The Warlord's Daughter

by Susan Grant

  Thank the fates. She still had time. Words spilled out, belying her composure. “I want to strike a bargain. The contents of the sanctum in exchange for my husband’s life.”

  Was she doing the right thing? In wanting to save the man who’d saved her, was she breaking her vow to Sabra? “I don’t want riches. I want you.” The memory of her last conversation with her guardian haunted her.

  “Find Ara Ana. Make the galaxy whole.”

  “Do you realize what may be hidden there?” the captain asked. “The revelation of everything. The original scripture that tells of the origins of the goddesses. Treasure.”

  “Beyond imagination, I’m told. Yours—the Triad’s—if you agree to help me.”

  And so they stood there, searching each other’s faces, the Triad captain and the warlord’s daughter, each struggling with shades of gray, answers that were neither right nor wrong. Wren knew she might not have the power to make the galaxy whole, but she could make a family whole, if only this woman trusted her.

  Hadley Keyren made a fist, tightened her jaw, cast her sky-blue gaze to the world below for a good long, almost excruciating moment before bringing newly confident eyes back to Wren. The captain had made a decision. Fates, was it the one Wren so desperately needed? Would the beast inside her accept any other answer?

  A small nod had Wren exhaling a pent-up breath. “I give you my word,” Hadley said. “The treasure of Ara Ana in exchange for your husband’s life.”

  And mine, Wren yearned to say. It wasn’t her place to beg for her life. She’d never expected to live even this long. She’d simply do as she’d planned since she’d left Sabra behind on Barokk that day. Atone for her family’s atrocities.

  IN HADLEY’S OFFICE Wren faced down the entire senior staff of the Cloud Shadow. “But she’s the warlord’s daughter,” the little scientist named Garwin was complaining to her mortification. “What if she’s not telling the truth?”

  If the man had an ounce of self-preservation, he’d be more worried about her tendencies to violence than lying.

  “You analyzed the pendant,” Bolivarr pointed out.

  “The coordinates match the primary site of interest,” Garwin admitted.

  “I’m assigning a security team to accompany your expedition,” Bolivarr said, clearly displeased over how quickly distrust of the Drakken aboard resurfaced, even when they shared the same uniform. “I’ll stay behind to assure a balance of forces.”

  A balance of Drakken, he meant. “Keir and Kaz go down to the surface with me,” she insisted. “And Aral.”

  Aral stepped forward to stand at her side. “I’ll serve as her protector, not your ship’s guards, Captain.”

  That won Wren furtive, distrustful glances from the security team. Coolly she returned their looks of suspicion, her hands folded in front of her. It was a natural stance for her, one that mimicked Sister Chara’s. Odd, that. She hadn’t stopped thinking of her mother’s time spent in the company of priestesses. Maybe some of it had rubbed off on her in the brief time she’d been in her mother’s care—and love.

  “Then who’s watching him, Captain?” Hann, the lead security guard asked, studying Aral as if sizing up the threat he might pose.

  “You are. And he watches you.” Hadley glared at the assembled group. “We’re a team. We have each other’s backs. Distrust ends here—it ends now. We’re the Triad—Earth, Coalition and, yes, Drakken. From here on out and into the future, we go as one. Today is the day we prove we can maintain peace. If we split apart here and now, the galaxy will ultimately split apart along old fault lines, too. If you feel you can’t participate under those rules, then remove yourself from the sortie. I don’t want you on this team.”

  And I don’t want you on my crew, the captain’s eyes said loud and clear.

  Hann’s cool gray eyes settled on Wren for a fraction of a second before moving to the pendant she wore securely around her neck. Then curiously he pondered her neatly folded hands, something in him softening. “I’m in,” he grumbled.

  “In,” the other guards said.

  “In,” Garwin said nervously.

  “Good.” Hadley nodded, her boot heels snapping together.

  Wren felt Aral’s protective hand brush across the small of her back. They’d had not a minute alone together since coming aboard this ship, and no hope of time together anytime soon. Turning slightly, she lifted her chin, soaking in the sight of him, feeling his heat, memorizing his scent. Darkening in response, his midnight eyes regarded her. This is madness, he’d said, protesting their unconsummated desire that evening on Borrowed Time. It would be madness for some time to come, she knew. She had a debt to pay the galaxy before she could have her own life. If repaying that debt didn’t kill her first.

