The Warlord's Daughter

by Susan Grant

  “Fates.” She stared at the pendant glinting innocently in his hand. “This is the key.”

  HADLEY LEFT the noisy dining hall, walking with businesslike purpose. Bolivarr walked with her, equally professional. They’d left the meal without eating dessert.

  He unlocked his door and let them in. “Close,” he told the door.

  “And lock,” she added.

  The door had barely closed when he swept her into his arms, kissing her laughter away. “First order of business,” he murmured, kissing her breathless. She sighed as his fingers sifted through her hair. “They’re going to think this is one secure ship with the amount of meetings we’ve been having.” Where they ended up in bed.

  She’d taken a careful look up and down the corridor before slipping inside his quarters. It was probably not a secret that they’d hooked up, but as the captain she felt obligated to keep their relationship out of sight of the crew.

  His dark eyes twinkled. He lowered his head to kiss her again. His cane clattered to the floor. Smiling he said, “We won’t need that in bed,” and resumed their kiss.

  Bolivarr had been her first lover. He considered himself a virgin-in-spirit, as he couldn’t remember any previous lovers. She hoped it meant there were none. His amazing mouth was on hers again, erasing all her doubts. Well, except for a few. They kissed until she was absolutely feverish.

  Equally breathless, he tore his lips from hers, smoothing his hands over her body, and the layer of her uniform between those hands and her skin before he brought his hands to her face to cradle her cheeks. “I want this to last forever, Hadley. I want us to last forever.” He seemed so happy. For once the eternal sadness in his eyes was absent. Maybe this was what he needed—what they both needed. She was glad she could be a ray of light in his life. Goddess knew he’d suffered. And he had no one else but her.

  He laced his fingers with hers and led her to his sleeping area. Anticipation swelled. Then he stopped so abruptly that she collided with him. Sliding her arms around his waist, she peeked around his body. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you make your bed this morning—?”

  The sight before her stunned her into silence. There were papers everywhere—from large sheets to mere scraps. Some were crushed into balls, others scratched out. A few could be considered works of art. He’d even scribbled digitally on his wall datapad. It was all the same pattern, some filled in, others accompanied by runes. “The five marks,” she murmured, taking in the disarray with concern. It obsessed him.

  She spun around. “When did you do all this?”

  “I’m not sure.” Clearly agonized, he dragged an unsteady hand over his hair. Inky black, it stuck up in little spikes. “I don’t remember. I have no memory of drawing all this. None.” His hands shook.

  “Bolivarr!” She reached for him.

  He blocked her, sitting down hard on the edge of the bed, one hand raised to keep her away. “It’s not a seizure.”

  “Then what?”

  “It’s…” He let his head fall into his hands, curling his fingers in his hair as if in pain. “I don’t know. Memories. People. Things I can see, yet can’t.”

  She struggled to understand, then realized she couldn’t. It was a gulf between them—his suffering and her inability to make it better. “I want to help you, Bolivarr. I don’t know how.”

  She stood there awkwardly. Obviously their plans for tonight were off. More important was his health, especially in light of the fact she’d lobbied to have him on this mission. If she had to turn around to deliver him to a hospital, word would reach Zaafran. With the prince’s niece onboard, the incident would get too much notice. She pushed aside the worries. She was a captain, yes, but she was also a friend. A girlfriend. If he needed her, she’d stay.

  He seemed to have to climb out of a dark place before he spoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away.” He shoved to his feet and limped to her, drawing her into an embrace that felt surprisingly rock-solid despite his condition. His voice rumbled in his chest. “I love you, Hadley. You’re the most important thing in my life. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t lose me. How can you think that?”

  His silence was more troubling than his words.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WREN’S TREASURE WAS suddenly much more than riches. It was a lure—a fatal one. The muscles in Aral’s jaw moved, hinting at the tremendous turmoil inside him at the sight of the pendant. In his large hand it seemed little more than a unique, pretty piece. It was now, to him, a threat. “How long have you had this?”

  “Since I left Barokk. My guardian took it out of a chest in the floor of our shed the day we evacuated. She gave it to me only after she knew she was dying.”

