Guardians of Paradise (42 page)

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Authors: Jaine Fenn

BOOK: Guardians of Paradise
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She had to fight back, for Taro’s sake. If they broke through they would find out about him; perhaps they could even exploit her link with him and she couldn’t risk that. It would be better to emerge from behind her defences and go out fighting. She might even do some damage herself before they destroyed her. But she was exhausted, drained both mentally and physically, and she had nothing left to fight back with.
 
Except she did. She had something they lacked. Her bond with Taro was a type of unity they could never know, built on complete trust, and the willingness to put the life of another above the self. She had been afraid that love would make her weak. Perhaps it’d had the opposite effect.
 
With some effort, she reconnected with her body. The sensation in her shoulders was agonising, a weight grinding her bones into the bed, and as she began to block the worst of the pain she started to realise what must have happened. Lyrian had come in and, seeing her in a trance, she had decided to take advantage of Nual’s vulnerable state.
 
Time to turn the tables - and if she failed, then better to end it quickly and cleanly than wait to die and risk betraying her friends. She drew on the strength that her secret gave her. Then she opened her eyes, focusing all her remaining willpower into a counter-attack.
 
Lyrian had been crouched over her. Nual felt her strike connect with the other Sidhe. Lyrian shrieked and fell back. The pressure in Nual’s head was released at the same time as that on her shoulders: as she’d thought, Lyrian had been the focus for the assault and without her making the connection, the unity lost their hold.
 
Nual drew a deep, ragged breath. She had defeated them - for now.
 
From across the room Lyrian growled, ‘You couldn’t blame us for trying, could you?’
 
Actually, she could. Nual struggled into a sitting position, but said nothing. Any illusion of trust or friendship was gone. There was no more use for words between them.
 
Lyrian had composed herself again, though she stayed on the far side of the room. ‘I guess that’s that then. Well, no matter. What I originally came to tell you was that our visitor is ahead of schedule: she’ll be here in a few hours.’ She walked to the door, then turned and added, ‘I may have failed. She won’t.’
 
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
 
Marua stood on her balcony, staring out into the dark. She wished she could see the view: the verdant slopes of the caldera, the occasional glimpses of her people walking on the leafy paths and tracks between home and work and meetings with friends. She needed the perspective brought by overseeing such quiet order, the certainty and comfort of knowing that this was her kingdom, these her people, and that all was well with the world.
 
Self-doubt was not in Marua’s nature, but thanks to her recent experiences, she was having some trouble believing she was entirely mistress of her own destiny.
 
She did not hate the Sidhe. They were expedient, ruthless and capricious, but she truly believed that their control of humanity’s destiny - however far it extended - was motivated by the same desires that had led them to elevate humans to the stars in the first place. They knew how selfish and short-sighted people were, how close humanity had come to wiping itself out in the past. Marua’s part in the Sidhe’s schemes helped ensure that humans had continued access to interstellar travel, a birthright the Sidhe themselves had bought for everyone.
 
No, to hate them was unfair, pointless, and, in her position, extremely dangerous.
 
She was, however, angry with them, a deep seething resentment that had come together over the last few days. The power Marua exercised over her people was tempered with understanding, but the Sidhe cared only for results, not reasons. Lyrian had treated her like an incompetent child, as though such patronising disdain would actually solve the complex problems Marua was trying to deal with in order to please her associates - and she had been trying to please the Sidhe.
 
Not giving them reason to doubt her was one thing, but she strongly suspected that whilst in their presence she had been subject to their manipulation. Looking back on her almost fawning eagerness to impress her visitors, Marua was increasingly convinced she had been a victim of their persuasive powers, a far subtler coercion than that exerted by the renegade Angel, but there all the same.
 
And then there was the matter of zepgen. If the technology was available, why not give it to her? Some believed that zepgen had been developed by the old Sidhe males, who were thought to be long dead. But then, most people assumed the same was true of the females.
 
The more she considered it, the more one-sided her relationship with the
hine-maku
appeared.
 
She had to give them everything they demanded . . . But if they didn’t know about something, they could hardly ask her for it, could they?
 
Which was why she had no intention of telling them about Jarek Reen.
 
She had considered arranging a fatal but untraceable accident to remove the threat posed by Sirrah Reen once his blackmail material was safely neutralised. In the end, she had decided that the logistical difficulties and risk of possible comeback were too great.
 
She hadn’t counted on him trying to leave before she’d got her hands on the incriminating data. The call from her contact in traffic control forced her hand: should they let him go, or did she have a valid reason to detain him? Her
ngai
’s influence allowed her to request that arrivals be reported and departures delayed, but she was already sailing close to the wind after the public censure for the débâcle with Tawhira-
ngai
. She had thought for a moment, then told the starport to let the freetrader take off.
 
She had reluctantly despatched an interceptor to shadow his ship at a distance, waiting for word that the blackmail threat had been dealt with. The destruction of a ship out near the beacon might not immediately be attributed to her
ngai
, but when it was, further condemnation would follow. She dreaded the inevitable lengthy enquiry and eventual allocation of blame.
 
She told herself that to let him live was careless and unwise. That didn’t make killing him a course of action she was comfortable with.
 
