The Warlord's Daughter

by Susan Grant

  She meant she liked flying with him. But he’d go easy on the vernacular for now.

  The rest could be negotiated.

  A STAFF MEETING with her senior officers was Hadley’s first order of business after the team had stored all the items recovered from the sanctum, save the urn with Wren’s mother’s ashes and the blessed scripture. Fresh from a tense meeting with Hann, who’d headed up the team of security guards sent to the surface, Bolivarr stormed in a few minutes late. He gave her a glance that assured her he’d taken care of the problem.

  “Prime-Admiral Zaafran on incoming screen,” Hadley’s comm officer announced.

  “Put it on.”

  The prime-admiral appeared, not sitting at his desk as he was in many official announcements, but standing in front of it, his arms folded over his chest.

  Uh-oh, she thought. She was in trouble.

  “Greetings, sir,” she said.

  “I watched the holovis you transmitted, and read your report, Captain.”

  The silence roared. Or was that her pulse?

  “Congratulations. Your mission has succeeded beyond measure. Beyond anything we—I—could have hoped for. The queen and the prime minister also extend their congratulations for a job well done.”

  Relief rippled through her. “Thank you, sir.”

  “A job well done, yes. If reckless.” He glared at her, letting the last word sink in. Then he sighed and walked back to his desk. “There has been another attack. This time on Issenda.”

  “Issenda!” Goddess. It was the world where Wren’s mother had tried and failed to hide from the warlord.

  “They could easily have targeted you,” Zaafran scolded. It hit her that he was possibly more worried than angry. “The attackers were fought off with little loss of life. This time we were lucky. Next time…”

  Hadley squared her shoulders. “We’re heading home immediately.” Bolivarr nodded his approval. His thinned mouth broadcast his unease.

  “Report to my office upon your return, Captain Keyren.” Under the scrutiny of the miss-nothing blue eyes of the Triad’s top commander, Hadley felt a little smaller. “Yes, sir.”

  “And, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Gods-speed. Get home safe. And without your trademark recklessness.”

  Less than a month as captain and her reputation was already firmed up in the worst possible way. She cringed.

  “Hadley,” Bolivarr said after the screen went dark. “Aral put down on Issenda for supplies before those so-called terrorists struck. Borrowed Time wasn’t attacked. They were chased away. The only reason the unmarked ship didn’t finish the job was because Issenda was the real target.” Bolivarr held her gaze as he theorized with certainty. “They let Borrowed Time escape because what they wanted was on Issenda. Or so they thought.”

  “The key,” she hissed. “The attackers thought she was on Issenda.” A likely place, it made sense. “Terrorists or the resistance?”

  “Try Karbon Mawndarr.”

  Hadley ground one fist into the other. “If he learns Aral is on this ship, and the warlord’s daughter is, too.” She turned her gaze to his and thought of the vicious beating he’d endured on Junnepekk. “Goddess, you’re in danger, too, Bo.”

  He paused midbreath. She cursed herself for letting the pet name slip. “Based on what happened to Aral with that mystery ship, we’re not taking chances being out here where they can find or recognize us. We are officially out of here. To your stations, gentlemen.” As the staff filed out to their positions on the ship, she followed.

  “Hadley.”

  She shivered. “Don’t do that.”

  He reared back. “What?”

  “Make your voice all low and rumbly like that. It gives me the tingles.”

  His smile turned quite roguish, for Bolivarr. “I like that I still do that to you.”

  “Of course you do. You never stopped. That’s why it hurt so much when you put us on hold while you figured out your feelings for me. And, I suppose, Kaz.” She started to leave. Again he stopped her.

  “My feelings were never in doubt,” he said. She saw his upset, his fear of losing her in his expressive eyes. Whereas his brother held more of himself in check, Bolivarr let everything show. Including his love for her. “I wanted to make sure I did the right thing.”

  “You didn’t have to put me aside to do that,” she whispered. Blasted tears threatened to well up. “I’ve been thinking. I deserve a whole man. Meaning a man who doesn’t take pieces of himself away at will. You’re either with me or you’re not. No in between.”

