A white box was snapped under the pilot’s seat, and she battled the gravitational force to lean forward and pull it out. It contained bandages, healing cream, and an antiseptic healing wand, too.
“How’s your arm?” Joshua glanced back, concentration etching shadowed lines into his face.
“I don’t think it’s deep.”
Joshua pressed buttons on the console and swiveled to face her.
It startled her. “Don’t you need to steer? I’m fine. I can handle it.”
“I’ll be the judge.”
If she had felt better, she might have rolled her eyes. “Dictator should be your title. Not baron.”
“When one knows best…”
This time she did roll her eyes.
His teeth flashed. “Let me see.”
It hurt to move her arm, but he solved that by lifting it for her. Gentle fingers tested the edges of the wound.
“I don’t think it hit muscle,” he murmured. “You’re lucky.” With two quick movements, he ripped the fabric of her clothing in order to better expose the wound.
“Hold still.” He popped an antiseptic healing cartridge into the wand, set the mode on “wide,” and pressed the button.
His head was bent very close to her own. Never had Joshua been this close to her before, or gently tended her wound himself. Never. The sweet intimacy of it made her heart both soar and pound—and made her fiercely long for what could never be. Would never be. For Joshua did not want her. And yet the way he gently touched her now, with such care, could not prevent her heart from foolishly imagining all sorts of impossible things.
Cool white light stroked over her skin. A fine mist, mixed with healing alpha waves, sprayed from the medical appliance.
She sighed with relief. “That feels good.”
He looked up. A devilish grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “You’ve never said that to me before.”
Was he flirting with her? Anya flushed in confusion.
His smile faded, and he looked down to concentrate on her wound.
A moment later, his expression remote, he turned off the wand and leaned back. “That’s enough. You’ll need to apply more in an hour.” His warm fingers accidentally brushed hers when he pushed the wand into her hand.
He swiveled back to the console to check the instruments.
Anya didn’t know what to think of his out-of-character comment. If he had flirted, he certainly seemed to regret it now.
Of course he did. Or, more likely, she had misconstrued the whole incident. Her brain was overloaded. Too much had happened in too short a time.
“Thank you,” she offered.
One shoulder jerked. “It’s my job.”
Protector, he meant. How Anya had grown to hate that title.
“Rest,” he advised. “It’ll be another half hour before we reach Aksu.”
Her uncle’s capitol city.
Anya didn’t think she could possibly sleep, but she was tired. So much had happened in the last hour, and her arm still burned from being shot.
Astana had been blown to bits. The image of that horrific mushroom cloud boiling orange death into the night seemed burned into her brain. Darkness lodged in her heart, rimmed by the fire of unquenchable pain. Her home was gone. All of her friends were dead. And it was all her fault, no matter what Joshua said.
Was her family dead? Or Onred’s hostages? Grief gathered into an aching knot in her throat, and she wept. Anya rarely prayed, but she did so now. Let my family be alive, and if they are, please protect them from Onred.
Anya silently swore that she would rescue them, no matter what it took. As soon as she convinced her uncle to ally with them against Onred’s forces, she would hunt down Onred and find her family. She would not rest until her family was free and Astana avenged.
* * * * *
Anya’s eyes opened. Although the interior of the aircraft was dark, orange instrument lights haloed Joshua’s dark head. She must have napped, but for how long? “Are we almost there?”
“We’ll cross the last of the Tien Shan in a few minutes.”
And enter her uncle’s territory. “What then?”
“You tell me. What was your original plan?” No mistaking the soft bite to his voice. He wasn’t happy that she’d led him on a merry chase over the past three days. Why? Because he cared for her, and had been worried about her? How she wanted to believe that. But she feared it was only because she had put a wrench into his peace plans and disobeyed him.
Anya yawned in an effort to clear her head. “I planned to convince my uncle to ally with us. Onred would fear our alliance. That way, he’d think twice before attacking us. If my plan worked, we’d have peace with Richert, and Onred, too, by default.”
“Why would Richert agree to ally with us? Twenty years of blood lies between our territories.”
“His attacks have slowed down over the last few years.”
“So you believe he wants peace?”
“I had hoped to convince him.” Anya didn’t want to say more.
“How?”
She should have known he wouldn’t let it go. A moment elapsed before she said, “I look like my mother. I hoped he might still have a soft place in his heart for her. …For me.”
Joshua clicked a button on the console and swiftly faced her. His eyes glittered a hard, topaz color. “Are you insane? Your mother started the war.”
Anya frowned. “No. My uncle started the war, because he’s a jealous tyrant.”
“Your uncle hated your mother and your father. Why else would he fight a twenty-three year war? I fought his men. They’re cutthroat. If Richert had seen your mother again, he would’ve slit her throat himself.”
Surprising anger swelled. “He wouldn’t. He loved her.”
Joshua stared at her, his eyes hard. Then, softly, he said, “I thought you’d outgrown those teenage love novels. I’m sorry to disillusion you, but real life is not a fairy tale.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “But I don’t think you understand the first thing about love. All you know is giving orders. Nothing matters to you except logic, facts, and…and power.”
