Eclipsed (Heartstone Book 3)

by Frances Pauli

  “But you don’t even know me.”

  He stared at her. This part he had no idea how to handle. She was asking him something, and he couldn’t put it into words. Not the right words. Not here, in a metal shed in the middle of filth and poison. He needed to take her home to show her, maybe. Or else, he just needed to grow a spine. Problem was, he couldn’t be sure which would work.

  She shook her head and unfolded her knees. “I’m not worth trusting, Mofitan. I haven’t been anything but Gervis’s right arm all these years. I don’t know how to do anything else, anything more.”

  “I think you’re wrong.” He felt the loss then. Somehow he’d screwed the whole conversation up. Where he’d steered off course, he couldn’t pinpoint, but it was in the air now. She stiffened again. It was normal for her, a sign she’d recovered a little, but it was also his cue to leave. Mofitan stood and brushed the filth from his pant legs. He shrugged and looked at the ceiling, the thin walls. Then he turned and took a step toward the exit. “Or maybe it’s just that you don’t trust me.”

  He took another step, could have reached for the door by the time she spoke.

  “Wait.”

  Mofitan exhaled and let the relief tremble out.

  “When we met, we were both lying.” Corah’s voice lowered. Her words rushed out, a stream of her swirling thoughts. “I understand why. We both had good reasons, but we couldn’t be honest from the start, couldn’t even be real from the start.”

  She paused, and he held perfectly still, fighting the urge to turn to her, to rush at her for fear of scaring her back inside herself. Her breathing filled the space, brushed against the metal walls and echoed back at him. His heartmate distressed. He wanted to rush at her, but she needed to work this out on her own. He needed to give her that chance.

  “I tried to read you,” she whispered. “Gervis ordered it, and I tried and tried. I don’t think…I don’t.”

  He eased his body around, turned as slowly as his size permitted. Mofitan had less grace than Dolfan, less tact than Haftan, but he made himself as nonthreatening as possible and faced Corah.

  She swallowed hard and stared at him. Standing by the bed, stiff and straight and so terrified it showed all over. “How could anyone forgive that?”

  “Anyone?” He pushed her. He had to know now.

  Corah inhaled, shook her head, and stared at him. She might not want to say it, but now, he couldn’t help her. They’d dared one another, thrown their cards into the open, and Mofitan didn’t lose dares. Finally, he felt firm ground underfoot.

  He lowered his eyes and growled, just a little.

  “How can you forgive me?”

  Again, he had no words for that one. He figured they didn’t really need them. His Corah had a will of steel, she’d have had to to live with Gervis Dern all those years. She’d have to, if she meant to live with him. Mofitan knew he didn’t exactly count as easy to tolerate. He tested the theory, took a step in her direction, and when she only stood taller, another.

  Her eyes sparkled, but she held her ground. Her shoulders came up, set in place, and her pointy chin lifted, pointed the way for him.

  Mofitan swooped forward and gathered her in his arms. He lifted her, pressed her against his chest, and praised the universe for his restraint. Corah’s arms twined around his neck. Her breath bathed his shoulder and she curled in, tucked her head under his chin, and sighed. Good enough. Good enough forever.

  Mofitan rumbled and held their heartbeats together. The pulsing beat an answer. Corah’s fingers traced the line of his neck just under his braid, and his whole body sang for her.

  “We have this crystal on my planet…”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The tapping at her door echoed against her temples, a pounding assault on her sleep. Vashia groaned and rolled over. Dolfan tugged the covers up and away, and a draft of chill air invaded her side of the bed. Insult to injury. She shivered and scooted closer to her heartmate, but the door continued to rattle.

  “If that’s Haftan calling again,” Dolfan mumbled from his warm position under all the covers, “I’m flying to Vade in the morning to kill him with my bare hands.”

  “I’d answer it just so they’ll stop,” Vashia said. “But you’ve taken my covers and I’m quite naked at the moment.”

  He sat up. “I’ll get it.”

