“He’s joking!” Vashia struggled to extract herself faster and intervene before her friend throttled the king’s son. “It was an accident, and I’m fine. Just sore.”
A strong hand slid over and punched the button on her restraint. The straps snapped back to their housing and she was freed. Just like that. “Better?”
She caught a similar note of amusement in Dolfan’s question. His eyes matched. They sparkled, and she could have sworn he’d just flirted with her. But he moved away immediately, and gave her space to disembark. She stood and slid between the seats and followed Peryl out the hatch and into an unexpected bear hug.
“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Tarren whispered. “They wouldn’t tell me what happened.”
“I forgot to wear my breather like a complete idiot.” Vashia wiggled away and winced. She was sore, and the hug reminded her chest just how much trauma her lungs had been through recently. “I tried to drink the Shroud, but it was an accident.”
Tarren eyed her for a second, then nodded as if she’d assessed the situation fully. “Idiot. Yep. I knew you’d get into trouble on your own.”
Both princes laughed, though Dolfan hid it better than Peryl, and she didn’t know which one to holler at first. She turned back to her traitor friend. “I see you’re bathing again.”
“Nice. Yes, I’ve rediscovered hygiene. Come on and I’ll show you why.” She threw an arm across Vashia’s shoulder and steered her away from the craft. A Security officer stood at the edge of the pad. He conversed with a second man, one garbed in the most muted Shrouded wraps she’d ever seen. Both men snapped to attention when they closed the gap.
“Lords, Highness.” The officer saluted before joining his fellow in a bow.
“This is our field foreman, Lual,” Tarren said.
The man in the brown silk nodded to her, to both princes, then focused on Tarren before speaking. “Lady, we have a situation that might require the princes’ attention.”
“How’s that?” Dolfan slid in closer until he stood at Vashia’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?”
“We’re not certain.” The Security officer spoke now, directly to Dolfan and with a voice that expressed his honor in doing so. “We’ve had no communication from Base 14 since the storm last week.”
“We are aware of that,” Dolfan said. “The weather must have taken out some of the relays near the platform, but as I understood it, a crew was working on restoring functionality. Once the coronation is over, I’ll be returning to handle things from above.”
“Yes, of course, but this morning we received a report that another relay has failed.”
“What?” Now his tone shifted, and Vashia knew he worried, that the new information meant more than she could gather just from their statements. “Which one?”
“Near here.” The officer shifted his feet and looked off toward the crater lip. “NW125B has stopped transmitting. One of our transports heading to the platform had to double back.”
“Damn.” Dolfan shifted his gaze to the same spot, as if he could see the problem from where he stood. “It could be a systemic failure. Or the storm may have done more damage than we thought.”
“Have you had any issues at the complex?”
“Not besides the base going silent. I wonder how far spread it could be.” He looked from the horizon to the transport and then back. “We should check the relays on the way back, but I’d like to get word to the palace as well.”
“You can use our comm.”
The officer turned and headed toward a low shed snugged up close beside to the pad. Tarren tossed an arm around Vashia again and pulled her in the direction of the domes, but Dolfan’s hand landed on her shoulder and she stopped her feet, tugging Tarren back with her.
“I need to send a message to Pelinol,” he said.
“I’ll go with them,” Peryl slid up and shoved his way in between them. “You can catch up.”
She let Tarren and Peryl drag her away, watching Dolfan over one shoulder and reveling in the look on his face. Before he turned away she winked at him, a compulsion that her logical mind should have stifled. Still, his mouth quirked at one corner and she felt the thrill of his reaction. She could flirt too. He’d started it, after all.
She followed Tarren, with Peryl on her arm and the farm worker leading the way. Each step felt better than the one before it. Maybe she’d just needed to get away from the Palace complex. Having Tarren close reminded her that she wasn’t the only lost soul on the planet. It made her remember how light she’d felt on the moon base, how hopeful. Even if the Heart had proved a sham, at least she knew that something lived between her and Dolfan and that he knew it, too.
She had a friend on Shroud as well, one who she could be honest with, who knew the idea of her and Haftan was complete rubbish. Tarren hadn’t even wanted the fairy tale, hadn’t hoped the way Vashia secretly had. If she could live with a Shrouded husband and not kill him outright, at least they could whine to one another about it in private.
She’d achieved an almost cheery mood by the time they entered the dome. The air dripped and sweated against the glass, and the floor stretched in all directions with perfect little green rows. Overhead a tangle of pipes wove a maze of watering and chemical delivery systems. She breathed in deeply and let the warmth and the moisture sooth the dull ache that still lingered in her lungs. It felt good. Maybe she could hide here with Tarren and they could support one another.
She’d just convinced herself she could take it, that with Tarren to commiserate with, life on Shroud might be bearable, when her friend took off at a run. Ahead of them, a Shrouded man dropped his long-handled tool and jogged in their direction. Vashia watched, stunned by the sudden change in demeanor, as the two met on the narrow path. Any hopes of sharing her plight with her friend vanished, when Tarren launched, bouncing even, into her husband’s arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE WIRES SPARKED and rained fire around the console. Jarn holstered his pistol and eyed the damage. That should keep the relays quiet, at least between the platform and the palace complex. Syradan had given him enough of a map to get them that far. The man’s guidelines checked out and they should have no problem navigating that distance by coordinates. He didn’t see any reason the devices should be left to assist his foes—or any of his allies that might get ideas.