  “She knew it was dangerous,” Kaz warned. “Bolivarr didn’t. The mistake killed him.”

  A concept Kaz struggled with still, Wren realized. “Sabra was a believer, more devout than I ever knew. She kept that from me, she kept every secret imaginable from me, including this pendant. It was her dying wish that I find the treasure. She said it was my destiny to make the galaxy whole again.” She was no closer to understanding the cryptic request now than she was then, but she had to go. “It’s my duty to go.”

  Aral rubbed a frustrated hand over his face. “A dying wish. You’ll want to fulfill it. And I won’t be able to stop you.”

  “No.” Since discovering her father’s true legacy, Wren had spent days wondering how she could make it up to the worlds. The last in a line that perpetuated war, she’d make amends by ensuring peace. That was her destiny. Not riches. Not a battlelord’s docile wife.

  Did she have the guts to do all she intended?

  She’d find out soon enough. “If there truly is a treasure, I’d rather it be in my hands than have it left for people to fight over. I’ll see the riches to those who need it.”

  “Anonymously.”

  “In whatever way causes the least harm to everyone else,” she argued. “The decision is mine to make.” The long and terrible day had proved it was time she took charge of her destiny. She’d already taken steps. She’d procured this ride, for one, their escape out of the camp. Next, she’d make sure they got to where they needed to go—Ara Ana. From there, who knew? Away. Far away. It was a plan—her plan. She’d left control to others for too long, allowing them to take responsibility of what she needed to do for herself. It usually ended with them dead.

  She gripped the gun in cold hands, knowing that with it she could dispense death. Torn, she wanted to fling it away, but if it kept her from falling into the hands of those that would use her for their goals and their power, their evil, she’d use it. And if they tried to hurt Aral or any of the people helping her, by the fates, she’d stop them dead. The beast stirred, and she immediately struggled to quench the anger. Somehow she had to control it, just as she had to take charge of her future—if there was one. What precious little time she had left she’d not hand over to others to dictate. She knew her fate if the loyalists like Karbon Mawndarr got hold of her. If she fell into Triad hands, some might want to spare her life, but the tide of sentiment was against it. Too many people needed an outlet for their blame. Closure, the leaders would call her execution. The first step in healing. Bah. She wouldn’t give the loyalists or the new government the pleasure of using her.

  The thunder of Borrowed Time’s thrusters starting up shook the floor. It was time to launch. Aral caught her arm. “Then we’ll find Ara Ana. But know this—knowledge of those five lights killed my brother. By the fates, I won’t let it kill you, too.”

  Her heart gave a twist at the fervent sincerity in his eyes. He was, again, the young man she’d glimpsed a decade ago, just as determined now as then to protect her. He was equally a battlelord, the man no one dared disobey. A man smart enough and determined enough to find her in a refugee camp in the middle of the Borderlands. Even the news that Karbon Mawndarr roamed free didn’t distract him from his vow to see her to safety. She’d let him—as
long as she could continue her search for Ara Ana. If anyone could unravel the mystery, Aral was the man to do it.

  They headed for the front of the ship, their boots clanging against the bumpy metal floor. The noise and the smells of spacecraft would forever remind her of her trip to see the warlord. Kaz’s posture was erect as she crossed to where Vantos sat at the pilot station, her shoulders squared, her hands swinging just so against her sides. The softness she’d revealed when talking about Bolivarr was gone again, buried.

  Wren followed the lead of the others, finding the harnesses in her seat and fumbling to get them closed. Her broken glasses required trying to see through a web of cracks. Now, getting her eyes repaired was less a matter of disguise than it was sheer survival.

  Aral helped her fasten her harnesses. He had strong, long fingers and sturdy wrists. And no marriage tattoo. She hadn’t noticed its absence before. He’d assured they were legally bound, but had taken no steps to personalize the union, or show it to the world.

  He had married her only to prevent anyone else from doing it.

  He was equally silent as he secured her into the seat for launch. Up close he was larger and stronger than she’d realized. His shoulders were thick, his biceps full and rounded. As he pulled the straps over her shoulders, warm knuckles brushed the side of her neck. The memory of his caress in the crowded streets of the camp left her curious and wanting.