  He ran his hand up her arm. It made her tremble, blast it. “You mean so much to me that I screwed it up. I made a mess of things when it was opposite my intention. Of course you deserve a whole man. It’s why I never felt worthy of you when I had no memory of my past. You’re amazing, Hadley, an incredible woman. I want you to have all of me.” His fingers spread on her back and he forced her closer, his gaze direct and glowing with his feelings for her. “But I want all of you in return.”

  “You have all of me.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed thickly.

  “No, I don’t. But if you marry me, I’ll have more than I ever dreamed possible—”

  “Marry?”

  Her hesitation caused pain in his dark gaze. “If you’ll agree, Hadley, I’ll spend a lifetime convincing you it was the best decision you ever made.”

  “You won’t have to.” Her smile was soft, her eyes moist, the most emotion she dared while on the bridge under scrutiny. Inside, however, her heart bounced with joy. “I already know you’re the best decision I ever made. Bolivarr Mawndarr, the answer is yes.” Yes, yes, yes.

  The ship’s claxon went off, grating and loud. For a split, naive second, she thought it was in celebration of their moment.

  Then, “Target onscreen—gods, I can see them with the naked eye” came over the comm from the bridge and she knew she was very badly mistaken.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “ENEMY TARGET ONSCREEN, Captain.”

  Hadley detected the panic in her weapons officer’s voice. Déjà vu dragged her back to the day she’d won her captain’s wings. Only, this was real. As she’d learned that day, there was no time to give in to terror, hers or anyone else’s.

  “It’s the same ship we encountered near Issenda,” Aral informed her as he and Wren returned to the bridge.

  Vantos shook his head. “You’re not going to be able to outrun him. Even I couldn’t.”

  “Noted.”

  “Ship in sight.” Menacing and silent, a vessel flew up alongside them. It was almost as if the craft wasn’t there at all. The fuselage was solid black. No marking of any kind broke its pristine surface.

  “If that’s Karbon, he spent our inheritance on a new ship,” Bolivarr muttered to Aral.

  The proximity siren sounded, alerting them that the distance between the ships was becoming dangerously small. They were close enough now to count every porthole.

  Wren gasped as her pendant suddenly warmed as it had in the sanctum, tingling her skin where it made contact. “Aral, you use the expression ‘interrogated’ when you say another ship’s computer has asked for our identification.”

  “That’s normal procedure. It’s how we know who’s out there. Friend or foe.”

  “I think that ship just interrogated me.” She had been tracked.

  “They’re hailing us, Captain,” the comm officer yelled.

  “Let it through.”

  A man appeared, immaculately groomed and dressed in Drakken red. He searched out Wren with a cold, appraising stare, warm compared to the void of empty space outside. “There you are, Awrenkka.” White still streaked the midnight-black hair he wore in a neat ponytail, perhaps a little more than when she’d first seen him a decade ago. He was still as regal, still as handsome, with the same cruel set to his jaw and mouth. Still as arrogant and condescending in manner as he was the day she first saw him.

  “Y
ou are trespassing in Triad space,” Hadley said. “State intentions.”

  Karbon chuckled, shaking his head. “We can make this hard, young captain, or we can make it easy. Which do you prefer?”

  “Me? Hard.” She turned to the bridge once more. “Launch the fighters. Launch everything we’ve got.”

  “My ship’s got some teeth,” Vantos said.

  Hadley sighed. “Launch it, too.”

  “Woo. Now we’re talking. Coming, Mawndarr? It’s time our friend learned his lesson.”

  Wren turned to Aral in dread. The idea of losing him had been hard before they’d made love. She couldn’t touch it now. Aral grabbed her shoulders, bringing his mouth down over hers for a swift, hard kiss. “I love you. I’ll never have a real life with you until I do this.”

  “Do what? Where are you going? Aral!” He gripped her shoulders, urging her to understand. Then he strode off, leaving her alone.

  ARAL STORMED to the shuttle bay, Vantos in tow. He had a plan. Borrowed Time was in working order, but not necessarily his runner. Of all the times he needed the man in top shape, this was it. Except the runner had a wounded hand. The fates, it seemed, enjoyed throwing wrenches at him. “As long as he’s alive, you won’t be free. He’ll never let you go free.” Bolivarr was right. In her name he’d finish what he should have done long ago.

