“We need to get off this planet.” Haftan paced too much. He also had developed a sudden interest in foreign affairs.
Dolfan scowled at his back. He avoided the pointed looks Mofitan kept shooting in his direction, but the longer he listened to the new king, the better he felt about treason. Shayd had taken a position behind him on the wall, and he felt it had been intentional. They’d sandwiched him between them for a reason.
“Not a bad idea,” Tondil said. “But why? You’ve never suggested this before, Haftan, why bring it up now?”
“Because Pelinol isn’t here.” Mofitan’s rumble shook the couch. Dolfan felt the vibrations in his feet. “Because Pelinol would label him a fool for even thinking it.”
“Pelinol won’t be king much longer.” Haftan spun around and paced between them. “I will.”
“And we will be your Council.” Peryl found his voice for the first time since the Heart ceremony. Dolfan leaned forward. He wondered where the king’s son would sit on this topic. “So it is we who will or won’t support the idea, not my father.”
“Do you, Peryl?” Haftan turned to him directly, towering over the young prince’s position at Tondil’s feet. “Do you support the new king’s idea?”
“I believe there are reasons to consider it, and even more reasons to fear it.”
“Well stated.” Tondil patted his shoulder. “What do you covet of the outer worlds, Haftan, that can’t be filtered safely through Base 14?”
Haftan waved a hand wildly and spun back toward the table. He’d dismissed the dangers too quickly, but Haftan had spent little time on the moon base. He had no idea what he was asking of them. Dolfan tried to give a shit. Instead, he saw the goblet on the table behind the man, half full of juice. He saw the thin wrap draped over one of the chairs and pressed his eyes shut against it. Their rooms. The rooms they lived in together.
Damn the coronation cleaning anyway. He’d made three circuits in the halls before he’d been able to open this particular door—and then he’d practically trampled her.
“Ask Dolfan.” Mofitan veered the conversation in his direction, but he’d missed the first portion of the comment. All eyes turned and riveted on him.
“I think the rest of the galaxy is overly eager for us to allow them in.” He looked a dagger at Mof, just in case it was warranted. “And I question the motives of anyone that eager. I think we’d be far more justified in increasing our security here. Adding a second platform, perhaps.” He watched Mofitan’s eyes stretch and let a grin slide over his face. “Don’t you think, Mof?”
“You know the answer to that, though I’m not surprised you’d use my idea instead of formulating a thought of your own.”
“I’m not talking about bringing anyone here,” Haftan snapped at them both. “I’m talking about letting us out.”
“I wasn’t aware we were kept in.” Shayd’s low, emotionless voice stopped Haftan mid-turn. “Are you a prisoner here then, Haftan? Would you leave the Heart to wander the galaxy? Are you not content?”
None of them had heard the Seer-to-be speak so many words in a single spout. The room fell silent, and Shayd’s impact settled around their thoughts. Dolfan leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. Haftan had been thinking a lot farther ahead than he had. He’d been thinking of what he’d do with the throne, not just how to win it. Just as Mofitan had.
Maybe Mof was right. He hadn’t given much thought to anything on his own. He’d been fairly content to keep an eye on the Gauss, pop back and forth between the moon and the planet, and sit around waiting for the Heart to find his mate. In retrospect, it seemed even more foolish than Haftan’s proposal.
He shook his head slowly and caught sight of something stacked under Mofitan’s couch. Dolfan blinked and squinted into the shadowed space—a pillow and two neatly folded blankets. He snapped back up and eyed Haftan again. His eyes glanced around the room, as if there would be some hint, some other trace of things amiss.
Someone’s sleeping on the couch. He twitched and fought against the urge to look again. Stupid, the queen most likely took a nap. Perhaps Haftan came in late and didn’t want to wake her. Or one of them is sleeping on the couch. Dolfan clenched his jaw and tried to focus. He’d missed a good deal of the argument again.
He scanned the faces for hints. Tondil might have noticed his lapse, he raised one eyebrow high, but Dolfan skimmed past him. He landed on Dielel, sitting at the end of the table and watching his own feet.