  In his haste, or in reaction to their awareness of each other, Aral yanked the harnesses tight, then realized he’d made her wince. “Did I hurt you?” he said all too quickly.

  He thought her frail. Fragile. The warlord’s runt. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  “Your strength causes complications I didn’t anticipate.” He softened his voice. “But it’s also one of the things I know I will grow to love about you.”

  Love? She met his dark eyes, saw the desire there, and glanced down, suddenly shy. Would he expect her to be with him tonight? They were married after all. The idea didn’t repulse her. In fact, it made her skin warm all over. Was being with him one more decision she’d make?

  He swore under his breath. “I did not mean to talk of love so soon, Wren. Not yet. Perhaps—we—I…Ah.” He made a frustrated sound and focused on her with those dark and tortured eyes. Eyes that also glinted with hope. It took her breath away.

  For the first time a hint of a smile, a very male one, played round his lips. He sees you as a woman—his woman—not as the warlord’s daughter. Something inside her leaped at the thought. All her long existence had she not fantasized about being a woman like any other? A female free to choose her mate? Not a possession to be married off to a stranger.

  “What do you know about romance?” Sabra was right. Admittedly, it was exhilarating to imagine Aral having feelings for her, and her for him, but allowing herself to get involved for real was another thing entirely. The vulnerability would be breathtaking. Terrifying. And most certainly life-threatening for the unlucky man. She was dangerous company. Even for Aral Mawndarr.

  Vantos swore and slammed down his hands. “Port Control’s put a hold on us. They won’t release us for departure.”

  “They won’t let us launch?” Aral sat in the seat next to Vantos and pulled his harnesses over his shoulders. “For what reason?”

  “Yellow alert. It means they’re probably acting on your warrant. They won’t let us go until they check my manifest and history.”

  Wren’s hand closed over the pistol. She stared straight ahead as Vantos fielded communications calls with the people who’d allow them to leave—or not. They wanted Aral. If they found Aral, they’d find her. Unless he gave himself up. She wouldn’t let him. She’d never abandon him to the same fate she faced.

  Vantos tried again. “This is Borrowed Time. It’s just me and some toilets. Come on, lift the delay.”

  “No delay, sir. It’s cancelled. You can come back inside with everyone else and wait it out.”

  The massive thrusters roared, rocking the ship.

  “Borrowed Time,” the port control yelled. “Cut your power.”

  The craft shuddered as it turned within the confines of the docking bay.

  “I repeat—you are not cleared for departure!”

  “The airspace won’t be cleared for us,” Vantos said. “Keep an eye out for other ships.” Clearing the bay, he aimed the ship’s nose at the sky.

  Violent turbulence bounced them in their seats. Wren held on for dear life. The nanomeds in her system staved off space sickness, but did little to ease her fear of flying.

  To the protests and demands of Zorabeta’s traffic controllers, Vantos merged into arriving space traffic, most of it coming right at them.

  Aral leaned forward, his hands guarding the yoke, as if he were contemplating taking control of the ship away from the runner. Wren would not have complained. The front display swarmed with colored symbols denoting other vessels. She lost count of how many times the onboard siren wailed of oncoming traffic.

  “How did you ever run the blockade in this?” Aral said. “I can’t see a freepin’ thing.”

  “Sometimes it was better not to see. Now hold on.” Vantos pulled hard on the controls. Forces pressed her into the seat. If she hadn’t strapped in, she’d have been on the floor. To her horror, Vantos breathed in deeply, savoring the moment. “I missed this, I really did.”

  “Don’t kill us, Vantos,” Kaz said.

  “Don’t worry. I’d rather be rich than dead any day. And just to give you a heads-up, expect a rough ride. We’ve got wormhole transit coming up right after we clear the space lanes.”

  “That’s illegal,” Kaz mentioned. “Rules of proximity.”

  “Rules.” The ghost of a smile curved the runner’s mouth. “After that one, the next transit’s, well, let’s just say a little dicey. It’s closed.”