  “I’m in!” A girl’s voice pierced the tenseness in the office. All heads spun in the Earth cadet’s direction. “Ma’am,” she added seeing Hadley’s surprise, throwing in a snappy salute.

  The other five cadets stood behind her in clear support.

  “The team has already been selected, Cadet Holloway,” Hadley said.

  “You have no representatives from Earth coming along. Major Richardson is going to be flying cover in a fighter—that doesn’t count. If this is an historic occasion, and only the Coalition and Drakken participate, well, it won’t feel right unless people from all three sides are there to witness it.” The girl’s ponytail swung as she stood at attention. Her slightly worried gaze shifted to the others and finally back to her captain. “Ma’am,” she said.

  Hadley’s mouth clamped closed. Goddess. Just as she’d thought she’d wrapped up the prebriefing better than she’d hoped, Prince Jared’s niece pointed out a glaring omission. The cadet was right: of the Earth personnel aboard, none would be on the surface for the unlocking of the sanctum. As it was, Hadley was going to be in hot water when this was over, no matter what the outcome. She didn’t need a public relations nightmare, too.

  Ellen’s aunt through marriage was Queen Keira, who’d killed the warlord, Wren’s father, with a dagger through the heart, assisted by Ellen’s uncle, Prince Jared, who’d been let through to the warlord’s flotilla by Aral Mawndarr, the warlord’s daughter’s husband. Hadley swallowed, dizzied by the implications. Not only was she harboring the man wanted in the escape of an infamous war criminal, she’d placed the warlord’s daughter under her protection, as well. Now she could very well be risking the queen’s niece.

  No one said peace would be easy—or uncomplicated. Goddess help me. “Permission granted, Cadet Holloway.”

  The rooks began to whoop, then Ellen silenced them with an angry wave of her hand.

  Garwin waved toward the shuttle bay. “Let’s go make history,” he said in his tremulous voice.

  Indeed, Hadley thought, and yet again several hours later as she leaned over the holovis, tracking the shuttle down to the surface. Ocean covered eighty-percent of it. The continents were small, islands really, scattered across blue-purple water as if a god had flung a handful of gems across its surface. On one of them she’d bet that the goddess treasure would be found, bet everything—the safety of her crew, her integrity as an officer, the very future of the galaxy.

  Wren had the key, Bolivarr the sketch of the obelisk, and all of them the terrible knowledge that Karbon Mawndarr wanted both. “Fates,” she muttered. Would the Key find the sanctum before their enemies found them?

  A warm hand covered hers. She jumped back. “Bolivarr,” she scolded under her breath. We’re not alone, she mouthed, throwing an angry chin in the direction of the buzzing activity on the bridge.

  He appeared utterly unapologetic. For the past half day he’d been acting less uncertain when it came to her. Now it was she who’d put their relationship aside for the successful completion of this mission. Failure meant no future—with or without Bolivarr. Being Bolivarr’s possibly spurned lover was counterproductive. “There are no ships in the vicinity,” he reminded her. “Fighters are escorting them to the surfa
ce. The high command has no new reports of terror activity.”

  “Very good, Battle-Lieutenant.”

  It had been a long time since she’d called him that, and the flicker in his eyes reflected the snub. He backed away and let her be captain. She had to be. Too much was at risk.

  Garwin’s perky voice jangled her nerves. “Origins One has landed.”

  Hadley’s throbbing pulse pounded out a staccato beat of anticipation. We have to win this or everything is lost.

  “Go with the goddess, Origins,” Sister Chara murmured, clasping her gnarled hands in front of her.

  ARAL SCRUBBED A HAND over his bristled jaw as they trekked inland from their beach landing. Overhead the sonic booms of patrolling fighters didn’t quite lend the feeling of security they ought. He was married to a woman entrusted by the goddesses to unlock their treasure. And he was the incarnation of evil in the opinion of all but the most enlightened in the Coalition. “This is an historic day,” Kaz said, observing his scowl with her usual wry amusement. “What kind of face is that?”