  “Thank you.” That got him moving, hadn’t it? She grinned and stole back the covers, curling under them and enjoying the heat he left behind as much as the view of his taupe-ish lilac back striding to their bedroom door. He’d pulled on loose trousers, but the view was still quite lovely.

  He pulled open the door too fast and terrified a squeak out of the unlucky housekeeper who’d been sent to disturb them.

  “I-I’m so sorry about the hour.”

  “It’s all right, Hethel. It’s fine.” Vashia sat up and endured a wash of guilt. She should have answered the door. The poor woman looked ghost-white beside Dolfan. “What is it?”

  Hethel shifted from one foot to the other. She rubbed her hands on the front of her uniform and looked up, sideways, at Dolfan towering over her. “It’s the door, Governor.”

  “The door?” Vashia tried to sort out what could be wrong with the door at this hour. What could be wrong that couldn’t wait until morning.

  “There’s a Chromian at the door.” Hethel cleared it all up with one succinct statement. A Chromian. At the door of the governor’s mansion.

  “I’m coming. Just… I’m on my way.” Vashia scrambled for her clothes and just prayed Dolfan got the door shut in time. Only one Chromian she could think of might potentially show up on her doorstep. If that one had come all the way here, it meant something.

  “Are we expecting Chromians?” Dolfan frowned at her from the safely closed doorway. “I don’t know what to wear for that.”

  “Oh, hush.” She couldn’t hide the giggle, and he made a face at her, raised his brows, and wiggled them until she laughed harder. “It’s probably serious.”

  “The Chromian.”

  “I think it’s my friend.”

  “The little man who reads your cards?”

  “Scoffs the man whose people have an official Seer.”

  He sagged and gave her a hangdog look. “I’m only playing.”

  “My seer has news about Mofitan.” Vashia enjoyed that. His brow furrowed and his jaw dropped open. He snapped it shut fast enough, but she caught it.

  “Since when?”

  “Come on.” She skirted the bed and pushed past him, jabbing an elbow toward his belly on the way by. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “What? Why not?” He followed her into the hallway, shirtless, still barefoot and looking unkempt and barely awake. Good. At least she’d have the advantage in the attire department. She’d managed to put on all her clothes at least.

  “Maybe ’cause of all the ribbing,” she offered.

  “Oh. That.” He kept up with her, but had to shuffle to do it. “I was just playing, Vash.”

  “Already said that.” She took the stairs. The lifts reminded her of Kovath and Jarn and all the times she’d been wedged inside one with them. Dolfan jogged at her side, and they reached the main landing and found Hethel and two of the mansion security guards blocking the way to the entrance hallway. Vashia skidded to a stop and tried to peer through them. “Where is he?”

  “Still outside.” Hethel waved a disgusted hand at the guards. “These two.”

  “It’s fine. Thank you.” Vashia slid into the hallway and they all scooted out of her way to let her pass. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks.”

  “I’m not certain it’s wise…” one of the guards began, but Dolfan cleared his throat, possibly too loudly, and they fell silent and just got out of the way. They’d learn eventually. Tonight, she didn’t care. Her guest had been left on a dark doorstep, and on any planet, that was just rude.

  The main entrance boasted a terribly old-fashioned set of double doors. Vashia never used
them. She preferred to slip out a private, ordinary sliding doorway. Partly because the damn wood ones were heavy. She hauled on the handle with all her strength and Dolfan still had to reach around her and help pry the wretched things open.

  Sure enough, a Chromian waited on her doorstep. He blinked at her, and she convinced herself quickly it was her Chromian even if it wasn’t.

  “I’m so sorry.” She ignored the mutters from the hall and stepped aside. “Please come in.”

  The pale head tilted, looked past her at the suddenly horribly ostentatious interior. He blinked again.

  “I’m sorry.” Would she ever not feel like apologizing to them?

  He shuffled forward, paused after the first step, and then came right inside. Progress. Trust. She couldn’t be sure where the thoughts came from, but she believed them, suddenly understood that communication was happening, whether they spoke the same language or not. Perhaps, that was how she’d caught his meaning so many times, why he could read her cards and make her feel like he’d answered her questions directly.

