“Do you believe what she says?”
“Murrel?” Vashia chuckled. “That depends. Which part?”
“All that fairy tale crap.” Tarren lay down and rolled onto her side to face Vashia. She fixed a skeptical expression. “All that stuff about the crystal picking your perfect mate.”
“No.” Vashia stared back and saw a flash of disappointment cross Tarren’s face. “Not really. Do you?”
“Course not.”
Damn. She’d dashed whatever secret hopes Tarren was hiding. The tough note to her voice was proof of that. Vashia had given her the wrong answer, but what else could she say? She didn’t want any of them swallowing Murrel’s rubbish. She didn’t want them to get those kinds of hopes up, but she felt guilty anyway.
“You know,” she began, trying to force some optimism into her voice, “I’m sort of just hoping I won’t be sold, or beaten too much, or anything weird.”
“Hell,” Tarren snorted, “we’re all hoping for that.” Her sigh filled the cabin. “But what are the odds?”
“You know most rumors do have a seed of truth to them.” Vashia had to give her something. She felt like the queen cynic at a convention of the downtrodden. “Maybe it was just so much better than what everyone was used to that it seemed like a fairy tale.”
“I bet that’s it.”
“Me too.” The hope in Tarren’s voice would have made her laugh if she hadn’t been so terrified of their immediate future. How could someone like Tarren—someone who had been beaten, mistreated, and who knew what else—still have a streak of optimism? If the alpha prostitute could imagine a fairy tale ending, why couldn’t the governor’s daughter?
For whatever reason, Vashia couldn’t hope. She couldn’t imagine anything at the end of the journey—not a fairy tale or even a horror. Her mind evaded the topic like a shadow cat dodging the moonlight. In her mind, nothing waited. Nothing neared with each passing day and no husband could possibly claim her on Shroud or any other world. She told herself that repeatedly while she listened to Tarren fall asleep.
When Jarn entered the room, Kovath turned away from his post at the window. The governor tilted his head to one side and ran a hand over his mustache. His boot clicked against the flooring.
“It’s done,” Jarn reported. He watched Kovath’s face and catalogued the emotions he saw pass over it. “She’s on her way to Shroud.”
“She signed up?” The shock in the man’s voice confirmed that he never really believed the plan would work.
The idea to take Shroud had been Kovath’s, but it was Jarn who’d seized the idea and nurtured it to full fruition. Between them, they’d worked out a way to invade without repercussions. The lesser governors on Eclipsis would back anything Kovath did, in particular if it padded their own pockets. The Galactic Council, however, would never stand for unprovoked invasion.
If the circumstances warranted it, however, if a father were simply trying to retrieve his lost child, the popular sympathy could go a long way toward justifying the act. The whole galaxy wanted to know what was on Shroud, wanted a piece of that particular planet. If Kovath found a way to win it that could be sold to the people as unavoidable, no governor in the sector would question him. All Kovath had to do was play the doting and concerned parent.
If the governor could manage that much.
As it was, he let Jarn do all the footwork. If the plan fell through, Kovath could pin a great deal of the blame on his head. “She took the bait,” he said. “She didn’t doubt Samra for a second.”
“It seems like an overreaction on her part.” Kovath frowned, bringing his thick brows closer together. “Not like her, to be so extreme.”
“I made certain she knew the alternative would be unacceptable.”
“You’re a dog.” Kovath made the insult a statement of fact. They both knew what Jarn was capable of. He’d already pulled off the impossible, had wiggled his way onto Moon Base 14, had allied himself with the Shrouded traitor. Now he’d set the child in motion as well and all they had to do was wait for her to get herself good and lost on Shroud.
“The point is,” said Jarn, swallowing his irritation, “that the plan is moving forward. I’m leaving tomorrow morning for the Shrouded moon.”
Despite his services, Kovath didn’t trust him. Jarn knew this, and it never bothered him usually. But he’d recently discovered that the governor had completely ignored the part of their plan that mattered most. He hadn’t changed his will and, should the unthinkable happen, Kovath’s entire estate fell to his daughter and not Jarn.
