Shrouded: Heartstone Book One (23 page)

V
ashia sat
up and shook her head. She didn’t want the damned soup. She wanted out of the room. The poor attendant tried again, had orders no doubt, to keep her eating. Vashia bared her teeth and refused the offered spoon. “I said, no thank you.”

“The doctor said you should eat.” Haftan leaned against the far wall, rumpled and holding down the room’s only couch. He probably had orders as well. She couldn’t imagine him staying of his own volition. Still, he’d stayed, and she supposed she should be grateful for that.

Except Haftan here meant that Dolfan wasn’t. She waved the attendant away and lay back down. Not now, maybe, but whenever Syradan chased her husband out, then Dolfan would come. He’d stand like an anchor at her bed and say nothing, and that nothing had become her entire world. She breathed for it, she healed for it, and she even ate the damned soup for it.

“You really should eat.” Haftan said. He didn’t look up from his data pad. “The doctor seems to think you’ll be up and around soon.”

“I just had breakfast.”

“Hmm.” He tapped the keys noisily. “I should think you’d want to get out of that bed.”

“I do.”

They’d kept their conversations to niceties and directives. The four days since her injury had forced them into much more regular contact, and she suspected neither one of them knew what to do about it. Haftan had been civil, even courteous, if considerably distracted. She might actually have liked him under other circumstances.

“Your friend has bonded.”

“I know.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I met her husband when we visited.”

“No. The other one.” He kept tapping, but looked up when she rolled over. “You’re supposed to move slowly.”

“Tarren bonded?”

“Yesterday.” He turned back to the pad. “They’re arranging for you to see her.”

“What? Who’s arranging?” She didn’t know which bothered her more, poor Tarren saddled with a Shrouded mate, or the fact that her affairs were being arranged for her.

“Settle down.” Haftan raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Syradan thought it would make you happy to go. You certainly don’t have to.”

“Oh.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” And yet, he’d told her. “I’m sure Dolfan would rather be back on the moon than ferrying women around anyway.”

“How’s that?” She sat up and forced her voice down a notch. “Dolfan what?”

“Syradan’s talked him into flying you out there. Really, it’s fine with me if you don’t. We can’t keep pushing the coronation back forever.” Now he let his irritation touch the words. The man wanted to be king. He’d never once tried to hide it.

“I would like to see Tarren again.”

“Eh?”

“I mean, it was nice of them to think of it.”

“It was.” He set the pad down and looked directly at her. “I suspect Syradan is concerned for your state of mind.”

“Excuse me?”

“In the future, we need to consider the appearance we are portraying a little more carefully.”

“You mean the happy couple act?”

“I mean that exactly. You—”

“Signed a contract. I know.”

“Good.” He went back to his work, sighed loudly when she kept talking.

“When can I go?”

“Now you want to go?”

“I do. Yes.” She nodded and watched his shoulders lift and fall. He honestly didn’t care what she did, not as long as she acted thrilled with him. “Did they say when?”

“As soon as you’re well. Perhaps the soup isn’t such a bad idea?”

“No. I’ll try to eat.”

Haftan stood and sighed. He retrieved the tray the attendant had left and brought her the soup. “Good.” He helped her get propped up and adjusted the tray so she could eat before returning to the couch. “The sooner you get well the better.”

She almost took it for genuine concern until he added, “Then we can get on with the damned coronation.”

She smiled, sipped her soup and prayed Syradan and Dolfan had something more up their sleeve than just a friendly visit with Tarren before they passed her off to Haftan for good.

“
S
yradan
, wait!”

Damned Tondil again. The prince had shadowed his steps for two days now, and his fervor to get to the bottom of things only grew with each day. Syradan fixed a smile and then turned to meet the same dogged expression he’d seen every time Tondil caught him alone.

“Tondil, how nice.”

“How is she doing?”

“The queen is recovering, Tondil. Perhaps your concerns were unfounded?”

His concerns had forced Syradan to directly defy Jarn’s instructions. His concerns might have cost him the man’s assistance had he not thought up a quick alternative. As it happened, his modifications were working far better than he’d suspected, but he still had Jarn to deal with when the man discovered Vashia still breathed.

