls. The gesture moved him away from Corah, though, which suited Mofitan just fine. “She’s Kovath’s blood.”

  Mofitan showed his teeth again, this time with less of a smile to the expression. “I find that zealots often lose the ability to judge clearly. Revolution is addictive. Sometimes, long after it’s necessary.”

  “So long as Gervis lives, it is necessary.” Corah spoke softly, but gathered both their attention to her. “Once he’s dead, perhaps, we can consider the situation in Wraith?”

  “You say they are your friends.” Niels ignored her suggestion and plowed on. He shifted gears too fast, too pointedly. “Then they’d be willing to help us here?”

  “They might. If I contacted them, we might open negotiations along that line.” Vashia hadn’t counted on rebels. She’d hoped for information on Dern’s troops and operations, for facts that could shift a fight in her di
rection. Unfortunately at the moment, he didn’t really want this guy around at all.

  “Negotiations. Of course.” Niels stared at him.

  Did Corah see the hostility there? Did she understand what he’d been describing with Vashia and Dolfan applied to them as well? He wanted to talk to her alone, but the whole mine crawled with rebels now, rebels who knew her, maybe, better than he did. He could explain it all, perhaps, but not with Niels observing them, measuring every move, and calculating how he could use it.

  He knew the type. Haftan came to mind. Mofitan admired the skill, really, when it wasn’t breathing down his heartmate’s neck. Niels would have his own agenda if he was anything like Haftan at all. The more time Mofitan spent in his presence, the more he was certain of that comparison. Haftan, however, was his ally. This man Mofitan still couldn’t be sure of, even if Corah trusted him. Something about the lines around his mouth, the tightness of his lips, and the way he continually brushed his fingers through his hair set Mofitan off.

  Niels’s eyes never stopped moving and though he had a few years on Mofitan, though a seasoned rebel if the body language were an indication, he couldn’t hide how threatened he was by Mofitan’s presence in his arena.

  Or else he didn’t care to try.

  Plans within plans. Maybe Niels pushed his buttons on purpose. Did he test Mofitan’s interest in Corah because he meant to exploit it, or because that interest was shared? No doubt that he did test it. Every time he touched her shoulder, the sharp eyes flitted to Mofitan first, gauged each reaction, and every growl he engendered.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Niels started again, shifted his tone and his direction in what had to be another tactical move. “You and Corah have known each other for a few days, but you and I have just met. We’ve been working toward this goal for years, sacrificed together to achieve it. And I’m sure you have your own agenda to think about. Right? No one could expect us to trust one another right out of the gate. Not without some show of good faith.”

  There it was. Niels had simultaneously reminded Corah that she barely knew him, stressed the fact that the rebels were her true allies, and dared Mofitan to prove otherwise all in one breath. He remembered now, why no one really liked Haftan.

  “What sort of show?” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the rebel.

  “Nothing one wouldn’t share if we were friends anyway. Tell me about Wraith. How many troops does this woman have to help us win back Spectre? Assets? Arms? Who does she plan to install there, if Dern is overthrown? She’s managed to put a new governor in every seat left on Eclipsis but this one. Why should I believe she can keep them all in line? Dern has already been wooing many of them. If they joined his fight, what does your friend bring to the table that can stop them?”

  “You want me to give you tactical details, specifics, fine. What will you tell me in return?”

  “How about I won’t tell you to get the hell out of my revolution?” There was flint in his words now. This man had the nerve to lead an army, and the guile to do so in secret, right under Gervis Dern’s nose in fact. He let everyone in the room know who was in charge with those words, and the rest of the rebels present shifted and tightened what little space there was in the room already.

  “Niels!” Corah banged a very small fist against Boon’s desk. Two identical knives still lay there, twin blades. Traps inside traps. “We can’t afford not to consider any offer for help.”

  “Of course we can’t. And I’m sure Mofitan here will happily give you the information we want, won’t he?”

  “I will.” He’d tell Corah whatever she asked, but Niels could stuff it.

  “You have no problem with that?”

  “I’ll tell Corah what you want to know.”

  “You’ll let her search your thoughts?”

  “No.” Mofitan said it, but he heard Corah echo the word, half a breath behind him. She looked at him too, and something flickered there, a darkness that gave her a sad cast. He’d have let her in, happily, after they’d talked about some personal things. As it was, he didn’t want her learning how he felt by force. It wasn’t how they did things on Shroud. Starting out on that foot felt too profane. It felt like blasphemy.

