Shrouded: Heartstone Book One (25 page)

V
ashia brushed
the dust away from her mask and ground her teeth together. She pressed her hand over the tether attached to her waist and stumbled after the man secured to the other end of it. The face filter kept her breathing freely, but her terror drove her dangerously close to hyperventilation—something that could prove disastrous to a limited air supply.

The Shroud pattered against her clothes and skin. It washed the figure in front of her in light and shadow, making him shift from high detail to silhouette and back again.
Dolfan
. He’d been willing to let her decide, had taken her fear into account, when remaining at the transport would have been a mistake. Even she could see that.

So she’d sucked back the urge to cry, donned the protective gear, and shouldered a pack she was sure held half of what he carried. They recovered only one of the craft’s probes. Dolfan plucked it from the thick dust that caked the surface of the core. He pressed a lever and extended the handle that allowed the device to become a hand-held tracker for the nearest relay. Little good that would do, considering its damaged status. Still, he waved it to either side, adjusted some esoteric setting and then nodded to her.
The liar.

She smiled, even through her panic, and marched after him. The second probe failed to appear. They didn’t waste much time searching for it. Instead they walked through the haze, pretending it wasn’t poisonous enough to kill them in minutes, pretending that they knew where they were going and tied together by a short measure of woven silk.

She couldn’t have been happier.

Even scared out of her mind Vashia would have been content to keep walking, so long as they continued away from the Palace. She would have followed Dolfan into the Shroud without hesitation if it meant never returning, never producing the royal offspring or sitting like a dutiful queen beside Haftan’s throne. She imagined, just for a second, that he’d meant for this to happen all along.

He’d been shocked when Peryl joined them and hadn’t hid it well at all. He’d planned for them to have the trip alone, and she suspected Syradan had assisted him in arranging it. Maybe he had a ship waiting. Maybe they could leave the planet, contract be damned, and make a run for it. No one on Shroud would follow to fetch her back. That much, she would have bet on.

She’d seen his expression at Tarren’s. She’d seen how concerned he was. She knew his loyalty belonged to his people. Unlike her, Dolfan wouldn’t run away. It sent a shiver of guilt through her, cast a shameful shadow on her Eclipsan past. She’d never ask him to leave Shroud, because she already knew his answer.

She ran her fingers along the tether and watched his back fade in and out. They hardly needed the line. She could have found him by the static, but she imagined if one of them fell, the tug on the rope would trigger a quicker response. She imagined the safety measures were beaten into every Shrouded child in the same way the memory of the magnetic patterns were, the same way the absolute trust in their crystal Heart was. But if one could fail so fully, why couldn’t the other?

He slowed enough for her to catch up. When they stood shoulder to shoulder he pointed to a dark spot in the distance. It looked like a shadow, just another shift in the Shroud’s movement, but if she squinted at it, the shape definitely turned dome-like. Dolfan altered his direction and took off at a slower pace, a pace the kept her at his side where the static hummed the loudest. He kept his face forward, but his eyes drifted toward her more than once. Vashia walked beside him, worked her legs and made certain she was there, looking back, each time he checked on her.

By the time the bunker truly looked like a bunker and the dome could no longer be mistaken for a shadow, her legs burned. Her steps wobbled to one side and then the other at the whim of the winds as she lagged a half step behind Dolfan, even though he’d slowed twice to accommodate her.

He led her to the base of the relay. It possessed a smaller hover pad than the one in the Palace complex, the little buildings behind it were dwarfs of their royal twin, and the bike parked in the clamps under their overhang might as well have been a chariot. They climbed a service ladder to pad level and crossed the platform with a thicker Shroud pushing against their steps.

Vashia clung to a strip of railing while Dolfan opened the doors. When he waved her in, she had to use the rope and pull each step along it. He caught her half way and steered her inside. The doors slid shut at a touch and cut off the constant whisper of the Shroud. The sudden quiet pulled on her as much as her fatigue and she slumped against the airlock wall while Dolfan flushed the area.