  “Welcome.” Dolfan faced the Chromian, looked at her, and then gave the man a weird little uncomfortable bow. Adorable. “Do we speak his language?”

  “Not exactly.” Vashia considered closing the door or not. Would he feel trapped if she shut him inside? She opted for leaving it open and felt she’d made the correct decision in an instant. Definitely communicating. “But I don’t think we need to.”

  The Chromian agreed. She felt it, understood that he appreciated the open door, the welcome and the humor of the situation as well. Nothing to fear at all.

  “Do you have information about my friend? You do, don’t you?”

  “Mofitan.” Dolfan sensed it too, maybe. Or else he just meant to support her. No matter either way. The Chromian blinked and moved his hands. Where the card came from was anyone’s guess, but he produced it possibly from the air itself. She’d expected it, but her heartmate made a popping noise that was probably what she’d sounded like the first time she’d seen the little Chromian do that trick.

  He held the disc aloft, silver and black, for both of them to see. Then the doughy fingers flicked, the Hadji card spun around, flashing, an unmistakable symbol. The clenched fist. Vashia nodded. She’d seen it before and knew who that card represented. She hadn’t told Dolfan, but then, who else could it be?

  He pointed at the spinning disc and confirmed her thoughts aloud.

  “It’s Mofitan.”

  Mofitan awoke with his heartmate in his arms. They curled together under the rough blanket on the cot in her shack. Her breathing came in slow puffs that lifted the hairs on his arm and told him Corah, finally, slept peacefully. It had only taken ten or twelve hours for her to relax. He smiled, did his best not to let his chest rumble for fear of waking her. The woman needed rest.

  And, it turned out, he needed the woman.

  For a moment he could be content with that. The early sunbeams filtered through the walls of the shed, lighting slanting flurries of particles that may or may not be poisonous, and Mofitan saw beauty there. He saw hope for life beyond the Banshee Basin.

  He heard, however, the unceremonious banging on the door of the shed next to Corah’s. His shed. Which meant, of course, that his party was about to get pissed on.

  Too damn soon. But then, the faster he got Niels satisfied the sooner he could end up back here, building something more important. He took a long last look at Corah’s features, softer in sleep than he’d ever seen them while the woman was awake. The invaders knocked two more times on his door, and then fell silent. They’d work out where he was fast enough.

  Mofitan tried to ease his arm out from under her gently, but her eyes fluttered open. Rummy, a touch of confusion, but smiling. Her whole face smiling.

  “Good morning,” Mofitan whispered.

  “I hate morning.” The smile didn’t fade, just the same.

  “They’re knocking on my door.”

  Except now they were knocking on her door. The banging shook the walls, made his dust devils dance, and goaded his heartmate into sitting up and tucking the blanket underneath her chin.

  “I’ll get it.” Mofitan grinned for her, tried to show her how little he cared where Niels found him this morning. This time her expression did waver. A shadow of concern tainted her peace, and he tried to reassure her. “It’s fine.”

  Corah nodded but her smile faltered a little, tightened. Her chin came up.

  Mofitan slid out from under the blanket and pulled his rumpled jumpsuit all the way up over his shoulders. He fastened it on the way to the door, managed to be fully dressed when he opened it on a lifted fist. Niels. Mofitan flashed him some teeth and enjoyed the furrowing of the rebel leader’s brow a little too much.

  “Ready?” Niels kept completely cool. Had to give him that. He shook off the shack switch in the space of a breath. “Sun’s up and the repair crews are rolling out.”

  Mofitan took his time pulling the braid out from under his collar. He stared over Niels’s shoulder while he did, watched the stirring of the rebels through the dusty crater. Haze in the air again. At least one mine functional, which meant, possibly, that crews had worked repairs on the night shift. Why had he been allowed to sleep?

  “Sure thing.” He widened his grin and aimed it at the rebel leader. “Boss.”