  “I didn’t think so,” Niels said. He ignored the fact that Corah had protested too, took Mofitan’s refusal exactly the wrong way. “Surely a man with nothing to hide wouldn’t mind proving his claims. What is it, Mofitan, that you want to keep hidden?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  “None of my business. I see.”

  “It’s personal.”

  “But then we’ve reached stalemate, you see. How could I believe anything you told me?”

  “Back home we call it trust.”

  “That’s amazingly naive.”

  “Stop it!” Corah shouted and the rest of the rebels muttered and shifted their feet again.

  Niels stood straighter and darted a worried glance to her. His expression changed again, gathered the level of her irritation with the situation, and processed it into yet another tactical left turn. Mofitan swallowed his next growl, satisfied, when she took a step away from Niels, a step that moved her firmly in Mofitan’s direction. It said something, and he had no doubt Niels read it that way as well. Good.

  “Let’s step back,” Niels said. “Why not sleep on things? Take the rest of the day and talk it over with Corah while I get everything worked out and settled in here. We might all have a different perspective then. It’s been a little bit chaotic today, don’t you think?”

  “Agreed.” Corah said it too fast. Maybe she was afraid Mofitan would argue, but at least she moved closer to him again, stood by his arm and made her allegiance clear, at least to him. She still worked for Niels though, and she made that clear just as quickly. “How can we help?”

  “Right now, I’d say find someplace to dig in and wait. I’ve got enough men to hold the few resisters here, but most of the miners that didn’t run have flipped on Dern quickly enough.”

  “You plan on trusting them?” Mofitan couldn’t help himself, but he felt Corah stiffen and knew he’d made a mistake, acted foolish and petulant while Niels was playing nice. “Never mind.”

  “I plan on using them. We can’t afford to let any potential asset go unexamined.”

  “Right.” Mofitan nodded politely but gave Niels a darker look. “Makes sense.”

  “I’ll think on your offer, Mofitan,” Niels said. “I will. Perhaps you’ll think on mine as well.”

  Another dare there, and in front of Corah Mofitan couldn’t look like the one who was being difficult. He’d been outmatched here, outmaneuvered, but give him five minutes alone with this jackass where Corah couldn’t see and he’d have sorted things out fast.

  Now Niels wanted an answer, and there was only one he could possibly give. Would he think on what Niels proposed? He didn’t exactly have to lie either. He nodded, gave the rebel leader an enormous smile, and wrapped one arm firmly around Corah’s shoulders before answering.

  “It’s a deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Corah’s worlds weren’t just colliding; they’d slammed into one another like two star freighters miscalculating their jump coordinates.

  Mofitan put his arm around her shoulders, and Niels smiled that thin, patronizing sneer he used for placating those who disagreed with him at the moment but will, of course, eventually come around to his way of thinking. How in the hell had she ended up here?

  Gervis may or may not have been dead. The fact that her thoughts could focus on other things at all, that her body reacted like a magnet to Mofitan’s touch and her heart still beat as if her whole reason for living hadn’t just gone all haywire, made absolutely no sense.

  She should have been running for Spectre. Even if Niels didn’t agree with her, Corah should have been hunting down Gervis Dern, verifying his death, doing something. Anything. Maybe Mofitan would help her? They could take a smaller transport, slip away in the nigh
t.

  “Corah?” Niels’s face had shifted. He looked a question at her now, a question she’d definitely missed.

  “She’s fine,” Mofitan answered for her, steered her by the shoulders around to face the exit. Possessive suddenly, another new development. Things moving very rapidly toward surreal.

  “I’m fine.” She repeated it for herself, but moved her feet and let him usher her out into a much-changed Banshee Basin. Explosions no longer echoed from the shafts, the air had settled into a clearer-than-usual ripple of trace gases. Most of the drills had stalled, and as such, the damps only trickled from the pits and the air smelled fresher than any mine had a right to. “Wow.”

  “I’d consider it an improvement if it weren’t for the troops.” Mofitan’s arm shifted, then dropped from her shoulders. He placed a hand against the small of her back, cautiously, as if he only tested the move. “Which way?”

  “Back to the shacks?” How was she supposed to take this? Niels and Mofitan having a pissing match, Mofitan escorting her, dare she say protectively, across the mining complex? Also, hadn’t he been dragged away to prison somewhere? “How did you get free?”

  “A Chromian dug me out.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Quiet little men, but incredibly helpful in a pinch.”

  “They brought me the knife.”

  He laughed, and his whole body rumbled beside her. “I wondered how you’d gotten it.”

  “One of them brought it to my shack. I hope the explosions didn’t hurt them.”

  “They seem to have no trouble underground. Though, I can’t say the same thing. I thought I’d never see sky again.”