Shrouded: Heartstone Book One (19 page)

Stop in and play. He nodded slowly. What could it hurt to stop in and play? If a stack of blankets still waited under one of the couches, it could mean any number of things. “I’ll try to make it.”

If the new queen was displeased with her bonding, Dolfan would most certainly find out for himself.

M
urrel’s husband
owned a textile mill. A strip of hover pads protruded from amidst the huge factory building. Vashia caught sight of a line of low, rectangular storage sheds behind it as they settled gently against the cushion. The current released them to rest on the pad. She closed her eyes for a second and took a breath.

When she opened them, she found Lucha inspecting her. They’d dropped Peryl at his grandparents an hour earlier, and the queen had fallen oddly silent for the last leg of the trip. Now she fixed Vashia with a narrow gaze and a kind smile. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Vashia folded her fingers together and shrugged. “No.” She should tell Lucha, just in case Murrel’s invitation had ulterior motives. “My friend was less that pleased with me when I saw her last.” It didn’t explain much, but Lucha nodded, her eyes softening.

“You’re nervous?”

“Yes.”

“This would be the girl who fancied herself the Kingmaker, then?”

Vashia sat back and frowned. “You know about that? How?”

“Nerala and I communicate rather frequently.” Lucha smiled, reached out and patted her knee softly. “I knew you were coming, dear. Almost before Syradan did.” She sighed and looked to the hatch. The pilot had triggered the controls, and the panel slid its way open. “I do like to keep an eye on what’s happening.”

Vashia might have imagined the wistful note to the words, but she guessed she’d been correct earlier. Lucha would miss her position as queen far more than she let on.

“What will you and Pelinol do after the coronation?”

“Oh, don’t worry about us.” Lucha sat up tall. She put up a jovial front, but the question definitely hit a nerve. “We’ll come back to the crater and relax. They leave the ruling to men of breeding age, you see. The population, the lines must be perpetuated. Pelinol has some ideas for work that might keep him occupied.”

“And you?” She wanted to believe Lucha would be content. The guilt she nursed over kicking the woman out of her place needed to know it.

“I still have a son to see bonded. I imagine I can busy myself visiting and dragging the poor boy to meet candidates.”

“Brides?” Vashia blurted it without thinking, heard the tone of her own voice and cringed. When Lucha’s eyes widened, Vashia knew she’d slipped up.

Before the queen could recover and respond, however, the door clanged fully ajar and a squeal invaded the compartment, high-pitched, feminine and terrible on the ears. Vashia leaned to one side and peered out of the transport, as if some unrevealed Shrouded monster might lie hungrily in wait for them.

Murrel bounced on her slippered toes just outside the vehicle. Both her hands pressed against her mouth and Vashia saw the glint of gemstones on more than a few of her fingers. She leapt forward at the sight of Vashia’s face peering out. A second squeal split the air, and the mystery of the monster clarified: Murrel, decked from head to toe in traditional, Shrouded wraps, bright as an Eclipsan sunset and covered in more riches than Vashia had seen on many a dignitary, squealing like a pig at slaughter.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. She couldn’t help but relax. Murrel had donned a piece of silk in every color of the rainbow. She looked like a peacock mummy, one that was close to bursting with anticipation. Vashia relented. She slid to the door and stepped out onto the pad.

Murrel dove forward. She threw her arms around Vashia’s neck and hung there, giggling and squealing alternately. “Oh! I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t know if you’d be able to come so soon, and I was so worried you wouldn’t come, but I’m so happy to see you and there just aren’t enough women around here at all!”

“Wow. Hi.” Vashia’s ears barely deciphered the rant. She felt Murrel’s arms slacken and took a step back. She needed to breathe.

“Sorry.” Murrel grinned. “There aren’t enough women on the whole planet!”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Lucha stepped to the ground and joined them.

“Oh!” Murrel dropped into a low curtsey. “Your Highness, I beg your pardon.”

“Not at all.” Lucha held a hand out for Murrel and placed the other on Vashia’s shoulder. “You hit the nail on the head.”

Murrel took the queen’s hand and kissed it. Then she flushed and dropped her gaze to their toes. “I am sorry,” she said, “to both of you for before. I didn’t understand at all.”

“There’s no harm done,” Lucha said. “And now you’ve found the Heart on your own, I see.”

“But I didn’t understand at all,” Murrel moaned. “It was so stupid.” She turned huge eyes in Vashia’s direction.

“It’s okay. Like Lucha said. No harm done.”

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come,” Murrel whispered. “I thought you’d hate me for it.”

“Why?” She’d been afraid as well, but she’d never guessed Murrel capable of forgiveness, let alone a guilty conscience.

“Because I tried to steal your bonding!” Murrel’s hands flew to her face again. “I didn’t know, Vashia. Honest. I didn’t understand until I met Rexr. I thought it was all fake.” She hung her head, and Lucha drew her into a hug.

“Poor thing.” The queen smiled at Vashia over the red hair. “How could you have understood it? We know that.”

“Right.” Vashia frowned. Why keep up the act here? There were only women present, only brides all shackled with the same role. Was there no private place, no haven on Shroud, where the truth at least leaked out a little?

Murrel sniffed and wiped her face. Lucha released her and they shared a look, one Vashia understood even less. “I can’t wait till you meet him.” She beamed at her, eyes sparkling and full of her lie. “He’s working, but I thought we could start with a tour before lunch?”

“We’d love to meet your Rexr,” Lucha said.