“Good.” Kovath nodded. “You have things in order for the next step, then?”
“Yes.” Jarn tapped his fingers together. He’d require delicacy on this matter. Kovath mustn’t guess he’d been at the governor’s personal files, or that he’d managed to ferret out every pass code the man had thought up over the years. “And have you arranged for the other portion?”
Kovath’s eyes widened for a second. Then he smiled like the devil and nodded. “Of course.” He was lying, and his expression sparked and said he savored every minute of it.
“Everything is secure?” It damn sure wasn’t. Jarn watched Kovath nod again and fought against the urge to throttle him. The governor wasn’t budging. He could see that much. Kovath had amended the plan to include his own little safety net, and it left Jarn out in the cold. It left him under the governor’s thumb, exactly where Kovath wanted him.
“Good,” said Jarn.“I’m sure it won’t be necessary, but with the girl on Shroud, who knows what might happen to her.” Or to Kovath, had he signed her damned inheritance over to him according to the plan. Jarn had no doubts to that. Kovath hadn’t placed the girl in his will for any reason other than to thwart him. He’d done it specifically to keep Jarn under control.
“Of course it won’t.” Kovath grinned outright.
The bastard knew he knew about the lie. No matter. When he’d put both Kovath and his obnoxious daughter in their graves on Shroud, Jarn could worry about the little details. He could forge the damned will if necessary. He had the governor’s pass codes, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d signed the man’s name.
He smiled and bowed his exit from the office. It would be a hiccup, nothing more. A simple trick and his future would be secured. He had a flight to catch in the morning. Then, once they’d handled things on Shroud, he’d get right on it.
The engines stopped rattling as they entered orbit. Vashia hadn’t even noticed the hum for days, and her legs had grown so used to the vibrations that she staggered a little at their absence. The hall outside erupted with chatter, nervous giggles, even a squeal or two. They’d reached Shroud. They orbited a short docking procedure away from whatever fate they’d sold themselves into.
“Holy shit.” Tarren sat up on her bunk and stared wide-eyed at the door. “Are we there?”
“I think so.” Vashia smiled, though she felt more like puking. Her stomach clenched against the worries she’d been suppressing for days. “We’ve dropped into orbit.”
“Hmmm?” Murrel moaned from her own cot. She rolled over and cracked an eye at Vashia. “You’re up already?”
“Yeah. I think we’re there.” Vashia ducked under her cot and pulled out the drawer she’d claimed for her solitary outfit. She slept in the ship-issued jumpsuit, and she’d tossed her slave rags as soon as she had something else to put on. She pulled out the clothes Samra had leant her and stared at them. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Me too.” Murrel made a show of choking loudly enough to quench any urge Vashia might have actually had.
“Ugh.” Tarren slid her legs over and dropped down beside Vashia. “I think I changed my mind.”
All three of them laughed then, nervous and hesitant giggles that sounded forced but somehow managed to get them through, to get them all moving. The voices in the hall faded in and out. A thunder of feet when the girls ran from room to room, a blast of laughter and the opening and closing of doors. “
I feel like I’m back in school.” Vashia said.
“Oh yeah.”
Murrel added her input too quickly. From the look on both of their faces, she guessed neither Tarren nor Murrel had gone to school—one more thing to feel guilty about. She shook it off. They were all in the same boat now. Like it or not, they were all about to discover their new home world and the husbands that came with it.
“You all right?” Tarren put a hand to her shoulder and leaned down to see her face. “You’re looking kinda green, Vash.”
“I’m okay,” she said, though she really did want to throw up. Maybe later, when Murrel wouldn’t be tempted to mimic. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sure.” Tarren nodded. “Sure you will.”
They docked at Moon Base 14. The ship slid into the bay easily and without any jostling of its terrified cargo. Vashia sat in the bay between Murrel and Tarren and watched the rear hatch like it was a rabid gutter slug, like it might jump out and suffocate them at any second.
They all huddled toward the end of the cargo bay, and their coordinator paced between them.
“He’s not exactly helping my nerves any,” Tarren whispered.