  “Closed?” Kaz looked ready to come out of her seat. “What the hells, Vantos.”

  “And the next one’s uncharted. Look, they’re scrambling fighters to come after us. This is how to lose them. If you wanted to take a cruise, then you wouldn’t have hired a blockade runner.”

  “Do it.” Grim, Aral seemed to have no qualms about taking a hazardous circuitous route. It drove home the precarious magnitude of her situation—and the risk Aral had taken in rescuing her. He’d commanded a battle-cruiser, a leviathan, Wren thought. Yet he kept his ego in check, letting Vantos do what they’d hired him to do.

  “Aw, flarg. Here they are. Fighters.” Vantos magnified the images on the screen. “In our six—locked on and tracking us. Ah. Here’s a message now. They want us to pull over.”

  “No.” Wren flew forward in her seat. The harnesses pulled her back. The beast inside her growled. She took an extra moment to calm herself. “Run,” she said at the same time Aral did. They exchanged a glance. They might not be in agreement on the subject of their marriage, but when it came to running, they saw eye to eye.

  Vantos grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. Hang on.” He accelerated until the ship shook. Chimes and then turbulence told that they’d entered a wormhole. The stars stretched into thin lines. Then, as quickly as they’d entered, they roared out the other side. It was like being shot out of a slingshot.

  Wren saw no blinking ship symbols on the big screen.

  “They’re gone,” the runner said. “But I want to make extra sure they stay gone. Here we go. Ready everyone?”

  Vantos blew through the wormholes one after the other. He was an incredible pilot. And, Wren feared, crazy. From what she could gather from Aral’s and Kaz’s swearing, he ignored regulations and didn’t give the ship a chance to recover before making another jump.

  Finally he said, “We shook them loose.”

  “We probably shook them loose four transits ago,” Kaz said dryly.

  “Better to be safe.”

  “Safe. We’re not safe. Not even close.” Wren threw off the straps on her seat as if she were throwing off the shackles of her previously sh
eltered life. “As long as you’re in my company, you’re not safe. No one is. That’s how we go forward from here. Knowing that. I don’t want to lead anyone on.”

  Vantos pulled a nanopick out of his pocket as Wren pushed on her glasses. “I’ll take the danger over hauling soap and toilets any day. Remember, I’m in this to get rich.”

  “I don’t know how long that’s going to take.”

  “If you’ve got the money, I’ve got the time.”

  “How are you set for provisions, Vantos?” Aral asked.

  “Not good. I wasn’t expecting a long trip—or company. I’ve got enough for a few days—maybe. Your situation’s gonna limit our shopping options.”

  “If you know a place, I have funds.”

  “I know where to go,” Vantos said. “No one cares who you are, or where you’re from. First time I showed up, I had no place else to go. They took me in for a while.” The runner seemed to shake off old memories that weren’t necessarily good ones. “Blast it all. I said I’d never go back. It’s not a period in my life I feel like revisiting.”

  “Will they fix my eyes?” Wren asked.

  “No questions asked. It’s a sanctuary—religious. They’re goddess worshippers, but an old sect. They mind their own business, keep to themselves. Issenda Crossroads—that’s the unofficial name. No one knows the real one. Crossroads. Yeah, a crossroads for lost souls.”

  “If it’s a crossroads, they may know of Ara Ana,” Wren said.

  Aral exhaled as he met her gaze. She could tell by the mix of dread and hope in his face that he agreed.

  Of all the trillions of people in the galaxy, Ara Ana was but one. Now they had to find her.

  “ARA ANA—ONSCREEN.” Garwin, Hadley’s first officer, waved a proud hand at the holovis. “There she is.”

  The crew of the Cloud Shadow gathered around the holovis for their first glimpse of the planet at the far edge of settled space.

  A virtual journalist was along to capture the moment. Her real person was located in a studio countless light years away. “Mission Origins—the quest to find the birthplace of the goddesses,” the wavering image said. “And now the challenge remains to find out what lies on the planet’s surface. The discovery of a lifetime, or the remains of Hordish pillaging?”