  “This is the face you’re going to have to endure until we’re off this planet.” Then he refocused his attention on the task at hand, a dirt-side mission when all his prior experience was at the helm of a ship. He couldn’t forget that. He was as out of his element in this as he was when Wren was in his arms, her lips on his…

  He forged on ahead, armed himself to the teeth, prepared and imminently ready to fight to the death to see Wren through this trek and back. As long as he’s alive, you won’t be free. He’ll never let you go free. He shoved aside Bolivarr’s warnings about Karbon. He mustn’t allow the man to distract him now.

  Hefting an impressive plasma rifle, Vantos walked on the other side of Wren, trudging with the team into the woods. “I get paid extra for this,” he grumbled. “Don’t forget it.”

  Kaz reacted with a quiet snort as they began an uphill climb toward the seaside cliffs where it was said the pendant pointed.

  Wren climbed the hill along a path that had already been tamped out of the spring grass by other feet. Stranger’s feet. Would she unlock the sanctum only to find it empty?

  As they topped the hill, the sea stretched out before her. The sun was warm on her head and shoulders. The pendant was humming, warm and glowing. “We’re close,” she whispered as if anything louder would disturb the peace of the lofty glade. She pushed ahead, now leading the way into a clearing and the remains of an ancient village. Then, ahead, a group of crumbling spires cast shadows. “Heavy damage to the site,” she heard Garwin reporting back to the ship. “All five towers. There’s evidence they tried to break in. Gouges, plasma burns.” Then he went silent and Wren’s heart skipped a beat. She followed his gaze and that of the others to the smallest of the towers, the least impressive. Like her, she thought. “This is it,” she said. On the crumbling structure she could just make out the indents of five marks carved in the stone but scoured by countless years of wind and rain.

  The treasure.

  “Be still, my profiteering heart,” Vantos said in awe.

  Garwin asked Wren, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Ellen, the Earthling cadet, murmured, “To be unlocked only by the one with the blood of the goddesses in her good and pure heart.”

  Wren’s excitement fizzled. “It will have to be opened by me, I’m afraid,” she said wryly. “By the one with the blood of the goddesses on her hands, not in her veins.”

  The girl’s eyes shone as she regarded Wren and shook her head. “Not your hands. You can do it.” Her open gaze held none of the prejudice of the two older societies in the Triad. Ellen truly believed Wren was capable and even worthy of this act.

  A glance at Aral told her the same. “Win our freedom, my love,” he murmured.

  Their freedom, yes. The freedom he’d never believed in before she’d convinced him otherwise.

  She stepped forward and raised the pendant, holding it as it vibrated and sang. A deep grating rumble shook the ground. Rocks crumbled and fell from the structure. For a panicked moment she feared she’d bring the entire obelisk tumbling down. Then a seam opened in the rock and the rumbling ceased.

  It was dead silent except for a few annoyed birds protesting the disturbance. The archaeological team rushed forward. They heaved on the rock door, trying to get it to move. It fell over heavily, raising a cloud of centuries-old dust. On the floor in a shaft of light lay a golden box. The treasure. Bodies surged forward.

  “Halt! She needs to go inside first,” Vantos yelled.

  “You—stand back.” One of the security guards inserted himself between the runner and the tower. “This is ship’s business.”

  “What the hells? This is my business, and you’re just along for the ride.”

  “He’s right,” Aral said. “Wren goes inside before anything is touched by any member of your crew.”

  Hann unlocked his weapon. “This is not your cruiser, battlelord.” Resentment etched lines around his mouth. “Stand back.”

  Protectively, Kaz moved closer, her rifle held at the ready, drawing the nervous reactions of the other guards and one of the scientists, whose pistol shook in an unsteady hand. “This is our treasure, Drakken,” the man said.

  All Wren saw was his gun coming up. She swung out a foot and kicked it from his hand. Fists held tight to her chest, she spun and floored him with another kick. Gunfire deafened her, a single shot.

  “Stop,” Garwin was screaming. “Gods be damned—hold your fire!”

