The Warlord's Daughter

by Susan Grant

  “Why?” she asked quietly.

  A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “I think I may have hurt someone. Killed.”

  “You were a wraith. That’s what you were trained to do.” She hated to think about it, but there it was. Fortunately wraiths operated most times as solitary assassins. Mass murder was left up to the warlord and his battlelords. It was all that had saved Bolivarr from being tried as a war criminal. “Of course you killed. Most of the people we know have killed in some fashion, either directly like you or on a huge ship in battle. We’re soldiers.”

  “Then why do I feel guilt over it? Guilt over something I don’t remember doing, or why.”

  They were patrolling the ship without really seeing it. Hadley stopped. “We’re going to have to backtrack. I wasn’t even looking.”

  He met her eyes with a sheepish smile of his own. “Me, neither.”

  His hand brushed against hers, all the affection they could show in such a public place. She searched his face, looking for answers and finding none. “I’m not going to keep quiet about something that’s going to hurt you. If those meds make you sicker, then I don’t want you to take them. We’ll find something else to help.”

  He nodded, exhaling. “A little longer, Hadley. Give me that.”

  “All right. I’ll be watching you. You were doing really well.” Or did he put on a good face? Sometimes it seemed as if she could read him so easily. And other times? His waters ran cold and deep and left her out.

  They retraced their steps then resumed their rook roundup. The shuttle docking area was peaceful. In days it would be bustling when they reached the planet they’d dubbed Ara Ana. Laughter and the smell of roasted snap-nuts drew Bolivarr to the pilot ready room. He peeked in the door. Chairs flew backward as three pilots stood, seeing her standing behind Bolivarr. Cards, snacks and piles of queens as bets were arranged on the table. A bottle of liquor was two-thirds full. The fourth pilot was on sleep shift and, she hoped, sober. “Captain,” they said, seeing her standing behind Bolivarr.

  “At ease.”

  “Looking for a couple of rooks. The Earth girls,” Bolivarr said. “See them?”

  “No, sir.”

  They left the men to their game.

  In the main part of the ship, the mid-shifters were already coming on duty, headed for the mess hall for their breakfast. Everyone shook their heads. “Nope, haven’t seen them.”

  “You might see if they’re with Sister Chara,” the assistant mechanic suggested, standing in line for a helping of ground-meal and fruit. “They were at the service earlier.”

  “The service?” Hadley lifted a brow at Bolivarr. M-19 wasn’t religious, and Ellen was of an Earth sect called Catholic and viewed her services through the comm. Neither practiced as believers. But ever since they’d started work on their special project translating runes with Sister Chara, their interest in the way of the goddess had soared, if only academically. It was hoped the writings would yield hints as to where relics might be found. Of course that was based on a big supposition: that the planet otherwise known as 95834-UTF was actually Ara Ana. Regardless, what had started out as a special project had seemed to turn into a labor of love.

  As they neared the sister’s study, the scent of incense lured them closer. Hadley tapped on the door. “Sister?”

  From inside the study, a young female voice coughed out a startled curse in Earthling English that Hadley still recognized from Tango’s vocabulary. Ellen Holloway, Hadley thought with an exasperated smile. In the next instant, she heard the girl apologizing to the sister for her language.

  The commotion had Bolivarr shaking his head. “Well, it’s the safest place on the ship they could be.”

  The priestess opened the door. “My children, I have been a bad member of this crew, keeping the girls here past curfew and not making sure they had their PCDs.” Technology was not something at the tops of many priestesses’ minds, particularly one as advanced in years as Chara. “They were immersed in their translations, and wanting to hear the old tales. I’m afraid I let it get out of hand.”

  “The cadets should have known better,” Hadley said sternly, but wanting to smile at the sight of the way M-19 and Ellen stood, shoulders pressed together, at perfect attention. “No matter how fascinating the task, duty comes first.” She turned to them. “Number one, accountability.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Do you realize I was moments away from initiating an all-ship call to roust you two out from wherever you were hiding?” Bolivarr also managed a frown at the upset girls. “That would have compromised the sleep cycles of a third of the crew, and thus the safety of this ship.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The pair looked positively gloomy.