When the chime indicated a proper level of safety, he triggered the inner door and they entered the relay’s main room. A wide console dominated the center. It smoked and threw sparks in intermittent showers to the metal flooring. The roof was intact, as far as she could see the damage all centered on the computer systems. The storm damn sure hadn’t done that.

“Who?” she moved to the nearest couch and dropped her outer wraps, shaking off a layer of dust along with them.

“Someone with no good intentions.” He dropped his own wrap in a pile at his feet and paced from one end of the bank to the other assessing the damage. “Someone with a weapon
and
no good intentions.”

A bad combination. Who would intentionally take out the Shrouded relays? Dolfan had proven the signals were little more than a backup system to the mental map embedded in the mind of every member of his race. Destroying this one had slowed down the cargo moving in and out of the crater, however. Losing the network could affect trade lanes and delivery times. It could shut down commerce, slow travel.
Travel.

“Do you think someone’s trying to stop the coronation?”

“Maybe. Has Haftan mentioned anyone that might be unhappy with him?”

She snorted, and realized how it sounded only when he turned a raised brow in her direction. “No. No, he—” She stumbled under the weight of his expression. “He doesn’t really speak to me.” How desperate did that sound? She tried to cover it. “I think you would know better than me. I mean. The Council—”

“The Council would never cross Haftan even if they disagreed with him.” He blinked and flushed red.

Vashia noticed his chagrin and relaxed. Apparently the Council wasn’t pleased with her husband either. Fine. At least they’d both screwed up. She tugged at the sleeve of her gown and shrugged. The wrappings had come loose during their trek, and one end fluttered free. “I suppose we’re both equally clueless, then.”

“I suppose.” He narrowed his eyes. “If we can restore the core memory, there might be a clue in there as to what happened.”

He turned back to the console. Mechanics had never been a strong area of study for Vashia, though she recognized a few of the tools in the box he fetched from a wall mount. His expertise quickly outpaced her, and she turned her attention back to her sleeves, both of which now sprung their bonds flapping in random puffs.

She fought them back under control, managed to get one arm tucked loosely into its binding and then turned her attentions to the other. The console beeped behind her, and she heard Dolfan cussing. A rain of sparks danced in the corner of her eye and then the sound shifted to a low hum.

She chuckled and snagged the silk tail. Usually, she pinned the stupid thing against the bedpost and kept it tight. Now she put her leg up on the couch and tried to use her knee for leverage. Her free fingers stuffed the fabric into a wad, but when she tried to pin them in place and reach the binding, the whole mess went slack again. “Damn it.”

Vashia took a slow breath and started again, tuck, fold, pin. The whole sleeve burst free and sent a rush of chilly air up her arm. She stamped her foot and growled, considered just letting the damn thing hang loose. Dolfan’s voice at her shoulder killed the thought. She hadn’t heard him cross the room.

“Here,” He said softly, snagging the silk tail midflutter. “With your permission?”

Vashia nodded. She didn’t trust her voice just then. His other hand took hold of her forearm, and the static between them flared into a crackle. His fingers slid up the silk, folded and tucked, and she felt the burn of tears against her lids. No one aside from Murrel and Lucha had ever helped her do this. She closed her eyes. She was supposed to be queen, but she was also the most pathetic bride on Shroud.

She clenched against emotions that made no sense. She’d never wanted it, had she? Not like Murrel had, but maybe more than Tarren. Dolfan pulled the silk bindings tight with each pass. He tucked and folded and wove the sleeves snug against her arms, and her skin burned beneath the fabric.

“Haftan should have wrapped these tighter,” he whispered. Vashia heard the same pressure in his voice that pushed at her eyes. He had to know, didn’t he, that Haftan wouldn’t touch her, would never touch her if she could help it?

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it quickly. If she had words, they would be the wrong ones. She shook her head, just slightly, just enough to shake off the lump in her throat, but the motion released the first tear instead and it fell on the silk, leaving a single round stain.