This was the last in the circle around the platform. He’d gone a little farther the first time, tested Syradan’s roads without heading directly to the target crater, just to be sure of the man’s maps. The relays had little defense; they were designed to be easily disabled by the paranoid Shrouded who considered dropping the signals as a last line defense against invaders.
Jarn snorted and then let a smile stretch across his lips. Most invaders wouldn’t have a perfect, detailed map of exactly how to reach the palace. Most invaders wouldn’t have had the resources or the clearance codes to take out the Security detail around the platform quickly and without much of a struggle. He tapped the shredded console. His mercenaries would have no trouble with the Shrouded.
He still had work to do, still had Kovath to deal with. He reminded himself that the day was not quite his yet, and turned to the merc he’d set at the doorway. “This is the last of them?”
The man eyed his data pad and nodded. Three devices contained those maps, and only two of them hadn’t been programmed to lie. He and his bodyguard possessed those. The third would get someone just far enough to get lost; he’d made certain to modify the data precisely to ensure that.
“I need a man stationed here,” he said. “When the time comes, I’d rather not depart from the primary platform.
“Too much attention,” countered his hired mercenary. “And too much chance they’ll know how to get there even in the dark.”
“Very well.” The man had a brain along with his square muscles and lack of neck. “What’s your name?”
“Evan, Sir.”
“Well, Evan, is it your goal to
work as a mercenary forever?”
“No, Sir.”
“Good. Keep that in mind and don’t let that data pad out of your sight.” Jarn surveyed the damage one last time and then headed for the door. “And stay close to me. Tell your partner to remain here. Tell him to shoot down anything that moves in this direction.”
The mercenary saluted. His grin said enough to satisfy Jarn. It echoed his, “Yes, Sir,” completely.
Tarren’s home might have been a humble affair compared to Murrel’s, but it suited her perfectly. Vashia followed Peryl through the entrance, between rows of short, flowering shrubs and into the main portion of the house. Here the atmosphere returned to normal. They met a rush of cool air that held no trace of the moisture from outside the domes.
The main room boasted ample seating, if one could dodge the assortment of gardening gadgetry, pots, and other clutter. Every surface inside the building had a different hue, yet it all seemed to match, possibly held together by the continuity of detritus littered about. Vashia settled onto a soft couch beside Peryl and sighed. Lovely, perfect—the same homey combination that wafted from the couple hosting them.
Mack and Tarren bustled about clearing paths and adjusting piles until Peryl giggled out loud. He couldn’t help himself, and Vashia was hardly ready to blame him. Tarren’s cheery situation warmed her, even though it cemented her feeling that she’d been handed the shortest of straws when it came to the Heart.
“Stop fussing,” she said when Tarren tossed her a panicked look. She held a stack of tiny pots that clanked and teetered dangerously. “Just sit down and visit.”
“It was clean this morning,” Tarren said.
“It’s wonderful now, Tarren. Sit.”
“She’s right.” Mack shrugged. “I’ll get some refreshments. You visit.” He pressed his wife into a chair between a tower of cloth and a table covered in seed packets and left the room. When he’d gone, Tarren joined Peryl in a giggle.
“I’m really nervous,” she said. “How stupid is that?”
“Pretty stupid.” Vashia smiled at her. “Since I enjoyed your company during the no bathing phase.”
“What?” Peryl looked horrified.
“It doesn’t matter. Mack seems wonderful.”
“He is.” Tarren shoved the seeds aside and pulled out a lump of wire weaving. “His Shrouded name is Makryl, but I can’t call him that with a straight face.” Her fingers took to twisting the wire while she spoke. “His cousin cuts stones for the mine, and he’s teaching me a little. I’m going to make jewelry, maybe get that little market stall after all.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“A long ways better than life in Wraith.”
“For certain.”
“What’s wrong with Wraith?” Peryl’s question set them both to laughing.
“You’d have to go there to know,” Vashia didn’t care to elaborate on a situation that she’d begun to claim as a personal failure. “But pretty much everything.”
“I was born in a brothel,” Tarren hadn’t shared that before, but it explained a great deal. “I never really left.”
“Sure you did,” Vashia said. “You got out in spades.”
“I’ve been meaning to thank you.” Tarren darted a look toward Peryl, but she’d sat up taller and put the wire down in her lap. “It was a kind thing that you did at Murrel’s, to let me think the Heart was nothing special. You could have been like them, rubbed in how wonderful it was, but you agreed with my stubborn ideas to spare my feelings.”
“No, really.” Vashia’s eyes moved to Peryl too. She heard his intake of breath and felt herself trapped in a corner. She sighed. “It didn’t seem fair to go on about it in front of you like that.”
Peryl’s look changed from shock to sympathy. He patted her on the shoulder and grinned. “Vashia’s a jewel. We’re lucky to have her.”