  “Would you care to come inside?” The sister invited them in with a wave of her gnarled hand. After a point the aging process was beyond the reach of nanomeds. Hadley guessed the priestess to be at least 130.

  A reproduction of an ancient text lay open on a table. The room was lit dimly, the scent of incense thick. Hadley almost sneezed.

  Bolivarr halted by the table. His gaze stumbled over the pages of the open book. The sister watched him carefully. “They’ve worked long and hard on their translations,” she explained as he studied the runes. His face was unreadable, his body tense as he traced the shape of the five marks with his hand.

  “The five marks point the way to the inner Keep on Ara Ana,” Ellen said, reciting. “‘Closed to all but she with a heart pure and true.’”

  “Maybe it’s one of us,” M-19 said, equally dreamy. “We’ll be able to open it.”

  The people of Earth were as prone to believing fairy tales as Taloans, Hadley thought.

  “Pure and true means ‘priestess’ in the old tongue,” Sister Chara explained. “Priestesses take vows of poverty. And celibacy.”

  “On the Cloud Shadow it means that those pure and true of heart don’t miss curfew,” Hadley scolded, girding herself against their crushed expressions. “Soldiers also understand when they have to be confined to quarters as a consequence for ignoring it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they chorused.

  The girls’ sincerity tugged at her, and reminded her a bit of herself. “I love your enthusiasm. But I need to know that when all hells breaks loose, my people are where they need to be—or where they say they are. No matter where you go in your careers, rooks, those you fight with—” she stopped herself, remembering the treaty “—and those you protect peace with expect and deserve the same from you.”

  Goddess, Hadley thought as she watched them go. She’d just told the prince-consort’s niece to go to her room. Although they’d taken the lecture like troupers, it made her feel a bit guilty. She’d been in their boots not so long ago. But she was a young captain, untried; if she looked the other way too often she’d soon lose respect of the crew. Admiral Bandar said that being captain of a ship was a lonely job. Hadley was lucky. She’d tasted only a little of that truth. She had Bolivarr.

  He scanned the runes. “What’s this one, Sister?”

  “It’s the symbol for a key.”

  He nodded. “And this?”

  “Keeper.”

  He tapped his finger on the last symbol, his eyes narrowing. “I know this one. I know what it means. Keeper…” He grabbed a stylus as if about to sketch a picture on the datapad, dropping the stick a moment later to press a fist to his forehead. “Gods,” he said tightly. Fist clenched, he gave his arm one quick shake, as if holding an enemy at bay.

  She rushed up to steady him. “Pain” he coughed out. “Searing—Gods, those bastards.” Swallowing convulsively, he turned regretful eyes to her. “They don’t want me to remember,” he half whispered. “Every time I get close, every time I feel I’ll break down that wall and see, finally see, it’s like a knife plunged in my head.”

  Sister Chara made a small sound of horror. Hadley had, too, the first time she’d heard Bolivarr use that expression to describe the inhumane method
s of thought suppression practiced on Imperial Wraiths to ensure they never recalled what they weren’t supposed to. She supposed it would have been cheaper and less work to simply kill the wraith to keep a secret, but their training took too long. Too much was invested to throw them away. So they turned the wraith’s own mind into a vault never to be opened—without killing them.

  She rubbed a hand over his back. The muscles were rock-hard with tension. “I know what it means.” He gazed at the runes the way a man dying of thirst eyed a glass of cold water held just out of reach. It was the closest she’d ever seen him come to recollection. He was standing at the edge. All he needed was the right trigger to push him to the other side.

  Again he recoiled, hissing in pain.

  “Let it go for now,” she coaxed. “It’s not time. Don’t force it.”

  Squinting from his headache, Bolivarr swiped a hand over his face. “I’ll make sure the rooks made it back to their quarters. Knowing those two, there’s no telling where they might end up.” He walked into the corridor, unsteady on his feet.