“Yeah. A tour sounds great.” She’d hoped for more from Murrel, but it didn’t surprise her. The woman had never spoken an honest word since they met. She sighed and followed them across the landing platform. The factory hummed, leaking plumes of exhaust that rolled up overhead to where the Shroud pressed down.

J
arn used
the access codes the traitor had sent him and let himself into the control room. Ten of the dozen stationed Security officers on the moon base already passed their time aboard a mercenary cruiser, secured in the brig and waiting for the others to join them. He switched between cameras and tried to locate the last two, preferably before they noticed their counterparts had gone missing.

He watched the atrium scroll past and then inspected the mall. A muscle in his cheek twitched as he watched the store stalls fly by. It had to be quick. They needed to take over the base completely and without alerting the planet, and a loose guard could kill the whole thing with one communication.

One of the mercs crossed the screen. He slowed the pan and watched, his fingers drumming on the console. Two more of them stood guard outside, and they’d already secured the landing areas. The traders had argued when his rented troops closed down cargo. Eventually, they’d put up a bigger fuss, but with his people controlling the only communications to the surface, the bastards could scream all they wanted. He just needed to finish the maneuver swiftly and in one stroke, and that meant snagging the last two stragglers without incident.

The mercenary on camera broke into a run, and Jarn sat forward. He shifted the angle and spotted a Shrouded guard sliding around a table piled with fabric. The native edged his way closer to the tunnel leading toward the storage bays, and when he caught sight of the merc approaching, he bolted away.

It didn’t take long. The merc was heavier, but better trained and carried a low range stunner. The guard went down after only three steps and Jarn watched his mercenary bend down to fit him with some more permanent restraints.

He smiled. Only one left. By now the mercenary presence was widespread and well known. The Shrouded shop keepers hid in their establishments, the traders grouped together in bundles and cast impatient glances toward the unit he’d stationed in the cargo area. The women in the bridal wing had all been herded to the atrium. Eventually, he’d have the shop owners and bay workers taken there as well.

Once they caught the last straggler, then his control of Moon Base 14 would be complete. The communications black out, his contact assured him, would be attributed to activity within the Shroud. It was considered a low priority until the coronation was over.

Jarn licked his dry lips and watched the tackled Shrouded guard struggle. He checked the exterior cameras, where the mercenary fleet controlled the approach to both the base and the planet. After the coronation, it would be far too late.

“
T
his is Vashia
.” Murrel leaned into her Shrouded husband and glowed like a candle. Rexr didn’t look away from her for a second.

“Your Highness.” His head inclined in Vashia’s direction, but his eye’s belonged to Murrel. “Murrel tells me wonderful things about you.”

“Thanks.” She looked over their heads and smiled at nothing. The big reels spun against the far wall, spooling out the chemical silk into giant skeins. They’d just seen the vats in the dyer’s sheds—the huge, dripping, colored masses that hung in row after row under the domed ceiling. Murrel hurried them through the buildings until they’d found Rexr. She’d summarized the processes as they went, and Vashia had to wonder how anyone could learn so much about the factory in such a short time.

Vashia scanned the reels and watched the sparkling lines wind around the smaller spools. Rexr looked a great deal like Tondil, with a lankier frame than Dolfan and shaggy, short hair. He acted like Murrel, swoony, as if his universe revolved around her sun. Would she have looked like that, if the Heart had picked a different man for her? If the stupid stone had made a mistake, why didn’t anyone speak up? She could understand why Haftan might keep quiet, but Dolfan?
He
certainly hadn’t spoken up.

Lucha watched the pair through eyes that grew dark and glassy. Vashia saw there the illusion that they’d tried to sell to her. Somehow, she hadn’t been able to buy it. Of all the brides brought to the Shroud, of course she’d be the only one dealt a scam instead of a deal.

“I’m going to take you to the weavers next.” Murrel faced them again. “So poor Rexr can get back to work. Tarren should be here soon, and then we can all go up to our rooms for lunch.”

“Tarren’s coming?” Vashia felt a flare of hope. That one, she’d missed more than she’d ever expected.

Murrel nodded and led them down the line of reels. She pointed out the extruders and confessed with a shrug that she knew nothing about the compounds used to form the fibers. Through the tunnel hall that led to the weavers, Vashia could see the landing pads. A second transport sat beside the one she and Lucha had arrived in.

“Is that Tarren?”

Murrel followed her gesture and nodded. “We sent the shuttle for her this morning. They’re taking a break in the tour, and I convinced Mr. Noll to let her visit.”

“I’m glad.”

“I thought you might want to see her too.” Murrel’s eyes dropped away, and she shuffled her feet. “Besides, you can help me convince her that she needs to cooperate.”

“Cooperate?” Vashia prickled. The last thing she’d do is encourage Tarren to join in on the happy-go-lucky act.

“Just help me tell her what she’s missing out on, what it’s like.” Murrel reached the end of the tunnel and looked back over her shoulder. “There’s something I want you to see.” She let her smile stretch naturally, wide and reaching her eyes for once. “I think you’re the only one on the planet who’ll enjoy it too.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, but turned and led them through the arch into the next dome. This one topped out a bit lower overhead, but the breadth of the floor stretched in all directions, and the air clattered and rang with the slamming of the heddles on huge looms. The machines hammered and thumped and swooped at either end of long warps, each in a pattern of colors so vivid, Vashia had to squint at them.

Murrel led them to the side, past the nearest weaving machine, into a side passage and a smaller dome. Inside this, the noise lessened, but a rhythmic staccato replaced it, pounding softly from a smaller, upright version of its massive industrial cousins.