He swung back to the console. “Count yourself lucky I’m with you. If you’d followed your plan alone, you’d be dead now.”
Anya softly gasped with rage. “You’re an arrogant son-of-a…jerk. That I know for certain.”
His whole body stilled. Slowly, he faced her. “Watch it.”
“You’re so arrogant you can’t see that you insulted me. I am not an idiot. I wasn’t going to sashay into Richert’s palace and ask him pretty please to make nice. I was going to offer him…something.”
“What?”
She hesitated, unsure how he would receive the linchpin idea of her plan to produce peace. “He wants the Tien Shan mountains. They’re beautiful, but barren and uninhabitable. We don’t use that land. I planned to offer it to him in exchange for a permanent peace.”
Joshua actually threw back his head and laughed.
“What?” she frowned.
“I grew up in those barren, useless mountains,” he said pleasantly.
“No one lives there, except…”
“Wastrels? Vagabonds? They live quite nicely, deep under the rocks. Until they decide to throw someone into the cold to die.”
Anya gasped. “Not you, Joshua. I thought you came from Japa.”
“You thought wrong.” He twisted back to check the instrument panel. His skin looked faintly flushed.
“You’ve never said anything before…”
“And why have I now? I don’t know. But I’ve lived in those mountains, and I’ve fought for those mountains. My friends have died in the Tien Shan, defending them from your uncle’s troops. I’d rather die than give your uncle that piece of land. That mountain range is the only physical barrier keeping him out of our land. Did you think about that?”
“We’d have peace.”
“And you’d trust his word?”
An
ya didn’t know how to answer.
“What’s more,” Joshua ground on, “he knows you have no authority to give away land.”
“I would if I married someone…from our territory.” This solution had been her last resort. “My husband would replace you as baron.”
Joshua went very still and just watched her. Did he feel betrayed? And yet what had he done to her, by giving her to Onred? He had used her for his own purposes. For peace, supposedly. But really, it had to have been for power. Once again, the hurt of that swamped her—so much so it felt like a burning, physical ache in her chest. And if she was honest, it wasn’t just because he had sold her—for whatever the reason; it was also because he’d ejected her from his life for good. Clearly, she had never meant anything to him. Equally clear, nothing mattered to him except for peace and power.
Anya had to know something. “Tell me. Is that the real reason why you sold me to Onred? To marry me, my father’s only legal heir, out of the territory, so you could stay baron forever?”
“No, damn it,” he snapped harshly. “I’ve always put the territory’s best interests first. And your father’s wishes first, too. I did not agree to the marriage so I could stay in power.”
“You sold me, though, regardless.” Anya was surprised by the fury gathering hotter in her belly. He had betrayed her trust, and had refused to listen to her pleas to rethink the marriage and return Onred’s money. It still hurt, horribly. Until these last few minutes, however, she hadn’t allowed herself to fully feel how much.
A crackle from the console drew Joshua’s attention. Words blipped across the computer screen. He said, “This conversation isn’t finished.”
Anya didn’t answer. She was furiously close to tears. Too much had happened. Too much. Astana was gone, all of her friends were dead, her family might be captured by a monster, and now she was arguing with Joshua? And he, in just a few words, had torn apart her plan to make peace with her uncle. Unwanted tears slid down her cheeks.
“Things are about to get worse,” Joshua stated grimly. “We’re going down.”
“Why?” Anya wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands.
“Your uncle won’t let us cross the last mountain range. Either we land, or they shoot us down.”
For the first time, Anya noticed the starburst of tiny blips on the radar screen.
Was this finally the end? Instead of dying in Astana as she should have done, would they both die now, at the hands of her uncle’s bloodthirsty men?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Joshua lowered the craft to the snow pack at the base of the mountain. Cold moonlight illumined the flat clearing. Spindly trees poked through the frozen ice.
Richert’s red aircraft settled like bats in a circle, enclosing them in a tight web. The lights under-circling their bellies flashed yellow. Anya wondered what color encircled Donetsk’s craft. She had never noticed before. It seemed a ridiculous thing to wonder right now, one trigger shot shy of death.
“Distress signal noted,” came a voice from the control panel. “Identify yourselves.”
“Joshua Van Heisman. Anya Dubrovnyk. We’re fleeing Onred’s forces. We seek asylum in Richert’s city, Aksu.”
A computer voice scan would verify Joshua’s identity. Anya’s heart beat faster with fear. How could Joshua sound so level-headed and calm? Now her uncle’s men knew their identities. One laser shot from her uncle’s ships would end both Joshua and the Dubrovnyk’s reign in Donetsk Terr itory. An easy win for her uncle’s bloody, twenty-three year war.
Wasn’t Joshua afraid? Didn’t he feel anything?
Silence ensued.
Joshua waited patiently, occasionally drumming his fingers on the console.
Anya’s arm hurt. Time to apply more healing mist, but she was afraid to turn on the wand. It’s white light might be misconstrued as a laser charge up.
She had to use the bathroom, too.
Why was she thinking these things?
“Exit the bird, hands up.”
“Roger.” Joshua turned to Anya. “Leave everything here.”
“But…”
“Everything.”