  After he was safely gone, Hadley leaned over the small table, her weight resting on her hands. Sister Chara observed her, her expression one of compassion. “It must be difficult to see him suffer, Captain.”

  “Very. I don’t always know how to help.”

  “Being there is the greatest help.”

  Hadley smiled softly. “I hope so.”

  “Sit, please.”

  The woman did so herself, leaving Hadley little choice. In a way, it was with relief that she joined the priestess. The woman was a religious figure and Hadley did not have to worry about displaying what could be perceived by others on the crew as weakness. Save Bolivarr. He was her best friend. She told him everything.

  “I think your Bolivarr knows much about these ancient symbols—more than even me. I see how the boy struggles, how he wants to know more. And yet doesn’t want to. He fears what he is.”

  Shivering, Hadley leaned forward and tapped a finger at the runes. “Key. Keeper. Tell me what they mean.”

  “Keepers were the original guards of the goddesses. Heaven’s knights. Keys were specially chosen priestesses. They possessed the ability to open the sanctum on Ara Ana. The privilege is passed down through maternal bloodlines like divine blood is passed goddess queen to goddess queen. There were several such family lines at one time. Quite possibly, they’re all dead now. The Hordish campaign of genocide played no favorites, child. My research on this subject has been my life’s work. It’s why I was invited along on your expedition.” Chara dropped her voice to a private tone. “Scholars of antiquities like me believe Keys and Keepers existed. Do exist. And that there is a clandestine group of Imperial Wraiths who carry on the tradition, chosen and trusted through the centuries to protect the Keys and keep the birthplace safe—and secret.”

  “So you think Bolivarr may be a Keeper,” Hadley whispered, her heart racing.

  “Or he hunted them for the warlord, if the warlord knew of them. I don’t know which.”

  Goddess. The thought chilled her instantly.

  “See, if the warlord wanted to find the birthplace and the legendary treasure he’d need a Key. The way to a Key is through her Keeper, her protector.”

  “But Keepers and Keys are Drakken.” The “godless” Drakken as guardians of the birthplace and its sanctum? “The birthplace is Coalition. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does if you realize that the schism was more than simply Drakken and Coalition splitting. It was a rift within the very order itself. In those days it had nothing to do with the two sides we know. Those staying behind in the original Hordish lands didn’t want the others fleeing with everything. They refused to let the contents of the sanctum go to one side and not the other. Not until they were assured the galaxy could be whole again. They’ve kept it under their protection ever since, throughout the entire war.”

  And now the war was over. Previously forbidden regions were opening up, relics were being recovered after being plundered, hoarded and plain old forgotten for centuries.

  Was Bolivarr keeping the ultimate secret? Was Bolivarr a wraith-protector, a Keeper? The alternative was unthinkable.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A FAMILIAR CHIMING dragged Hadley awake. Then she felt Bolivarr’s arms slide from around her waist. Goddess, they were still in bed! Silent and in need of her, he’d come to her quarters after assuring the cadets were safe. He’d made love to her with an almost desperate edge she’d decided not to question. It left them both exhausted. The last thing she remembered was spooning afterward, then—

  “Captain Keyren.” She groped for her PCD and hooked it over her ear. Even as she spoke, Bolivarr was pulling on his uniform pants. Everyone knew they had a relationship that preceded this mission. They were supposed to keep the intimate aspect of the affair from the eyes of the crew.

  “It’s me, Garwin.”

  She winced at the archaeologist’s complete absence of military protocol. “Go ahead.”

  “I thought you’d like to know that we’re ready to establish orbit.”

  Outside the floor-to-ceiling porthole in her quarters, a lovely planet rotated slowly below, closer than ever before. The planet everyone hoped was Ara Ana, perhaps her more than anyone else after last night’s revelations.

  Cloud strewn oceans cast soft, bluish light into the room. Where day became night over the curve of the planet, equatorial storms flickered like glow bugs on a Talo summer evening. They’d been in sight of the planet for well over a day. Even from that distance she’d been hypnotized by the beauty of the far-flung world. The pull was even more so now.