“I don’t think so,” Tondil answered with the same stubborn, hardheaded response each time. Unfortunate for him that he couldn’t rein in that tenacity in this case. “Will you still try?”

“Of course.”

“Before the coronation?”

“Yes, Tondil, should some devious soul have managed to taint the Heart, heaven forbid, I will be certain to ferret it out before young Haftan is enthroned.”

“It’s not really about the throne, though.”

“Of course. I have no wish to see our Vashia miserable either, young man. Not to mention Haftan himself. Or do you suspect your friend of misdeed as well?”

“I suspect no one.” Tondil’s eyes narrowed, however, and Syradan felt quite sure he lied. “But I do wish to see the truth come out before anything irreversible happens.”

“As do I.” Syradan smiled. Death was irreversible, but he hardly thought Tondil referred to that. “The young queen is feeling better. She’ll be taking a short visit away with her friend. I had thought to do your bidding while she was gone, in case I did uncover anything unusual.”

“Right. Well, that makes sense.”

Syradan looked out across the plaza. Haftan descended the Palace stair. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have business with the young king.”

Tondil snapped a look back over his shoulder, confirming Syradan’s suspicions. He not only suspected Haftan, he’d deduced too much about Syradan for comfort as well. Nothing good could come from that.

T
he Shevran looked
up when Jarn entered the room, but Kovath didn’t. The governor only slid another card out of his hand and placed it casually on the table. He didn’t bother to turn away from the game when he spoke either.

“Tell me, Jarn. What news?”

“They’ve delayed the coronation another week.” Jarn flexed his neck and imagined bringing a chair down on the back of Kovath’s head. “There’s been an accident, but Syradan assures me—”

“You put a great deal of faith in Syradan’s assurances.” Kovath watched the trader play his card and examined his own hand. “What makes you think your contact is so trustworthy?”

“If I may remind you,” Jarn said. “My contact has given us the moon.”

“No!” Kovath slammed his fist into the table and sent the cards in his hand flying. The trader stumbled from his seat and ditched the game, his cards, and his money without a backwards glance. “My money has given us this moon, Jarn. The mercenary forces I am paying for have given us this moon.”

“Without Syradan’s information—”

“Yes, yes. I’m certain it would have been more difficult. The proof of your ally’s worth is yet to come, isn’t it? The information that matters to the main portion of this invasion, Jarn, is the data we’ve received on the Gauss lanes and the planetary magnetism, is it not?”

“Of course it is. Once Syradan gives the word—”

“Who’s in charge here, Jarn, Syradan or you?” Kovath cut him off yet again. “I find it difficult to believe that you haven’t thought to test any of this man’s information before investing our entire force.”

“A test?” Jarn clenched his jaw. Kovath suggested altering a major portion of the agreement he had with Syradan. He suggested risking both the ally Jarn had so carefully nurtured and their element of surprise as well. “If we were detected, the entire plan would be in jeopardy.”

“Then don’t be detected.” Kovath made a show of straightening the table. “Take a few men and one of the shuttles and land planet-side. Secure the platform, check the informer’s data for accuracy, and then report back to me.”

“You want me to go?” Jarn swallowed. Kovath wanted him out of the way, but he was far too smooth to admit it directly.

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” he said.

“Of course.” He let the snarl out. It would only please Kovath to know he’d riled him. Jarn clipped toward the doors without waiting for dismissal. Kovath wanted him away immediately. He wanted time to continue wooing the traders, and time to assert his own control over the mercs. He wanted to undermine all the work Jarn had done so far.

“Jarn,” Kovath called for him just when he reached the door.

“Sir?” He didn’t bother turning back around. The bastard wouldn’t be looking at him anyway.

“Have you any news about my daughter?”

“Sir?” He swallowed a lump of concern.

“My daughter, Jarn. You remember—the child we sent down as a sacrifice for your plan’s sake.”

“Vashia has gone with the other brides to search for her husband, I suspect.” Odd, how Kovath labeled it his plan now, not theirs.

“You suspect?”

“Yes.” He turned finally and found Kovath standing, actually watching his back. “I have been rather occupied, you’ll remember, with acquiring a base, and preparing for your arrival.”