“—nothing to lose by increasing trade, by sending Shrouded ambassadors further than the moon, do we?” Haftan’s voice lifted to punctuate his thought.
“Yes!” Dielel stood up, earned a look from Haftan and sat abruptly back down. “Haftan is right,” he said meekly. “We should loosen the bottleneck a little.”
“Did he make you memorize that,” Mof accused, “or is it written on your shoe?”
“Enough.” Haftan scowled and shrugged. He looked tired. Possibly from not sleeping well. “We can talk in more detail on this later.” He rubbed his nose and looked to the ceiling. “I suspect we’re done for now.”
He turned his back on them and returned to the table, pouring himself a glass of water and staring out at the Shroud. The princes, Council members now, shifted and stood and exchanged looks that said more than their comments had.
Dolfan moved slowly enough to see Shayd and Mofitan leave first. When they’d had plenty of time to continue on, he stood and headed for the door. Dielel still sat with Haftan, darting glances from the new king to the others, but Tondil and Peryl joined him at the exit.
“Dolfan,” Tondil placed a hand on his shoulder. “Have a moment?”
He hesitated to answer until they left the room and he caught sight of Shayd and Mofitan to the right. They blocked the hallway in that direction, waiting for him, for more scheming. “Yeah. No problem.”
“Let’s take a walk, then. Peryl and I hoped to get your opinion on something.”
He followed them to the left, checking over his shoulder as they took the first branch. Mof and Shayd had gone. Good. They could stir up enough trouble without him.
“I’m worried about the queen.” Tondil spoke softly as they walked. “We’ve been spending some time with her, and she doesn’t seem like she should.”
“She’s sad,” Peryl chimed. “I think she’s sad.”
“It makes sense.” Dolfan looked ahead and behind in turn. He’d run into Vashia more and more frequently lately, but no tingle answered. “She’s about to lose her home, her status, and be forced to move again. I can’t think she’d be overjoyed about it.”
“What?”
“Lucha. Sad to be going.” He realized he’d missed something when they both stopped walking and stared at him. “What?”
“Wrong queen,” Tondil said. “We’re worried about Vash.”
Vash? He frowned at them and spoke through his teeth. “Why would you worry about her?”
They exchanged a glance that contained some secret code. He didn’t dwell in their inner circle, apparently, in a circle that called Vashia, Vash. Peryl spoke for them both, out of character and moved by some sudden loyalty to Haftan’s new bride.
“She’s not right,” he said. “We thought maybe you’d have an idea why.”
“Why would I know anything about it?” He heard his own voice waver. “We’ve barely spoken.”
“You were on the base together,” Tondil said. “Peryl only thought you might know if she’d left family behind, or if maybe she had friends that she could be missing.”
“She’s sad,” Peryl asserted.
“How do you know that? Did she say something to you?” Dolfan hated the little shiver of hope, the eager way he focused on the answer.
“No. She just doesn’t seem happy.”
“A bride should be happy,” Tondil said, “if the Heart can be believed.”
“I didn’t think you believed in the Heart, Tondil.”
“I said I didn’t want it, no
t that I didn’t believe in it.”
“You think something has gone wrong with Haftan’s bonding?”
“Not at all.”
“That maybe the Heart was wrong.”
“What?”
Tondil’s mouth hung open. Peryl’s eyes bulged, and he turned a paler shade of lilac.
Dolfan had misunderstood and said too much.
“Because the Heart doesn’t make mistakes,” he added late, but they relaxed anyway.
“We weren’t implying that.” Tondil’s answer gave his stomach a jolt. He’d been hoping they meant that exactly. “She certainly doesn’t seem to be blissfully thriving either.”
“Hmm. That’s too bad.” His mind conjured a few scenarios that might explain the problem. He imagined sleeping on a couch could sour one’s mood.
“So can you think of anything?” Peryl’s voice called him back. They stared at him again.
“No.” He shook his head. “We barely spoke on the moon.”