  “I can’t reach the security officer,” Garwin said.

  She snapped her gaze from the scene outside and exchanged a pained glance with Bolivarr. “He’s with me. We were meeting late.” She winced even as she said it. It was the middle of her rest period. What “meeting” would go that long?

  She ended the call. “Flarg.”

  Bolivarr touched her arm to reassure her. “I should have known better than to let us fall asleep.”

  She grabbed the edges of his unbuttoned shirt and pulled him close. “But it was wonderful. It’s been too long since we stayed the night together.”

  Bolivarr’s mouth curved into a sexy, sleepy smile. His glossy black hair was ruffled from sleep, his cheek creased from the pillow. He moved aside her tangled hair and nuzzled her neck. “Good morning.” Their lips touched, lingered, then what promised to be a busy day began.

  They finished dressing. Quickly, Hadley brushed her hair into her “battle-bridge” chignon. The ruby earrings glinted in their box next to her bedside. She hesitated, putting down her brush. She’d taken them out to sleep. Every time she saw them, she was reminded that the proposal she’d hoped for from Bolivarr hadn’t materialized. They further reminded her that she was pink, not red, in nature. Her intimacy with Bolivarr didn’t lack in passion and heat—last night was proof of that—but then again, he knew his way around a woman’s body. She gleaned the luscious benefits of that experience, yes, but from whom did he get it? Silly thoughts.

  Useless thoughts. She put them out of her mind as she placed the earrings in her ears. There was a planet to explore.

  On the bridge, they found Garwin’s team already at work using onboard equipment to locate likely sites for their initial exploration. There was a lot of terrain to cover.

  The archaeologist stood hunched over a data screen with Sister Chara at his side. Hadley slowed, not expecting such perturbed expressions when moments ago all had been routine.

  “Captain, there seems to be evidence of a prior visit to this site.”

  They clustered around the images. Garwin magnified them until they could almost see the leaves on the trees. “Someone’s landed here at some point in the recent past.”

  “And launched.” Bolivarr traced a finger around a clearing. “Fairly recently—or at least since it last rained. It’s charred…here…all a
round the ring.”

  Hadley studied the landscape. She’d had plenty of tracking experience on Talo. “You can still see the paths from boots crushing the grass.” The paths wound in curves and circles. “They were looking for something.”

  “The sanctum,” Sister Chara breathed.

  Disappointment dragged at Hadley. It was like receiving a gift and finding out it had already been opened. She’d wanted to be the first here. She wanted to be able to give Zaafran his wish of proving goodness existed—and before anyone else could. She straightened her spine and placed her hands behind her back. “We’ll gather a team and go down to the site.” Quieter, she said, “If these visitors were looking for something, I hope to goddess they didn’t find it.”

  THE JOURNEY TO ARA ANA took Borrowed Time many days. Even though the nanodata in Wren’s pendant contained what appeared to be precise coordinates for the planet, it wasn’t until crosschecking with legend and rumors and three experienced spacefarers’ best guesses that they were under way.

  Each night she slept with Aral on his mat. Their closeness remained chaste but by no means dull. They had to be careful. There was so little privacy, and every sigh or moan would carry on the small ship if they weren’t careful, but they’d quietly spent more hours kissing than she could count. Kissing and touching that left her ravenous for more.

  His nightmares occurred but with less intensity, and he was no less ashamed of them. His atrocious past kept him in its grip no matter how hard he tried to escape it: torture, insult done to his body through drugs and beatings by the man who was supposed to love him, or at least care for him. She imagined him as a boy standing up to Karbon Mawndarr. That would be a nightmare come to life. No wonder his sleep was shattered. “Why only you and not your brother, Bolivarr?” she asked him as he held her close.

  His body went rigid. She came up on her elbow, her hand on his face, not allowing him to escape the question. His eyes were dark and narrowed and rife with anguish. “Because he couldn’t break me.”