Some of her fear must have communicated to him, for Joshua reached forward, as if to touch her, but stopped. His gaze, however, held hers. Its steadiness reassured her. “It will be all right,” he said softly.
She nodded.
Joshua slid open the door and freezing air rushed in, instantly sticking Anya’s fine nose hairs together. Hands raised, Joshua jumped out first. A waiting man grabbed his arm and shoved him hard against a nearby aircraft. Swift, gloved hands patted him down and hurled his laser and knives into the snow.
A man pointed a laser at Anya. “Out.”
Her legs didn’t want to move. She stumbled toward the opening.
“Hands up!”
Anya tried, but her left arm hurt horribly. Awkwardly, she jumped to the ground.
“I said, hands up!” The man wrenched her left arm high, and she cried out.
“She’s injured, idiot,” Joshua snarled. He shook off a restraining hand. “Be careful with her.”
The man didn’t listen. He hurled her against another aircraft and slid hands over her body, looking for weapons. He whistled. “You’re packing, pretty one.” With swift efficiency, he stripped her laser and four knives from her belt.
“Get in the bird.” He shoved Anya toward one craft’s doorway, while Joshua was hustled to another. They would be separated. Anya couldn’t hide the fear in the glance she shot Joshua.
“It’s all right,” he told her again. Face set like stone, he climbed into the enemy aircraft.
Anya obeyed the prodding of the airman behind her and climbed into the warm bird. The man bound her wrists, slammed the door, and they rose at dizzying speed, then shot forward. Anya closed her eyes. At least they weren’t dead. Not yet.
* * * * *
Anya spent the short flight time thinking up strategies for meeting her uncle. It seemed obvious they would be taken to see him. Otherwise, they would be dead.
Although Joshua hadn’t thought much of her original plan, Anya was more determined than ever to sway her uncle to their side. It was the first step she could take to free her family from Onred’s prison, if they were still alive, and protect the rest of Donetsk Territory. She would do whatever it took to coerce Richert to listen to them.
But by the time they touched down in Aksu’s hangar, Anya had formed no new, solid plan to influence Richert. Truly, why would her uncle want to ally with them? What could they possibly offer that he would want? Besides the Tien Shan, of course. Anya supposed she could try to charm him—although with the history of the twenty year war between their families, it seemed unlikely to be an effective strategy.
Rough hands pulled her from the aircraft, and within moments she walked beside Joshua toward the massive glass doors leading to the heart of the city. People thronged in the inner, circular area. Footpaths criss-crossed it, and these were bordered by flower beds and benches. The outer perimeter of the main circle showcased shop fronts. Wide hallways leading to unknown destinations intersected the large circle like the spokes of a wheel.
He murmured, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
The doors silently slid apart.
“Let me do the talking.”
Anya didn’t answer.
Following grunted instructions, they climbed into an open-air vehicle. The white electric train scooted parallel to Aksu’s wide outer walkway. After a pause at the master exchange, they rose five floors, and then sped on. This floor was quieter. Potted plants dotted narrower hallways. Crisply dressed men and women walked quickly, some carrying paper-thin computers, others disappearing down unknown hallways.
The train coasted to a halt at the arched entrance of a gigantic room. Three story, floor-to-ceiling glass curved up and arched overhead, allowing the glorious pink dawn to stream inside. Plum colored couches, cream tables, lush carpets on the floor, potted plants
, televisions, and a gold bar counter covered with platters of food all leant the feeling of comfortable opulence.
An airman directed them to adjacent chairs and ordered them to wait. A younger military officer guarded them. At least it was comfortable. And warm.
Anya evaluated the plush appointments, trying to get a feel for the man who owned them. Although Richert was her father’s brother, Anya knew nothing personal about him. Over the years she had seen clips of him on the news, of course, but those had only left the impression of a big, stooped, frowning man with receding hair and thick, bristling black eyebrows. And a low growl of a voice. Clearly, he was growing into a bitter, angry old man. He also appeared to be much older than her father had been. Perhaps by as much as ten years. That would put him at about sixty now.
A silent whirr drew her attention. She drew a quick breath of surprise when she saw her relative.
When Joshua rose to his feet, so did she.
Her uncle rode in a wheelchair. He wore a brown and black flannel shirt, which drooped over his sagging shoulders. His gnarled hands, clasped in his lap, looked like those of a much older man, for the knuckles were round and bony, and the skin papery. Richert held his head erect, though, as if with great pride, and beneath silvered black brows, ebony eyes snapped.
“So. Joshua. You seek asylum with your old enemy.” His gaze slid to Anya. “And you.” Although the words were sharp and cutting, his eyes lingered; swiftly—perhaps even greedily—scanning her face.
“I’m Anya…”
“Dubrovnyk, I know,” he interrupted. “It’s my name, too.” His gaze returned to Joshua. “Why is she with you?”
Anya didn’t appreciate being discussed in the third person. “Joshua accepted a peace agreement with Onred. My bride price was part of the deal. Onred paid it. I ran. Onred blew up Astana.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, her uncle’s gaze returned to her. “So this mess is your fault.” He snorted. “Not surprised.”
Ice Baron (Ice Chronicles, Book One (science fiction romance)) Page 6