“Vashia.” His finger brushed her chin and lifted her face enough that she needed to look at him. His eyes shimmered.

“Haftan hates me.” Her voice sounded tremulous and weak even to her own ears. “He—I—”

They stared for a brief second before he pulled her in. Dolfan’s arms wrapped her torso in a vice-grip, but his lips only grazed hers. The shockwave might have shaken the dome overhead. Vashia wound one hand into the fabric of his shirt and let the other snake up to his neck. He whispered into her hair. “The Heart was wrong.”

“Yes.” Yes, damn it! He had known it, too! Her chest seized and the sobs broke loose, even when his lips returned. This time he pressed the kiss. This time, she sank into him and freed the tension, the sobs, and the passion.

His arms lifted her into the air as she clung to him. The roar of whatever bound them together drowned out the thoughts of politics and repercussions. His tongue danced across her lips and erased everything but him. “Vashia,” he hissed. His fingers wound through her hair and her head tilted to reach him better, to fit closer together.

Dolfan.

The console clanged from across the room. A series of beeps serenaded them, and he pulled back just enough to listen. His arms still pressed her close. Her blood still flamed in her veins, but the fury of the mechanical sounds couldn’t be ignored.

“What is it?” She spoke in gasps, out of breath and weak from both her tears and the sudden rush.

“It’s found something.”

He pulled her with him to the machine, one arm glued at her waist where—as far as she was concerned—it belonged. They leaned over the display together as the broken comm churned out the last remnants of its memory banks.

“There’s a message in here.” Dolfan’s free hand adjusted the signal strength. The machine beeped another sequence, and words began to scroll across the narrow screen.

“It’s from Madame Nerala.” Vashia read along with him. The words settled over them, effectively blotting out her first tremble of happiness in years. A face filled her memory, sneering and smug and completely out of context. Jarn walking down the corridor at Base 14. Jarn in a place he had no business being.

“Gods help us,” Dolfan whispered. “Someone’s taken the moon.”

T
he elevator car
poured mercenaries out onto the platform. Jarn stepped from his transport and scowled at the scene. His bodyguard kept a step to his left, watching the merc troops gather into formation days before they should even have been on the surface. Once they’d formed an aisle, Kovath strode from the car. His shoulders pressed back so far his chest bulged through his uniform, and his thick brows lowered in a single, slanted line over his eyes. The bastard had trumped Jarn again.

“Jarn,” Kovath spoke far louder than necessary. “Finally. I trust from your extended absence that the traitor’s information was accurate?”

“It was.”

“Fantastic.” Kovath’s beady eyes glinted. He turned his back on Jarn and faced the mercs. “Prepare to move out!”

“Kovath?” Jarn felt his cheek twitch and bit down hard against it. He tasted his own blood.

“What is it?” The governor turned at an intentionally slow pace. “Did you need something, Jarn?”

“The coronation is not for three days,” he spoke through his teeth. “Syradan will not be prepared for our arrival any earlier.”

“On the contrary.” Now Kovath smiled wider. “He’s quite anxious for his escape clause, Jarn. The man is jumpy, if you ask me. One little murder and he’s twitching like a gutter lizard.”

“You’ve been in contact with Syradan?” He ignored the clench of his stomach. Kovath couldn’t be bluffing if he knew about the murder, and if he knew about Vashia’s death, why did he still grin at Jarn like a mad man?

“Numerous times,” Kovath said. “He was more than eager to up the timetable, Jarn. More eager than he was to follow
your
orders, if I may. Still, a prince’s death serves
MY
purpose far more than Vashia’s could.”

“A prince’s death?” Now his skin went cold. Kovath knew about Vashia, and he seemed to think the little brat still lived. If Syradan had betrayed him, if the Seer handed Kovath a daughter who was queen, Jarn could only hope to run. Run and pray.

“Yes, Jarn.” Kovath took a step closer. “In what future you may still have, I should hope you’d involve me in any decisions concerning my child’s assassination.”