“It sounds like she’s lucky to still be with us.” Tarren shook her head. “All that training about the breathers and you spaced it?”
“Hey, what happened to, ‘Oh Vashia, I was so worried about you?’”
“You look fine to me.”
“Nice.” Vashia couldn’t help but smile. Tarren looked great, she smelled great. Her husband seemed great, though a bit short and stockier than she’d have imagined. Her mood lifted despite the chorus in the back of her mind. Everyone but you is happy
Makryl returned carrying a tray as cluttered as the house, overflowing with platters and dangling bunches of fruit and cutlets of meat that had spilled their bonds. Peryl leapt up to assist him, and they managed to set the thing down without spilling more than a few grapes to be lost in the mess on the floor. Four tubes stood in the tray’s center, each sparkling with a different colored drink. The man had a style all his own, and a lighthearted face despite his heavy bulk.
Vashia took the blue drink he offered and lifted it to take a sip when the door rattled. Mack set his orange tube down and crossed to open it. She didn’t need to see past his width to know Dolfan had arrived, but she smiled when Peryl announced it. The look died when she saw Dolfan’s face.
“What?” Peryl stood up a half-second before she did. “What is it?” he asked.
Vashia could understand the panicked tone of his voice. Dolfan’s skin looked ashen, and his frown etched deep lines in his forehead. She had to bite her lip to keep her urge to run to him in check.
“Several of the relays beyond the main platform are no longer functioning,” he said. “The moon still has not responded to any communications, and the palace has had no contact with the teams sent in to look at repairs.” He accepted the drink Mack offered and shrugged. “I suspect the storm did far more damage than we thought—maybe even to the elevator.”
“Are you heading up?” Peryl asked.
“No.” He shook his head and looked directly at her. “Haftan will have his coronation first. The system is designed to be shut down anyway, and no one’s worried.”
“Sounds like you think they should be,” Mack said. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Hunker down for now.” He stepped forward and handed a data pad to Peryl. “Security is to treat it like a defense blackout until we sort it out. This came for you.”
“Defense black out?” Mack moved back to stand behind Tarren. “Can you get back?”
“The relays this side of the complex are functioning normally. Only the ones between here and the platform have taken damage. I was thinking of checking the nearest one on the way back. If the queen is amenable to a slight delay?”
“Of course.” Vashia nodded, all eyes suddenly on her. Heavens knew she wasn’t in any hurry to rush back.
“Good. Security is loaning me an extra probe. If I can get that relay up to capacity, you should be able to get back to business with only a small deviation.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“Do you need me?” Peryl didn’t look up from the pad. “Tondil wants help with something.”
“No,” Dolfan answered without pause. Vashia thought she saw a smile flicker briefly on his features. “If you can borrow a bike to get back, I think we can manage.”
Vashia took a drink and watched his face. Defense blackout meant nothing to her, but she understood one thing he wasn’t sharing. If the storm damage was responsible for the damaged relays, but it only took out those in a direct line between the palace and the platform, that was one unusual weather pattern. She would argue it might look suspicious.
She glanced from one face to the other and wondered why the hell no one was saying it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SYRADAN SIPPED his juice and kept an eye on the man across the room. Haftan paced back and forth between the couches and the table. He never even looked at the instrument lying on the couch beside the Seer. He hadn’t seemed to notice the lute at all.
Syradan stored his observations, including the number of times the new king glanced up to the Shroud, and calculated just ho
w much time he’d have to get off-world before Haftan caved and confessed that he felt nothing for his queen. The man could barely contain his unease, and the woman was halfway across the planet.
Haftan jumped when the door rattled and kicked one of the chairs hard enough to bang the table. Syradan winced as the lute sang softly, one random note born from the sudden vibrations. It didn’t mean anything. The sound held true despite the layer of poison coating each metal string.
“Are you going to get that?”
Haftan jumped again at the sound of his voice, but recovered fast enough to snarl at him. “I am two days away from being your king,” he argued, but he went to open the door just the same. Syradan had no time to worry about the king’s temper. He was two minutes away from being a murderer.
Dielel waited on the other side of the door. He hustled into the room, but balked when he caught sight of Syradan. His eyes flew to Haftan for reassurance, but the new king had reinstated his pacing.
“Good afternoon, Dielel,” Syradan said. “How are you getting along these days?”
“Huh?” Even for such a simple question, he looked to Haftan before answering. The man’s loyalty had become a reflex. “Fine. I’m fine.”
“How lovely,” Syradan sniffed and turned his attention back to his juice. The fruit had a sweeter flavor than usual, perhaps from overzealous fertilizers or a late harvest. He swirled it in the glass and suppressed a quick flare of concern. Certainly no one would go that far?
It almost amused him, the idea of Tondil offing him before he could return the favor. He set the glass down half finished and watched Dielel sulk to the table. Haftan ignored his shadow while Dielel stood staring at the Shroud himself for a moment before dragging a chair from the table and flopping into it.
When he reached for the juice pitcher, Syradan’s chest squeezed and he stood up quickly enough to make the other two men flinch.
“What’s the matter now?” Syradan asked. Dielel looked close to tears.
Shrouded: Heartstone Book One Page 21