  “Right.” Niels stood at least two feet shorter than he did, but the man held his own better than most would. Not as good as Dolfan, but he definitely had a spine. On him, however, Mofitan found it irritating, too confident. The rebel leader didn’t have the mass to hold his own, which meant he relied on his men to support him. If Mofitan got out of line, there were plenty of rebel drones with weapons to fight Niels’s battles for him. He sniffed and smiled a toothless smirk. “This way.”

  Niels jerked his hand away from the office and landing pads, indicating they should head deeper into the row of shacks, toward the rear of the crater and an area Mofitan hadn’t explored yet. Not that it mattered. He’d be surrounded by rebels regardless of which way they went. But he felt sure the real repair work was already underway when they marched out, and he tossed a look back over his shoulder that was meant to reassure Corah. Instead, he saw the shadows on her face deepen.

  Damn.

  Mofitan joined her leader and marched away with the image of her concern etched in his mind. He reminded himself that she trusted Niels, that, according to Corah, the man was greatly responsible for her surviving to reach adulthood. Mofitan could cut him a little slack on her account. He’d follow the man for her sake, at least inside the boundaries of the Banshee Basin.

  They passed rebels heading in the opposite direction. Only a few of them carried weapons now, as if the threat level had diminished overnight. As if he’d missed something important.

  “Have all the detained miners been assimilated?”

  “We shipped them out on a transport last night.”

  “Hmm.” Mofitan matched step with Niels, which made his feet have to stutter. The man’s strides were half his in length, though he suspected the rebel tried to stretch them. They left the last shack behind and skirted around the back side of the main pit. “Repairs going fine then?”

  “So far so good.”

  “Hmm.”

  “There’s a lift still working back here.” Niels waved ahead where black pipes lifted out of a mineshaft like dark tentacles. A reader mounted above the shaft proclaimed, “Damps/clear, Production/D.”

  “What’s the D stand for?”

  “Dormant.” Niels waved at it and marched toward the rim. “It’s an older shaft, mined out and not in use. Figure whoever took out the rest didn’t think this one was worth their time.”

  The explanation made sense, but Mofitan thought he heard tension in the rebel leader’s voice. Maybe, the rebels had been responsible for the destruction here. Maybe, Niels just hadn’t wanted Corah to know. Why would he keep secrets from his own people?

  “The lift is this way.”
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  They rounded the first cluster of pipes and discovered a series of short sheds clinging to the lip of the mineshaft like dirty barnacles. A pipe railing ringed the pit, breaking only at the rusty, once-yellow cage that had to be what Niels was calling a lift. The rebel led the way to the thing, and when they arrived, slid the front aside.

  “Is it safe?” Mofitan squinted at the red metal beneath peeling paint.

  “I’ve been down there twice already.”

  “No offense, but you’re kind of a small guy.”

  “None taken. After you.” This time, Niels smiled wide enough to show teeth.

  The dare pushed Mofitan’s feet, and he stepped inside the lift only to hear the mechanism groan in complaint. If the rebel leader was worried he didn’t show it. He climbed in beside Mofitan, slid the door closed, and waved a hand at the nearest building. Gears ground together, rust rained onto the top of Mofitan’s head, and the lift jerked up an inch and then dropped three before catching and rolling smoothly down into the shaft.

  “So.” Niels stared at the passing stone so that Mofitan couldn’t possibly read his face. “You and Corah.”

  “Yes.” Lights set at intervals into the shaft wall made the descent a flicker of images, half shadowed and half lit. The lift held them, but the tunnel made them into a farcical and macabre scene.

  Niels’s smile turned to a grimace when the darkness took it. He nodded, and the shadows amplified the gesture.

  “Interesting.”

  “Is it?” Mofitan asked.

  “She’s been with me a long time.”

  “I believe she is still with your cause.”

  “Is she? Did she get the information my cause needs?”

  “She did.”

  “Really?” Niels turned to face him directly just as a passing light made his face into a demonic clown’s, a caricature of humanity.

  “I told her everything that I know.”

  The lift cage rocked to one side and back, slowed, ground its gears.

  “Is that right?” Niels’s face shone now. The bottom of the shaft had lights in a circle over their heads, trails of them leading away into the tunnels. “That must have taken some time.”