  Gripped in Aral’s calming arms, Wren sucked in deep, angry breaths. Fury pulsed white-hot in her skull. Ellen was watching her with a look of shock and admiration. The beast had reared its head, Wren thought, shame filling her. She didn’t want the girl to admire her actions. She didn’t understand the danger they represented. She carried violence on her genes, and those genes were wanted by the resistance to breed more warlords.

  “What the hells is going on down there?” Hadley was yelling.

  “Report,” Bolivarr demanded, also from the bridge.

  “Let me see your hand, Vantos,” Kaz cried.

  The runner was standing hunched over, his left arm tucked to his chest. “It’s about time you asked to see more of me, doll face.”

  “Your hand, runner.”

  “Show her, Vantos,” Aral said.

  “I’m fine.” Vantos was sweating. Blood had soaked his sleeve. “Just a scratch.”

  Scratch, hells. Vartekeir Vantos had been shot.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  HADLEY RAPPED sharp orders through the comm. And one by one they followed them. On Hadley’s command, hefting their rifles, Aral and Wren dived into the sanctum. Garwin took control of the Cloud Shadow crew, ordering Hann to pull in his guards and disarm the one whose stray bullet had struck Vantos. “You and you,” Hann shouted, “cover the sanctum. No one goes in or out until they say.”

  So he’d decided to obey his captain and the expedition leader, Wren thought, watching the men defuse the situation. It wasn’t hard to hear the note of distaste in his voice at having to do so. Her people and his were too recently enemies for the alliance to be automatic, much less comfortable. Knowing who’d sired her had made his struggle even worse. Kaz attended to Vantos and his wound while Garwin commed Hadley and Bolivarr back on the ship, working together to get everyone calmed down.

  The heat of embarrassment burned her face. Out of habit she started to push on glasses that were no longer there. It showed how much she’d changed over the course of the past weeks, and yet had not. Once again she’d loosed the beast inside her, but had pulled back before she did anything worse—or permanent—like shooting someone. It was little consolation. Seeing the looks of fear, of hatred, in the crew outside the sanctum reminded her acutely of the impossibility of being seen as anything but a product of her bloodlines. In that, she was still dangerous. Being with people who saw her as Wren and not the warlord’s daughter had been a dream come true. At the same time
she’d grown complacent. Everyday ship’s guards turning into a mob was a cold dose of reality.

  It was time to do what she’d vowed to do: take possession of the treasure and use the contents for the good of the galaxy.

  “My blood is your blood. My DNA is your destiny.”

  You’re wrong, Father.

  Her destiny was this.

  She turned from the chaotic scene outside to the cool, musty interior of the sanctum. Her mortification over the recent violence faded at the sight of the golden chest.

  Aral followed, walking backward. His wary scrutiny was on those remaining outside as if he expected the situation to deteriorate at any moment. Kaz was out there, and Vantos, though injured, wouldn’t hesitate to defend them. But he’d take none of it for granted.

  “It smells old in here,” she said, soaking in the wonder of it all. Sunbeams speared the still air, turning ordinary dust motes into glitter. The chest was the most obvious object in the obelisk. As her eyes adjusted, she saw deeper into its reaches. Tucked into shadowy nooks were items of breathtaking loveliness.

  “The treasure,” she breathed. The closer she moved to the chest, the more her pendant vibrated. “Something’s happening.”

  Buzzing was like a hundred tiny bees resonating in her body. Her teeth and bones hummed, matching the frequency. “Something’s happening to me.”

  Aral’s eyes, dark and intense, searched her face for signs of trouble or trauma. She had no doubt that if he saw anything that scared him, he’d have her out of here in an instant. But he saw her awe, and matched it with awe of his own. Even Aral, a skeptic when it came to the goddesses, a man raised to be a warrior, saw the wonder of this holy place.

  That wonder swelled inside her—not at all like the beast with its pulsing fury and desire to hurt, and not quite like the liquid pleasure that flooded her with Aral’s caresses. No, this was a different sensation entirely, and definitely not of her. It felt foreign to her body.

  She turned over a hand to study it as she had the first time she’d been administered nanomeds. “The pendant knows this chest.” She made a fist and dropped her hand. Her body sang. “My body knows it, too. Something’s happening to me.”