“I’m sure you have.” Kovath smiled and pressed his fingers together under his chin. “But I would like to know exactly where the child is, Jarn. I trust your contact will have no trouble finding out?”

“I’m sure he can. Perhaps after the coronation?”

“Perhaps now. I expect to know her whereabouts by the time you return.”

Jarn stared at him. He tried not to show his shock, but Kovath’s grin said otherwise. Either the man had spies among the mercs, he’d sorted out exactly what happened to Vashia, or he’d sprouted a sudden parental instinct.

“Yes, Sir.” He hurried from the room before anything else could go wrong.

If Kovath knew his daughter had bagged herself a king, then he’d sort out the ugly truth faster than a solar flare. Kovath would label Jarn completely unnecessary, and that was something he just couldn’t live with. He’d worked far too hard to lose this close to his goal. He thanked his quick thinking in telling Syradan to do the girl in. Jarn had a feeling if he’d let her live, Kovath’s child would have been the death of him.

D
olfan checked
the day’s variance and circled the craft again. Everything looked orderly, polished, and pristine for the queen’s trip.
Their trip.
He turned back toward the steps, squinted and found no one coming down the incline yet. The Shroud swirled peacefully above, but he still glared at it before running to check the readouts again.

He heard voices before he’d reached the screens, too many voices, by his count. He abandoned the shed and popped back out in time to see Syradan, Vashia and Peryl descending to the platform. The Seer led Vashia by the elbow, keeping her steady as she retraced her path to the spot where the Shroud had nearly killed her.

Peryl trailed them, and his chatter echoed against the canyon walls to either side. He hesitated long enough to wave down to Dolfan, then skipped two stairs at a time to catch the others. Why would Peryl feel the need to see them off?

Dolfan held his breath as she passed the exact spot she had once lain, face down on the steps through the storm haze. They moved on with Syradan whispering close beside her and Peryl bouncing merrily in their wake, until the smooth pad lay under her feet, and the stairs rose behind her. Safe.

Dolfan watched the Shroud pick out the honey in her hair and took a steadying breath. They’d never exactly been alone before, and the crater they headed for took a good hour to reach. He’d never make it without committing a major act of treason, but he was prepared to accept responsibility for the results.

Syradan brought her to the vehicle. Dolfan met them there, striding up to offer Vashia a hand and only noticing the look the Seer cast his direction after the queen had boarded. Syradan’s brows came up, but he didn’t have time to relay his warning before Peryl squeezed in between them. He nodded to Dolfan and stepped up into the transport.

“Peryl will be coming along,” Syradan said without hiding the sigh of defeat.

“Huh?”

“I need to get out of here.” Peryl stuck his head back out and grinned. “The tension is giving me a case of hives.”

“Oh.” He looked to Syradan for help, but the Seer shrugged and turned back to the palace. He’d apparently done the best he could. “Good. Well, then—”

“Get this thing moving,” Peryl said, giggling, “before someone interferes.”

“Right. Before.” Dolfan climbed in and pulled the hatch shut then slid into the pilot’s seat. Peryl had, at least, allowed the queen to ride shotgun, strapping himself into the couch behind her and continuing to rattle on.

“If Haftan isn’t crowned soon, I may have to join you on the moon, Dolfan. The mood in that place lately, ugh.”

“I suspect some of that is my doing,” Vashia said. “The accident—”

“Oh no!” Peryl leaned against his straps and put a hand on her shoulder, casual, touching her as if they’d been friends for years. “Of course not. It’s the stupid throne as usual.”

Dolfan slammed the charge to full and the craft jolted straight up as the magnetic cushions clashed underneath. The spinning undercarriage hummed, drowning out the next comment before he adjusted the toggles and it settled into normal idle.

He let his eyes flicker across the gauges, but kept his ears focused on the conversation. They had an hour to the crater, another back. Even with Peryl along for the ride, he had a chance to at least gather information.

“No offense.” Vashia leaned back into her headrest and he heard her sigh. “But I’m not sure I get the appeal of the throne.”

“You sound like Dolfan.” Peryl sat back as the currents changed. The craft sped forward over the lip and along the road that would take them down the valley. “He never understood it either.”

“You didn’t want the throne?” She turned to him inquisitively. “Why not?”