  “I’ll fly,” he told Vantos.

  “You’ve never flown an AG-250,” Vantos protested. “I’ve got so many retrofits on this crate the retrofits have retrofits.”

  “I’ll manage,” Aral said dryly.

  “Don’t wreck my ship, Drakken.”

  “I had the chance a dozen times in the past—why start now?”

  “You fly. I’ll talk you through it.”

  They threw off the hooks attaching Borrowed Time to the floor. Flying out to distract Karbon was a desperate, last-ditch maneuver. It had to work. He had to rid the galaxy of a bonafide monster.

  HADLEY TURNED TO WREN and took a deep breath. “I know this won’t be easy, but if you want to help you can start by distracting Mawndarr.”

  Wren shuddered, but slowly nodded. A quick look at the communications officer and Karbon was back on screen.

  At second glance, he wasn’t in good shape. The signs of sweef addiction showed, despite the meds he was likely taking to combat it. There was a telltale glassiness in his eyes, a false brightness to his teeth, an overall sense of physical rot she sensed more than saw in this man who’d left Bolivarr for dead. Who’d skulled priestesses. Who’d sufficiently tormented a boy, his own son, so as to make his nights as an adult a living hells. Aral would forever be scarred inside. She could hope only to offer him some peace, her unconditional love his salve. It didn’t make up for what this man had done to him.

  The beast inside Wren awoke. Instead of burying it, she let it come to life. She could control it. There was no need to fear it. It was as much a part of who she was as her hands or her hair. She unleashed its fury for the first time without hesitation. “I am going to blast you the hells off this plane of existence.”

  His head jerked at the sound of her voice. Disbelief that she’d spoken up blazed in his eyes.

  She stepped forward, planting her hands on the center console. “As you said, we can make it hard, Karbon, or we can make it easy. Your choice.” Her face was her father’s, her glare the warlord’s.

  Its effect wasn’t lost on Karbon. “Come with me and realize your full potential as my mate. Rule this galaxy at my side.”

  “Monsters belong under the bed, Karbon, not in my bed.”

  His face flushed red. He lunged forward, mirroring her stance, his big hands on a similar console on his ship. His expression was as ominous as an approaching whirl-storm as his ship bore down on Cloud Shadow, weapons arrays glowing.

  Just then, Aral and Vantos streaked across their bow. In his distraction, their flyby caught Karbon off guard.

  Wren could see him bellowing at his crew to arm the plasma cannons. It was the last thing she heard before a blinding flash of energy flashed outside and the screen went blank.

  “He’s hit.” Bolivarr’s eyes shone with intensity, but his voice was curiously subdued. She knew Aral suffered the same struggle. No matter how much of a monster, no matter how bitter the blood, Karbon was still their father.

  “The ship is intact,” called the engineer. “I repeat, the ship is intact.”

  “Arm plasma cannons,” Hadley said. Her eyes narrowed. She was intent on finishing Karbon off before he could regroup and rearm.

  “Plasma cannons armed,” the weapons officer announced.

  “Fire.” Her calm command resulted in a huge double explosion. Energy blinded her. She grabbed for the seat to keep the violent quaking from throwing her to the ground as shrapnel collided with the ship with deafening thumps.

  When the debris cleared, Karbon’s ship was gone. Could it be true? Had they done it? Had the man been so arrogant to not expect his demise?

  Apparently, yes. Hadley heaved a huge breath.

  Kaz pumped her fist. “Good shot, Captain.”

  Hadley flashed her a grateful glance. “Well, the men softened the target.”

  “Where are they?” Wren asked, her heart suddenly in her throat at the eerie silence.

  “Borrowed Time, report!” The bridge crew was silent waiting for the men to answer Bolivarr. Alarms wailed distantly through the damaged ship, but no cocky trader’s voice, and no Aral.

  Not like this, Wren thought. This isn’t how it ends. Kaz moved next to her and took her hand, squeezing as the crew searched for the missing ship.