“Damn.” Tondil’s shoulders slumped. He looked at Peryl again. Whatever Vashia had done, she’d made an impression and a pair of friends in these two. “Maybe you can help, though. We play in the evenings. If you could stop in one night and see what you think?”
Stop in and play. He nodded slowly. What could it hurt to stop in and play? If a stack of blankets still waited under one of the couches, it could mean any number of things. “I’ll try to make it.”
If the new queen was displeased with her bonding, Dolfan would most certainly find out for himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MURREL’S HUSBAND owned a textile mill. A strip of hover pads protruded from amidst the huge factory building. Vashia caught sight of a line of low, rectangular storage sheds behind it as they settled gently against the cushion. The current released them to rest on the pad. She closed her eyes for a second and took a breath.
When she opened them, she found Lucha inspecting her. They’d dropped Peryl at his grandparents an hour earlier, and the queen had fallen oddly silent for the last leg of the trip. Now she fixed Vashia with a narrow gaze and a kind smile. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” Vashia folded her fingers together and shrugged. “No.” She should tell Lucha, just in case Murrel’s invitation had ulterior motives. “My friend was less that pleased with me when I saw her last.” It didn’t explain much, but Lucha nodded, her eyes softening.
“You’re nervous?”
“Yes.”
“This would be the girl who fancied herself the Kingmaker, then?”
Vashia sat back and frowned. “You know about that? How?”
“Nerala and I communicate rather frequently.” Lucha smiled, reached out and patted her knee softly. “I knew you were coming, dear. Almost before Syradan did.” She sighed and looked to the hatch. The pilot had triggered the controls, and the panel slid its way open. “I do like to keep an eye on what’s happening.”
Vashia might have imagined the wistful note to the words, but she guessed she’d been correct earlier. Lucha would miss her position as queen far more than she let on.
“What will you and Pelinol do after the coronation?”
“Oh, don’t worry about us.” Lucha sat up tall. She put up a jovial front, but the question definitely hit a nerve. “We’ll come back to the crater and relax. They leave the ruling to men of breeding age, you see. The population, the lines must be perpetuated. Pelinol has some ideas for work that might keep him occupied.”
“And you?” She wanted to believe Lucha would be content. The guilt she nursed over kicking the woman out of her place needed to know it.
“I still have a son to see bonded. I imagine I can busy myself visiting and dragging the poor boy to meet candidates.”
“Brides?” Vashia blurted it without thinking, heard the tone of her own voice and cringed. When Lucha’s eyes widened, Vashia knew she’d slipped up.
Before the queen could recover and respond, however, the door clanged fully ajar and a squeal invaded the compartment, high-pitched, feminine and terrible on the ears. Vashia leaned to one side and peered out of the transport, as if some unrevealed Shrouded monster might lie hungrily in wait for them.
Murrel bounced on her slippered toes just outside the vehicle. Both her hands pressed against her mouth and Vashia saw the glint of gemstones on more than a few of her fingers. She leapt forward at the sight of Vashia’s face peering out. A second squeal split the air, and the mystery of the monster clarified: Murrel, decked from head to toe in traditional, Shrouded wraps, bright as an Eclipsan sunset and covered in more riches than Vashia had seen on many a dignitary, squealing like a pig at slaughter.
She couldn’t help but chuckle. She couldn’t help but relax. Murrel had donned a piece of silk in every color of the rainbow. She looked like a peacock mummy, one that was close to bursting with anticipation. Vashia relented. She slid to the door and stepped out onto the pad.
Murrel dove forward. She threw her arms around Vashia’s neck and hung there, giggling and squealing alternately. “Oh! I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t know if you’d be able to come so soon, and I was so worried you wouldn’t come, but I’m so happy to see you and there just aren’t enough women around here at all!”
“Wow. Hi.” Vashia’s ears barely deciphered the rant. She felt Murrel’s arms slacken and took a step back. She needed to breathe.
“Sorry.” Murrel grinned. “There aren’t enough women on the whole planet!”
“I wholeheartedly agree.” Lucha stepped to the ground and joined them.
“Oh!” Murrel dropped into a low curtsey. “Your Highness, I beg your pardon.”