“Of course, sir. I—”

“You felt allowing Vashia to take the throne put you in a less favorable position,” Kovath said. He tugged on his glove and shrugged. “You were right, of course. Thank god Syradan has more self-preservation than loyalty. Thank god the man acted to his own advantage, or I might have been very disappointed in you.”

Jarn watched the governor work his way between the bodies of the Shrouded security to shout commands at the invading force. He worked his brain harder and faster than he’d ever had to. When the mercenary at his side failed to walk away, he spoke to the man as quietly as he could. “Still with me, Evan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He stood tall and nodded. “You get a chance, any chance to take that man out, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was a thin thread—Jarn and one guard against Kovath and the army—but at least for the moment, he lived. If he could manage to deprive the governor of that same luxury, he would, and if he ever got a hold of his traitor contact again, no one would be able to help Syradan.

T
he trip
through the Shroud passed in a flutter. Her arms clung to Dolfan’s waist as the bike rocketed over the dusty core. She hadn’t had enough time. The horror of the fallen base effectively killed their moment, but she’d only been able to tell him a fraction of what he needed to know about Jarn while he filled their packs and the bike’s storage compartment.

The bike bounced on the magnetic lane, shimmying and nearly ramming the probes that could barely keep ahead of it. Vashia chewed her lip inside the face mask and cursed her own stupidity. They’d herded her again, and she’d opened a door for them to invade Shroud. If they couldn’t stop it in time, she’d have infected the entire planet with the Eclipsan disease that was her father’s regime.

My father, my fault.
When the Kingmaker destroyed everything the Shrouded held dear, how would they look on her then? How would Dolfan? Vashia watched the haze fly by and prayed to all of it, the Heart, the Shroud, the whole damned planet that they could stop whatever Jarn and Kovath planned next.

They raced over the canyon lip and dropped, quick as a stone, down the wall before the artificial road caught them. The bike shot forward, and she saw only a blur of the atmospheric emitters and the safety platform before they’d left both behind. She clung to him, buried her face in the whipping black hair and savored what it felt like to be so close. Just in case it never happened again.

The Palace hover pad was deserted. Both flags flying over the plaza declared an all clear, but she still replaced her face mask with the tube breather while Dolfan stowed the bike and clamped it down. He had his on too, she noted, when he returned. One of his arms found her waist, and she welcomed the rush of relief, a small sign that he hadn’t yet blamed her, and hurried her steps alongside his.

They took the stairway together, crossed the plaza stride for stride and leapt up the stairs to the Palace entrance. Only when they passed the threshold and the static of the other princes howled from the open throne room did his arm drop away. She could see the Heart, dark and lifeless through the entry, a cold reminder that for the moment she belonged to someone else.

No matter. The Heart could call her whatever it liked. No contract could bind her to Haftan any longer. She set her shoulders. For now, they had bigger issues. They needed to warn Pelinol, to rouse the Shrouded defenses and prepare for the worst scenario possible.

Vashia marched behind Dolfan into the throne room certain of so many things. The last thing she expected was to have the entire Shrouded Council waiting, to see Pelinol and Lucha sagging in their thrones above the princes, to see the Security officers standing just inside the entrance. For a second, she assumed they’d found out about the moon. She assumed they’d intercepted Nerala’s message too, that the Shrouded already had defenses in place and at the ready. She even breathed with relief.

Then all eyes turned to them. Dolfan stopped walking. She saw him reach for a chair, for support, and her concern blossomed. She pushed forward, dodged his elbow and leaned to see what he had, to know what stopped him dead in his tracks. She should have known about assumptions. Her hopes always shredded in their wake.

On the floor, surrounded by princes, lay Tondil. Peryl slumped over him, shaking. Vashia didn’t understand, not fully, not until Peryl looked up. His eyes bore into hers, red, wet, and horrid. She took a step back. He hissed, an inhuman sound between his teeth, and raised one arm to point at her.

“You,” said Peryl softly, but even the static of the Heart stepped aside to allow his voice to echo through the mammoth room. “You killed him.”