Shrouded: Heartstone Book One (18 page)

“
W
e should go tomorrow
.” Lucha poured her a goblet of juice and pressed her lips together. “If you don’t mind me tagging along, that is. This coronation has my nerves frazzled, and I’d love to run away for a day.”

“I’d love it.” Vashia leaned her elbows on the queen’s table and eyed the Shroud outside. She’d never had an older woman in her life, and though Lucha made her slightly uncomfortable, she’d treasured experiencing the sort of relationship she’d imagined a mother might provide. “I’m going to miss you when you leave.”

“It’s not quite as bad as you think.” Lucha patted her shoulder and waved at the girl who served them. “You’ll have Haftan more, once the coronation is done. And you’ll choose your own staff.” She laughed and nodded fiercely. “You can invite your friends here, you know. I’m sure Haftan would have suggested it, if he hadn’t been so tied up. They should come to the coronation at least!”

She fought back the worry again. Murrel’s letter had seemed so contrite. She’d sounded like enthusiastic, bullshit Murrel again—and she’d bonded as well. Vashia frowned. She wouldn’t have invited her if she was still angry, would she?

“Where is Rofal?

“Northern hemisphere.” Lucha answered around a bit of cookie. She swallowed and reached for the data pad. “Rofal is at the far end of the medial canyon. It starts just past the crater where Pelinol is from.”

“Is that far from here?” The Shrouded core was much smaller than Eclipsis, though the Shroud made the planet look huge by comparison.

“Not too far. But we should leave early. I wonder if Peryl would like to come. He hasn’t gone home in over a month. I imagine his grandparents would enjoy a visit.”

“I can ask him along. We’re supposed to play for a while this evening.”

“With Tondil?” The queen’s voice had changed. The note was subtle and not quite hostile, but Vashia sensed it was not entirely friendly either. It didn’t suit the usually affable Lucha.

“They’re teaching me the lute.”

“Hmm. I wish he would show some ambition,” she rolled her eyes, “besides music.”

Vashia shifted in her chair. She came from a world where homosexuality didn’t carry any stigma. She’d picked up enough from her interactions with Tondil and Peryl to know that it wasn’t accepted here, but she’d never understand why not. She’d seen things on Eclipsis that were actually worth worrying about, things that were unnatural and frightening. But on Shroud, where the Heart fixed marriages and people expected heirs to carry on the seven bloodlines, any union that couldn’t promise offspring was frowned upon.

It only made her like Peryl all the more, but it cast his mother in a less than ideal light at the same time.

“I hope he’ll come,” Lucha continued. “You’ll need to send a message to your friend?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Tell her that we should arrive before the lunch hour. I’ll see if I can’t convince Peryl to join us.”

Vashia smiled and stood up. She snagged her pad from Lucha’s outstretched hands and turned for the door. The queen had made a point to reach out to her, to help her adjust, but Lucha still commanded here. Vashia had almost let herself forget. In only a few days, that power would shift and Lucha would have to let go.

She didn’t know if she was feeling defensive for Peryl’s sake or not, but suddenly, she wondered if Lucha had taken her under her wing out of kindness, or to make sure that Vashia did things her way. How did the woman feel about giving up her place? In a few days, she’d have to return to another crater with her Shrouded husband. Would Lucha still feel like the Heart had done right by her? Would she still see the fairy tale when
her
bonded relinquished his title?

Vashia left the room and stood in the hallway outside. What about Peryl, then? He had the king’s blood, but the Heart had given his throne to Haftan. She shook her head and turned toward the communications wing. Perhaps living under all that weight drove a person insane eventually. If so, she hoped it would get on with it. She was already sick of being the only lucid soul under the Shroud.

“
W
e need
to get off this planet.” Haftan paced too much. He also had developed a sudden interest in foreign affairs.

Dolfan scowled at his back. He avoided the pointed looks Mofitan kept shooting in his direction, but the longer he listened to the new king, the better he felt about treason. Shayd had taken a position behind him on the wall, and he felt it had been intentional. They’d sandwiched him between them for a reason.