“Not at all.” Lucha held a hand out for Murrel and placed the other on Vashia’s shoulder. “You hit the nail on the head.”
Murrel took the queen’s hand and kissed it. Then she flushed and dropped her gaze to their toes. “I am sorry,” she said, “to both of you for before. I didn’t understand at all.”
“There’s no harm done,” Lucha said. “And now you’ve found the Heart on your own, I see.”
“But I didn’t understand at all,” Murrel moaned. “It was so stupid.” She turned huge eyes in Vashia’s direction.
“It’s okay. Like Lucha said. No harm done.”
“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come,” Murrel whispered. “I thought you’d hate me for it.”
“Why?” She’d been afraid as well, but she’d never guessed Murrel capable of forgiveness, let alone a guilty conscience.
“Because I tried to steal your bonding!” Murrel’s hands flew to her face again. “I didn’t know, Vashia. Honest. I didn’t understand until I met Rexr. I thought it was all fake.” She hung her head, and Lucha drew her into a hug.
“Poor thing.” The queen smiled at Vashia over the red hair. “How could you have understood it? We know that.”
“Right.” Vashia frowned. Why keep up the act here? There were only women present, only brides all shackled with the same role. Was there no private place, no haven on Shroud, where the truth at least leaked out a little?
Murrel sniffed and wiped her face. Lucha released her and they shared a look, one Vashia understood even less. “I can’t wait till you meet him.” She beamed at her, eyes sparkling and full of her lie. “He’s working, but I thought we could start with a tour before lunch?”
“We’d love to meet your Rexr,” Lucha said.
“Yeah. A tour sounds great.” She’d hoped for more from Murrel, but it didn’t surprise her. The woman had never spoken an honest word since they met. She sighed and followed them across the landing platform. The factory hummed, leaking plumes of exhaust that rolled up overhead to where the Shroud pressed down.
Jarn used the access codes the traitor had sent him and let himself into the control room. Ten of the dozen stationed Security officers on the moon base already passed their time aboard a mercenary cruiser, secured in the brig and waiting for the others to join them. He switched between cameras and tried to locate the last
two, preferably before they noticed their counterparts had gone missing.
He watched the atrium scroll past and then inspected the mall. A muscle in his cheek twitched as he watched the store stalls fly by. It had to be quick. They needed to take over the base completely and without alerting the planet, and a loose guard could kill the whole thing with one communication.
One of the mercs crossed the screen. He slowed the pan and watched, his fingers drumming on the console. Two more of them stood guard outside, and they’d already secured the landing areas. The traders had argued when his rented troops closed down cargo. Eventually, they’d put up a bigger fuss, but with his people controlling the only communications to the surface, the bastards could scream all they wanted. He just needed to finish the maneuver swiftly and in one stroke, and that meant snagging the last two stragglers without incident.
The mercenary on camera broke into a run, and Jarn sat forward. He shifted the angle and spotted a Shrouded guard sliding around a table piled with fabric. The native edged his way closer to the tunnel leading toward the storage bays, and when he caught sight of the merc approaching, he bolted away.
It didn’t take long. The merc was heavier, but better trained and carried a low range stunner. The guard went down after only three steps and Jarn watched his mercenary bend down to fit him with some more permanent restraints.
He smiled. Only one left. By now the mercenary presence was widespread and well known. The Shrouded shop keepers hid in their establishments, the traders grouped together in bundles and cast impatient glances toward the unit he’d stationed in the cargo area. The women in the bridal wing had all been herded to the atrium. Eventually, he’d have the shop owners and bay workers taken there as well.
Once they caught the last straggler, then his control of Moon Base 14 would be complete. The communications black out, his contact assured him, would be attributed to activity within the Shroud. It was considered a low priority until the coronation was over.
Jarn licked his dry lips and watched the tackled Shrouded guard struggle. He checked the exterior cameras, where the mercenary fleet controlled the approach to both the base and the planet. After the coronation, it would be far too late.
Shrouded: Heartstone Book One Page 16