Half an hour after Reen’s ship took off, her Stonetown agent commed to tell her he’d tracked down the data-agency the freetrader had used, but there was no need for further action: Jarek Reen had already cancelled his contract and the agency had wiped the data.
 
He had acted with an honour her so-called allies never displayed.
 
Marua gave silent thanks to the Lord of the Sea that she had continued to prevaricate. Sirrah Reen’s choice to delete the data vindicated her decision to follow her heart, not her head.
 
She recalled the interceptor.
 
Of course, honourable though he was, the danger posed by what he knew had not diminished. Leaning on the railing, breathing the sweet-scented night air, she suddenly saw that there was another way to deal with this problem, one which kept her honour intact and paid back Jarek Reen for his actions - both the good and the bad. It was risky: if the Sidhe read Reen’s mind they’d know that Marua hadn’t been entirely honest with them - but she got the impression that if it came to it, he was not the sort of man to let himself get taken alive.
 
She would give him what he’d said he wanted. And if it got him killed, then so be it.
 
 
Nual decided there was just one option left open to her. It was not something Sidhe did, though she had already come close to it once. That time, she had been confused, acting foolishly. Now it was the only logical choice.
 
Before reaching her conclusion she considered whether the bond with Taro that had given her the power to break Lyrian’s hold could also save her from the Court. But Lyrian had managed to wrench her away from Taro; a member of the Court could easily do the same.
 
What if she went in deeper? The area of Taro’s psyche where they had shared the dream was comparatively shallow - subconscious, but not primal. She had entered the depths of his soul, both back in the Heart of the City on Vellern and more recently, when they made love. Could she do so again? Could she hide herself there?
 
But if the Court interrogator was strong enough to follow that link, she would get access not just to Nual’s mind, but to Taro’s too, and she couldn’t risk that deepest of betrayals. And now she knew the visitor was arriving ahead of schedule, she dared not attempt any further contact with Taro, in case the Court representative found her in a trance. She could not even risk a final goodbye.
 
She had already lost her lover and her freedom. A mental reset would be the best she could hope for once the Sidhe had what they wanted from her, leaving her reprogrammed and restrained, little more than a mute. Given the risk of after-effects from her brush with darkness, not to mention the crimes she had committed against her people, they were far more likely to kill her once they had no more use for her. Taking her own life would give her more control. It would make the inevitable end less painful - and it was the only way to guarantee the safety of those she cared for.
 
She sat back against the wall, breathing hard.
 
Slowly, deliberately, she shut off her body’s reactions to the realisation of what she was about to do.
 
Even so, when she put her palm on her solar plexus she could feel the banging of her heart. She turned her wrist, so the heel of her right hand was pressed against her left breast. She would only get one chance; she needed to make sure that when the blade emerged from her forearm, it would pierce her heart cleanly, killing her at once.
 
The sweat on her palms threatened to make her hand slip on her bare skin. She wiped her hand on the bed. Somewhere deep inside a small voice was screaming, demanding to know how she could even consider this insane act.
 
She placed her hand back in what she hoped was the correct position and closed her eyes. She let herself think of Taro: a snapshot of his face, laughing. It was only right that the last image in her mind should be of him.
 
Then she flexed her hand.
 
 
Someone with a more finely honed sense of paranoia might’ve been convinced that the sensor blip was a pursuing ship. Jarek had to allow for that possibility, but unless and until it tried to close in on him he’d do his best not to fret about it.
 
He still wished he’d spotted the ship before he’d trashed his blackmail file. He’d been in two minds about deleting it, but once he left the local comnet he wouldn’t be transmitting the regular signal that stopped the data going public; if he didn’t get rid of it now, he’d be leaving a ticking time-bomb behind him. He’d been tempted: let the
ngai
dealing with the Sidhe pay the price for that collaboration . . . But if he allowed the dirt on Ruanuku to go public, he’d be risking planet-wide corporate chaos in order to punish a few execs. More importantly, he’d be tipping his hand to the Sidhe.
 
He found himself watching the other ship almost obsessively. When it changed course and headed back to Kama Nui he sat back in his couch and let out a long, slow breath.
 
With his own ship safely underway and no immediate threats to enliven the dull journey out to the beacon, what he should really do now was wake up Taro. The boy’d been dreaming earlier, but the last time Jarek checked he was deeply asleep. If he left him, he was only putting off the inevitable. Taro wasn’t going to be open to reason, regardless of when Jarek woke him, but as it was currently the middle of the night, hopefully he’d be dazed enough that he wouldn’t try to disembowel Jarek when he found out they’d left Nual behind. He might as well get it over with.
 
He still found a good ten minutes of not-entirely-necessary duties on the bridge, but finally he sighed and headed for the ladder. He’d just stepped off the bottom rung when his com chirped. The message was from the Stonetown data-agents who had been sent their final payment and had, as far as he knew, done what he’d asked and destroyed the packet. He’d never expected to hear from them again.
 
And they, he suddenly remembered, only had the number of the locally bought com he’d used in his dealings with Ruanuku-
ngai
, which was useless now he was outside the local comnet. This message had been sent direct to his ship.
 
He tapped the screen. A single line of capitalised text appeared:
 
LOOK FOR HER ON THE DARK SIDE OF RANGUI-ITI
 
Rangui-iti: Kama Nui’s smallest moon. As for who they meant by ‘her’ . . . it had to be Nual.

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