“It was more about avoiding trouble.” He answered deftly, with an answer that Peryl could pick up and run with. The younger prince didn’t disappoint him.

“Mofitan and Haftan both wanted it enough for all of us,” Peryl said. “Shayd’s the only one with any significant
seeing
. Tondil doesn’t care for the idea of a bride any more than I do, although, you can imagine, for different reasons.”

They both laughed then, low and more intimately than Dolfan would have liked, sharing some private joke that he didn’t understand. He followed the road through the domes and factories and wondered for the tenth time when Vashia had become so chummy with Pelinol’s son.

“I think you would have made a good king, Peryl.”

The vehicle lurched to the right, barely keeping within the magnetic lane. Dolfan swung it back center and to keep it airborne. He needed to focus on the road. She didn’t understand what she’d just said, did she? Had she suggested a pairing with Peryl to taunt him?
Don’t you mean to taunt Haftan?
He growled out loud, turning it into a cough when they both looked in his direction.

“No,” Peryl continued, but he kept his gaze on Dolfan a few moments longer than necessary. “I am definitely not Heart material.”

“You listen to everyone,” Vashia continued. “You pay attention to details no one else sees, and you don’t judge others.”

“No.” Peryl popped his head back between them again. “I’m not king material.”

“You come from the right line,” Dolfan said it without thinking. It couldn’t do any harm to endorse Peryl now, when it was too late. “Though I think you’d have had your hands full with Mofitan and Haftan on your council.”

“And you.” Peryl laughed. “Don’t forget.”

He snorted and watched the lip of the canyon approach. The Shroud touched it gently, soft and placid today, but he caught Vashia’s eyes traveling forward, and he saw her stiffen as they swept up the wall.

“What about Dielel?” she asked. “Didn’t he want it?”

“Dielel wants what Haftan tells him to want.” Peryl shrugged and touched her again. “Though he’s a bit lost now that Haftan’s so busy. I caught him tailing Mofitan and Shayd yesterday.”

Dolfan managed to pilot them out into the Shroud without veering into the cliff wall, but only just. He’d need to tell them—Shayd at least—if Haftan had Dielel spying. He knew Mofitan couldn’t pull off subtle. Damn it, if Haftan suspected they doubted his throne they’d start their stint as a Council in a whole mess of trouble. Political difficulty would also mean more meetings on the ground.

Dolfan glanced sideways at the woman who would sit beside Haftan during those meetings and wondered which would be worse, watching her rule beside Haftan, or living on the base with the whole weight of the Shroud between them. He didn’t want either, and if Syradan could find another option, damned if he wouldn’t support it no matter who sat on the throne.

B
y the time
they dipped back out of the Shroud, her fingernails had cut permanent moons in the armrests. She pretended not to notice when the blinking probe dropped over the rim, but her spine tensed every time it did so. When they finally followed it into clear, artificial airspace again, she let out a long sigh of relief.

Dolfan flew them down into the natural cleft in the core, piloting through the rim checkpoint and heading straight toward a swath of hydro tubes and atriums. Syradan had said Tarren’s husband worked in agriculture, but that the crater also produced a heavy export in raw gemstones.

Her gaze dropped to Peryl’s hand on her arm. His ring nearly glowed in the low interior lighting. Silvery metal hugged the large cabochon, milky white as moonstone, but with the faint bands wriggling through it. Did the mines in this crater touch the Heart vein? She wondered how many points of feldspar broke the Core’s surface. Had Tarren’s crystal ceremony served her well?

The engines cut abruptly, and Dolfan triggered the door.

“I believe we’re here.” He threw her a look that held traces of humor around the edges. “If the woman bouncing down the pad in our direction is any indication.”

Tarren.
She couldn’t imagine Tarren bouncing if she tried, but sure enough, the woman’s face appeared in the door before it had opened enough to stick a leg out. She had to have run to them.

“Is she in there? Vashia? Are you okay?” Her tone threatened to kick in the door. Vashia would have put money on her friend if it had come to that.

“I’m here. Fine. Just unbuckling.”

“They said you were hurt.”

“She tried to kill herself. Hi.” Peryl stuck his head out and forced Tarren to take a step back. He had no idea how much danger that put him in, how close he was to being punched.