  A burst of static erupted over the calm. Then Keir’s voice. “Cloud Shadow, this is Borrowed Time. We had a little personal encounter with a hunk of molten luranium. We’re gonna need a tow.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE CEILING OF THE PALACE, the Goddess Keep, soared almost to the heavens themselves, Wren thought, holding the old book she’d recovered from the goddess’s birthplace. Her lush, silver gown, gorgeous and undoubtedly expensive, rustled as Aral walked at her side, he, too, decked out in finery—a suit that faithfully followed the hard lines of his body. Silver was the color of the robes of the highest priestesses, and the family color of the ruling family on Sakka. She found it curious but an honor that the palace tailors chose to clothe her and Aral in the hue.

  It also made them both feel a little more confident that they wouldn’t be arrested immediately following the ceremony.

  His hand brushed over her arm, tenderly, even a little possessively, something he’d not fully ceased to be. But then, he was a product of their culture as much as she was. Along with Vantos, Kaz, Hadley, Bolivarr and the crew, they formed a solemn procession as they made their way down the long marble path to present the scripture to the goddess-queen Herself. Wren quaked at the thought. She was the warlord’s daughter, and though cleared of crimes, her family and theirs had spent millennia battling each other.

  Finally she reached the queen, Queen Keira’s mother. The woman was startlingly beautiful, with masses of black hair lit by reddish strands, much like Wren’s

  Wren dipped her head respectfully and offered her the book. “I have returned it in the name of peace.”

  The queen took the volume, her eyes widening with wonder and awe as she opened to the first page, turning to the next and the next; Wren and her party waited, the audience of thousands waiting in the wings to see if the book met the queen’s approval. “The revelation of everything,” the woman whispered, looking up. “Unlocked by the one with the blood of the goddesses in her good and pure heart.”

  Goddess? Stunned, Wren almost pushed on her glasses out of awkwardness before remembering they were long gone. “How?” she managed.

  “Your mother, Lady Seela, was of a lost bloodline descended from the goddesses themselves, as is my family. As are you, child.” The queen’s hand smoothed over the pages of the book. “There are many other revelations to be discovered in the pages within,
but this is one I thought you would like to know.”

  Sister Chara stood off to the side, looking a bit amazed herself, but no less than Aral. “You’re going to be insufferable now,” he said in Wren’s ear.

  She simply groaned, whispering back, “More DNA to live up to.”

  THEY GATHERED AFTERWARD in Prime-Admiral Zaafran’s office, an event attended by most of the highest-ranking members of the military and parliament. The man seemed moved almost to tears seeing Aral. He gripped his shoulder, soaking in the sight of him. “M,” he said. “Z.”

  “Aral, there are no words to adequately express the Triad’s gratitude for your acts of bravery. Not one, not two, but countless deeds over years of loyal work. And this latest—” he looked at Wren, his eyes warming “—your personal matter, was something quite wonderful for us all.”

  He turned, reaching for a shiny object resting on a cushion held by one of his assistants. “We hereby award you the Medal of Freedom,” he said. “In the Triad, it’s our highest honor.” As Wren watched, her heart swelling with joy, he pinned the commendation on Aral’s chest. Then they embraced, heartily pounding each other on the back in masculine fashion.

  He then turned to Hadley, calling her forward, followed by Bolivarr, giving all promotions in rank. It was a glorious day.

  “I’m not sure what your plans are, Aral,” Zaafran said later over drinks. “But your expertise is welcome.”

  “My expertise is war,” he said. “It’s peacetime.”

  “We never stop preparing for war. It’s how we prevent it.”

  “I thank you,” Aral said, sliding his arm around Wren’s waist. “But we hope for a quieter existence. Planetside.”

  “Do you have a location chosen as yet?”

  “Yes, in fact.”

  “Earth,” Wren put in. She caught Prince Jared’s niece Ellen grinning at her. “It’s far from here, and a shrine.” Owing to its being the birthplace of Prince Jared, Queen Keira’s consort. “We’ll be able to enjoy greater acceptance, and less recognition there.”