Vashia smiled, though she didn’t feel any better, and nodded her agreement. She’d just been thinking of how good it would feel to strangle the man. What did he have to be worried about?
A comm at his belt brattled and fourteen women jumped out of their skins. Vashia’s heart slammed into her throat and back. Her hands kept shaking, even after he’d apologized and answered the damned thing. Someone was ready for them. Someone waited outside. She thought about puking again, but, after looking at the determination around her, the discomfort and the bald faced terror on her fellows’ faces, she convinced herself to buck up. She could take it.
The door whined and cracked a few inches. Light slid into the bay—a square halo marking their gateway to the absolute unknown. Vashia stared at it. She heard the creak of metal and saw the light widen as it lost the effect and became just an ordinary opening. The sound of ships’ engines filled the bay, leaking in from the base outside and drowning out their coordinator’s prattle. More apologies perhaps. She thanked the cacophony for sparing her another round of “so sorry.”
The first glimpse of Moon Base 14 didn’t really register as unusual. She saw the flat pads, the cargo liners spewing hover sleds, and the raised causeway for pedestrian traffic. Lights shifted along the walls and floors, marking routes and signaling to those versed in port codes. A large screen broke the wall above the walkway, a list of departures and arrivals scrolling down it. Slowly. She’d never seen a port schedule with so few entries.
Their ramp banged to the bay floor, rattling their bench seats and bringing all eyes back to the matter at hand. A woman stood in front of the exit. She held a large data pad in one hand, a puffy bag hung from her other shoulder, and she beamed at them through large spectacles. Her hair hugged the top of her head in tight red curls that bounced fiercely when she marched up the ramp.
“Madame Nerala.” Their coordinator stumbled to greet the woman. She looked human, possibly even primary stock. Vashia guessed her to be somewhere around sixty, despite the spring in her step.
“Mr. Noll. Are these my new girls, then?”
Vashia couldn’t imagine who else they could be. She peered at Madame Nerala and tried to judge the character behind the cheerful, grandmother exterior. She’d never known a grandmother and had barely any memories of her mother. Tarren leaned closer and whispered in her ear.
“I have a new theory about the fairy tale thing.”
“Yeah.”
“I think they spread that crap to get people to come here.” She sat back and nodded to where Mr. Noll and their new owner exchanged data pads. “Maybe that’s the only way they can get anyone to agree to it.”
“I like my theory better.”
“I thought you would.”
Murrel pressed in from the other side. She didn’t quite manage to whisper. “What? What did she say?”
“Never mind.” Vashia smiled for her, for both of them. “I think it’s time to go.”
Mr. Noll waved them forward. He gestured to his cohort as if they all hadn’t just heard the exchange. “This is Madame Nerala,” he said. “She’ll be in charge of your instruction from here on out.”
“What instruction?” Tarren blurted out. She looked bashful, but then again, they hadn’t been ordered to silence, had they?
“I’ll help you all to acclimate to Shrouded culture and law.” Nerala favored her with a kindly look, a motherly look. It gave Vashia an immediate case of the creeps. “But first, we’ll head to the dorms and get you all fresh clothes and some rest.”
She turned and pranced back down the ramp. The women hesitated. They looked to Mr. Noll, but he waved them after Grandma Creepy. They moved slowly, drifting down the ramp in her wake in little, whispering huddles.
“I think they’re going to torture us and feed us to something,” Tarren hissed.
“What was that?” Murrel asked.
Vashia stared down the ramp. She took a step forward, and they both followed her. “Nothing, Murrel. It’s going to be fine.” She ignored Tarren’s snort and took another step. The girls that left ahead of them pooled in a bunch around Madame Nerala. They fidgeted and shifted from foot to foot, but the whispers stilled.
The three of them were last to leave the ship. Vashia led the way out into the hangar. The ship a few bays down fired up, drowning out whatever Nerala said to them in a roar of engines. The women moved closer, pressed up beside their newest caretaker and waited for instructions.