“Not a bad idea,” Tondil said. “But why? You’ve never suggested this before, Haftan, why bring it up now?”

“Because Pelinol isn’t here.” Mofitan’s rumble shook the couch. Dolfan felt the vibrations in his feet. “Because Pelinol would label him a fool for even thinking it.”

“Pelinol won’t be king much longer.” Haftan spun around and paced between them. “I will.”

“And we will be your Council.” Peryl found his voice for the first time since the Heart ceremony. Dolfan leaned forward. He wondered where the king’s son would sit on this topic. “So it is we who will or won’t support the idea, not my father.”

“Do you, Peryl?” Haftan turned to him directly, towering over the young prince’s position at Tondil’s feet. “Do you support the new king’s idea?”

“I believe there are reasons to consider it, and even more reasons to fear it.”

“Well stated.” Tondil patted his shoulder. “What do you covet of the outer worlds, Haftan, that can’t be filtered safely through Base 14?”

Haftan waved a hand wildly and spun back toward the table. He’d dismissed the dangers too quickly, but Haftan had spent little time on the moon base. He had no idea what he was asking of them. Dolfan tried to give a shit. Instead, he saw the goblet on the table behind the man, half full of juice. He saw the thin wrap draped over one of the chairs and pressed his eyes shut against it. Their rooms. The rooms they lived in together.

Damn the coronation cleaning anyway. He’d made three circuits in the halls before he’d been able to open this particular door—and then he’d practically trampled her.

“Ask Dolfan.” Mofitan veered the conversation in his direction, but he’d missed the first portion of the comment. All eyes turned and riveted on him.

“I think the rest of the galaxy is overly eager for us to allow them in.” He looked a dagger at Mof, just in case it was warranted. “And I question the motives of anyone that eager. I think we’d be far more justified in increasing our security here. Adding a second platform, perhaps.” He watched Mofitan’s eyes stretch and let a grin slide over his face. “Don’t you think, Mof?”

“You know the answer to that, though I’m not surprised you’d use my idea instead of formulating a thought of your own.”

“I’m not talking about bringing anyone here,” Haftan snapped at them both. “I’m talking about letting us out.”

“I wasn’t aware we were kept in.” Shayd’s low, emotionless voice stopped Haftan mid-turn. “Are you a prisoner here then, Haftan? Would you leave the Heart to wander the galaxy? Are you not
content
?”

None of them had heard the Seer-to-be speak so many words in a single spout. The room fell silent, and Shayd’s impact settled around their thoughts. Dolfan leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. Haftan had been thinking a lot farther ahead than he had. He’d been thinking of what he’d do with the throne, not just how to win it. Just as Mofitan had.

Maybe Mof was right. He hadn’t given much thought to anything on his own. He’d been fairly content to keep an eye on the Gauss, pop back and forth between the moon and the planet, and sit around waiting for the Heart to find his mate. In retrospect, it seemed even more foolish than Haftan’s proposal.

He shook his head slowly and caught sight of something stacked under Mofitan’s couch. Dolfan blinked and squinted into the shadowed space—a pillow and two neatly folded blankets. He snapped back up and eyed Haftan again. His eyes glanced around the room, as if there would be some hint, some other trace of things amiss.

Someone’s sleeping on the couch.
He twitched and fought against the urge to look again. Stupid, the queen most likely took a nap. Perhaps Haftan came in late and didn’t want to wake her.
Or one of them is sleeping on the couch.
Dolfan clenched his jaw and tried to focus. He’d missed a good deal of the argument again.

He scanned the faces for hints. Tondil might have noticed his lapse, he raised one eyebrow high, but Dolfan skimmed past him. He landed on Dielel, sitting at the end of the table and watching his own feet.

“—nothing to lose by increasing trade, by sending Shrouded ambassadors further than the moon, do we?” Haftan’s voice lifted to punctuate his thought.