“He’s joking!” Vashia struggled to extract herself faster and intervene before her friend throttled the king’s son. “It was an accident, and I’m fine. Just sore.”

A strong hand slid over and punched the button on her restraint. The straps snapped back to their housing and she was freed. Just like that. “Better?”

She caught a similar note of amusement in Dolfan’s question. His eyes matched. They sparkled, and she could have sworn he’d just flirted with her. But he moved away immediately, and gave her space to disembark. She stood and slid between the seats and followed Peryl out the hatch and into an unexpected bear hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Tarren whispered. “They wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“I forgot to wear my breather like a complete idiot.” Vashia wiggled away and winced. She
was
sore, and the hug reminded her chest just how much trauma her lungs had been through recently. “I tried to drink the Shroud, but it was an accident.”

Tarren eyed her for a second, then nodded as if she’d assessed the situation fully. “Idiot. Yep. I knew you’d get into trouble on your own.”

Both princes laughed, though Dolfan hid it better than Peryl, and she didn’t know which one to holler at first. She turned back to her traitor friend. “I see you’re bathing again.”

“Nice. Yes, I’ve rediscovered hygiene. Come on and I’ll show you why.” She threw an arm across Vashia’s shoulder and steered her away from the craft. A Security officer stood at the edge of the pad. He conversed with a second man, one garbed in the most muted Shrouded wraps she’d ever seen. Both men snapped to attention when they closed the gap.

“Lords, Highness.” The officer saluted before joining his fellow in a bow.

“This is our field foreman, Lual,” Tarren said.

The man in the brown silk nodded to her, to both princes, then focused on Tarren before speaking. “Lady, we have a situation that might require the princes’ attention.”

“How’s that?” Dolfan slid in closer until he stood at Vashia’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re not certain.” The Security officer spoke now, directly to Dolfan and with a voice that expressed his honor in doing so. “We’ve had no communication from Base 14 since the storm last week.”

“We are aware of that,” Dolfan said. “The weather must have taken out some of the relays near the platform, but as I understood it, a crew was working on restoring functionality. Once the coronation is over, I’ll be returning to handle things from above.”

“Yes, of course, but this morning we received a report that another relay has failed.”

“What?” Now his tone shifted, and Vashia knew he worried, that the new information meant more than she could gather just from their statements. “Which one?”

“Near here.” The officer shifted his feet and looked off toward the crater lip. “NW125B has stopped transmitting. One of our transports heading to the platform had to double back.”

“Damn.” Dolfan shifted his gaze to the same spot, as if he could see the problem from where he stood. “It could be a systemic failure. Or the storm may have done more damage than we thought.”

“Have you had any issues at the complex?”

“Not besides the base going silent. I wonder how far spread it could be.” He looked from the horizon to the transport and then back. “We should check the relays on the way back, but I’d like to get word to the palace as well.”

“You can use our comm.”

The officer turned and headed toward a low shed snugged up close beside to the pad. Tarren tossed an arm around Vashia again and pulled her in the direction of the domes, but Dolfan’s hand landed on her shoulder and she stopped her feet, tugging Tarren back with her.

“I need to send a message to Pelinol,” he said.

“I’ll go with them,” Peryl slid up and shoved his way in between them. “You can catch up.”

She let Tarren and Peryl drag her away, watching Dolfan over one shoulder and reveling in the look on his face. Before he turned away she winked at him, a compulsion that her logical mind should have stifled. Still, his mouth quirked at one corner and she felt the thrill of his reaction. She could flirt too. He’d started it, after all.

She followed Tarren, with Peryl on her arm and the farm worker leading the way. Each step felt better than the one before it. Maybe she’d just needed to get away from the Palace complex. Having Tarren close reminded her that she wasn’t the only lost soul on the planet. It made her remember how light she’d felt on the moon base, how hopeful. Even if the Heart had proved a sham, at least she knew that something lived between her and Dolfan and that he knew it, too.

She had a friend on Shroud as well, one who she could be honest with, who knew the idea of her and Haftan was complete rubbish. Tarren hadn’t even wanted the fairy tale, hadn’t hoped the way Vashia secretly had. If she could live with a Shrouded husband and not kill him outright, at least they could whine to one another about it in private.