The sleds followed the floor lighting between the freighters, weaving toward their individual destinations. Vashia took a step to the side and let Tarren and Murrel squeeze in beside her. She leaned out around the butt of their ship and watched the tunnel where the majority of the cargo seemed to end up. The departing ship’s engines faded as it returned to orbit. Its absence made the regular hangar sounds seem quiet.
“There we go,” Madame Nerala purred. “Now, we’ll head through the atrium and get your rooms assigned. I think you’ll find them comfortable for the short stay. Oh!” Her hands clapped to her mouth and all fourteen bride candidates jumped in place. She waved them to calm with one hand, but the other busily straightened her hair. She stood taller, cast nervous glances to their right.
Vashia followed her gaze and caught her first glimpse of the Shrouded. Two men stalked across the hangar, and she had no doubt at all as to their race. They had to be Shrouded. They couldn’t be anything less. Her jaw dropped open.
“What is it?” Murrel whispered.
Before Vashia could answer, static exploded inside her brain.
CHAPTER NINE
MOFITAN STARTED TOWARD THE BAYS. Dolfan caught sight of him from the walkway. He knew exactly where the bastard was going. His jaw clenched. He should just let him go. Or he could intercept him at the next stairwell.
His legs taking him at a jog, two steps at a time to the bottom, he reached the floor at the same instant Mof passed. Not that it mattered. They’d watched two shuttles unload brides already without so much as a flutter on his part. He guessed Mofitan was in the same boat. If he’d sensed a candidate that he might be drawn to, why would he be striding for today’s arrival as if his life depended on it?
So why did he hurry? Why the hell did he have to feed Mofitan’s hostility by showing any interest in the brides? He shook his head, but slid into step beside the other prince.
“Morning, Mof. Checking cargo today?”
“Yep. Cargo.”
“Then you don’t mind if I join you.”
“Couldn’t stop you if I did.”
“Right.” Well, at least they understood one another. They walked together, but with an arm’s length between them. A ship roared to life ahead, drowning the sound of hangar business as usual. Except today wasn’t business as usual. Today a ship in bay 3 brought another group of brides, a group that may o
r may not include the Kingmaker. He shook his head and reminded himself it wasn’t about the throne—not for him at least. He’d originally been drawn to the moon base with the brides in mind and had always watched the shipments. But no one, not Mofitan or anyone else, needed to know that.
The ship lifted and maneuvered gently back into space. Another waited to take its place. Trade at Base 14 increased faster than they’d originally intended. Pelinol wanted to keep it to a trickle, but half the Council pressed to open more lanes and bring in more revenue and more resources for Shroud. The other half never wanted outsider trade at all. This Choosing, whoever ended up on the throne, could mean a huge difference in the planet’s trade policies.
For now they had a steady schedule and a waiting list of governors eager to negotiate a piece of the business. Dolfan agreed with Pelinol. He supported the trade, but he could see the danger in it. He could see the greed in the eyes of each trader and he heard the things they whispered when his back was turned.
Mofitan marched forward while Dolfan hustled to keep up. The hover sleds worked their routes at the bay’s rear. Overhead, the narrow strip of shuttle pads waited for the smaller vessels. Dolfan tilted his head upwards but his vision blurred. A buzz of static whispered between his ears. His senses snapped to attention, humming with something he couldn’t begin to place.
He staggered to the side and nearly collided with Mof. They both stopped and stared at one another. He couldn’t read Mofitan. The man’s face always looked that pinched, and if he could sense the same vibration Dolfan was getting, Mof wasn’t letting on.
“What?” Dolfan recovered and stood tall. His head still raged with interference, but he smiled and gave Mof a level stare.
“Tripping over your own feet?” “Maybe.”
Mofitan held his gaze, but he took a step forward. Dolfan mirrored him, taking two of his own and gaining a stride. Mof responded with three, and they were off again, this time twice as fast, down the row of ships.
They passed another hull. He could see Madam Nerala standing three bays down. She caught sight of them and straightened. The buzz roared in his head. His jaw clenched and he scanned the little crowd around the woman. Mof pulled ahead again, and Dolfan ignored it. His eyes roved the faces huddled around Nerala. His brain hummed.
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