“Yes!” Dielel stood up, earned a look from Haftan and sat abruptly back down. “Haftan is right,” he said meekly. “We should loosen the bottleneck a little.”

“Did he make you memorize that,” Mof accused, “or is it written on your shoe?”

“Enough.” Haftan scowled and shrugged. He looked tired.
Possibly from not sleeping well.
“We can talk in more detail on this later.” He rubbed his nose and looked to the ceiling. “I suspect we’re done for now.”

He turned his back on them and returned to the table, pouring himself a glass of water and staring out at the Shroud. The princes, Council members now, shifted and stood and exchanged looks that said more than their comments had.

Dolfan moved slowly enough to see Shayd and Mofitan leave first. When they’d had plenty of time to continue on, he stood and headed for the door. Dielel still sat with Haftan, darting glances from the new king to the others, but Tondil and Peryl joined him at the exit.

“Dolfan,” Tondil placed a hand on his shoulder. “Have a moment?”

He hesitated to answer until they left the room and he caught sight of Shayd and Mofitan to the right. They blocked the hallway in that direction, waiting for him, for more scheming. “Yeah. No problem.”

“Let’s take a walk, then. Peryl and I hoped to get your opinion on something.”

He followed them to the left, checking over his shoulder as they took the first branch. Mof and Shayd had gone. Good. They could stir up enough trouble without him.

“I’m worried about the queen.” Tondil spoke softly as they walked. “We’ve been spending some time with her, and she doesn’t seem like she should.”

“She’s sad,” Peryl chimed. “I think she’s sad.”

“It makes sense.” Dolfan looked ahead and behind in turn. He’d run into Vashia more and more frequently lately, but no tingle answered. “She’s about to lose her home, her status, and be forced to move again. I can’t think she’d be overjoyed about it.”

“What?”

“Lucha. Sad to be going.” He realized he’d missed something when they both stopped walking and stared at him. “What?”

“Wrong queen,” Tondil said. “We’re worried about Vash.”

Vash?
He frowned at them and spoke through his teeth. “Why would you worry about her?”

They exchanged a glance that contained some secret code. He didn’t dwell in their inner circle, apparently, in a circle that called Vashia,
Vash.
Peryl spoke for them both, out of character and moved by some sudden loyalty to Haftan’s new bride.

“She’s not right,” he said. “We thought maybe you’d have an idea why.”

“Why would I know anything about it?” He heard his own voice waver. “We’ve barely spoken.”

“You were on the base together,” Tondil said. “Peryl only thought you might know if she’d left family behind, or if maybe she had friends that she could be missing.”

“She’s sad,” Peryl asserted.

“How do you know that? Did she say something to you?” Dolfan hated the little shiver of hope, the eager way he focused on the answer.

“No. She just doesn’t seem happy.”

“A bride should be happy,” Tondil said, “if the Heart can be believed.”

“I didn’t think you believed in the Heart, Tondil.”

“I said I didn’t want it, not that I didn’t believe in it.”

“You think something has gone wrong with Haftan’s bonding?”

“Not at all.”

“That maybe the Heart was wrong.”

“What?”

Tondil’s mouth hung open. Peryl’s eyes bulged, and he turned a paler shade of lilac.

Dolfan had misunderstood and said too much.

“Because the Heart doesn’t make mistakes,” he added late, but they relaxed anyway.

“We weren’t implying that.” Tondil’s answer gave his stomach a jolt. He’d been hoping they meant that exactly. “She certainly doesn’t seem to be blissfully thriving either.”

“Hmm. That’s too bad.” His mind conjured a few scenarios that might explain the problem. He imagined sleeping on a couch could sour one’s mood.

“So can you think of anything?” Peryl’s voice called him back. They stared at him again.

“No.” He shook his head. “We barely spoke on the moon.”

“Damn.” Tondil’s shoulders slumped. He looked at Peryl again. Whatever Vashia had done, she’d made an impression and a pair of friends in these two. “Maybe you can help, though. We play in the evenings. If you could stop in one night and see what you think?”