The Warlord's Daughter (10 page)

It was obvious he didn’t believe for a minute she was a priestess. With her hood off and a fight she’d just fled, just how believable was her disguise now? Not very. Not only that, she couldn’t see.

The shouts of the guards came closer. The trader called to them, “It’s about time security got here.”

She tried to bolt. He wouldn’t let her. “Hey, hey. They’re not going to hurt you.”

“No,” she gasped. “No authorities.”

“Why? You in trouble with the law, sister?” He seemed amused by the prospect. “Don’t worry. I got you covered. I’ll take care of this and then we’ll go have a drink—I mean, for you a glass of water, right?” He acted as if they were in on the same joke. “Stay here.”

A guard’s boots crunched closer on the gritty street. The crowd had cleared a wide circle. Everyone knew the look of police activity and wanted no part of it. “So, what happened here, Vantos?”

Vantos. That was his name. He knew the guard, a female.

“The creep wanted a piece of something she wasn’t willing to give.”

“That right, sister?” the guard asked Wren.

Wren nodded.

“Disgusting.” Wren relaxed a fraction as the guard’s fingers tapped on her datapad. “Even a priestess isn’t off-limits around here. We’ve had incidents like this all day. Must be the full moons. He looks nice wearing your lunch,
though. Good job, sister. I hope what happened here makes the rest of them think twice about thinking they can take advantage of the females in this camp.” Then she held out her hand to Wren. “Your data square, please.”

Wren hesitated. The guard would see she wasn’t identified as a priestess, or even a believer. Her excuse was going to be that she was a new apprentice. “I got you covered,” Vantos assured her softly.

“Thanks for intervening,” the guard told him. “That’s not like you.”

“Blasted right. Subduing the local populace isn’t my job. It’s yours.”

“I know, I know. You’ve told us enough times. You do your thing, and we do ours, even though you slept on our outposts—”

“After running
your
supplies cross the blockade—”

“—and drank in our bars—”

“Listening to your pilots drink toasts in
my name
for saving their asses from another ambush your own intel didn’t have a clue about,” Vantos argued, motioning Wren to hand over her data square.

The guard took the data square as Vantos continued to engage her in conversation clearly designed to distract. The guard sighed as she inserted the data square into her reader. “You should be dead, you know.”

“Yeah, well, that’s on a lot of people’s wish lists it seems.”

“Vartekeir Vantos is a legend as a runner,” the guard explained to Wren.

She sensed the dark look cast in her direction. “I used to run the blockade you Drakken set up in the Borderlands to cut us off from the front. That was then. Now
I’m freelance trading with the camps because there’s not enough Coalition around to do the job—or do it right. I’m the one who brings in the supplies to the camps that you Drakken go through faster than we can keep up.”

“Like chem-toilets,” the guard teased.

“Chem-toilets are easy money. I like easy.”

He was a freelancer. A man with no love lost between himself and the military establishment. He wore his lack of loyalties like a badge of honor, and bragged of his love of easy money. Profit was the way to this trader’s heart—and quite possibly her way off-planet, she thought with sudden hope.

She knew as little about profit as she did men. What would be fair to offer? No refugees were supposed to leave. Putting him at risk would cost her. If the jewels weren’t enough, she had treasure at her disposal. The fact that she didn’t know exactly where it was didn’t matter. Someone like Vantos would figure it out.

“You got an appointment, sister,” the guard commented. “Med tent. Vision repair. That right?”

“It is. Yes.” Just as she contemplated using it as an excuse to leave the scene of the fight, Vantos took her arm.

“I’ll escort you,” he said gallantly. She began to feel thankful that she’d bumped into this trader of all the others, though a strong sense of self-preservation kept her from trusting him or anyone here fully. “Like you said, the sister needs to be seen by the doc.”

“Her appointment’s not for two hours.”

“I’ve got it covered, Ellie.” As he urged Wren along, she tripped over something that sounded hollow and metal. He kept her from falling. “You really can’t see, can you?”

“No,” she mumbled, ashamed.

He steered her up to the med tent. “The sister’s got an appointment.”

“Data square,” the med tech said tiredly.

Wren felt hope drain out of her. “It’s with the guard.”

“I can’t help you without a data square.”

They turned back.

“Hold on, Vantos.” The guard was calling. She caught up to them, breathless. “There’s a problem with her data square.”

A problem. Wren gulped. Her blood roared in her ears.

“I’ll handle it, sweetheart,” Vantos murmured. “Don’t tell me—they double-booked her for med exams.”

“No…” The guard scanned her data reader. “Her ID’s been flagged by Borderlands Patrol.”

Flagged? “What does that mean?” she asked weakly.

“Hard to say, sister. It could be an administrative issue, or maybe they want to ask a few questions.”

Vantos argued. “I saw the whole thing. She was forced to defend herself. Since when is that a crime?”

Her crime was being the firstborn of the most hated man in history. A death sentence. She had to escape Zorabeta—now. Everything hinged on it. Peace itself. “Help me,” she whispered to Vantos.

A strange cough came out of the trader’s throat. “Help” may have been the wrong thing to say. What did one say to a man she fully intended to use? It was for a greater purpose, for the good of all humanity, keeping her from starting another war, but it was using all the same. Another trait she’d inherited? The more she found out she was like the warlord, the more she wanted to prove herself the opposite. But she needed Vantos.
Needed to use him. Maybe when she was done with the man she’d make it up to him. Somehow.

There was no time to waste. She’d go right to the bribe without any preliminaries. “I want to buy passage on your ship.” She fumbled for one of the bags of gems. “I will pay half now, and the other half upon arrival.” She sounded so matter-of-fact as preternatural calm flooded her. Desperation did that. It was life or death now, and she was making a very risky bid for life.

Vantos hesitated as if her offer had caught him completely by surprise. “There’s more where this came from,” she said.

“More than that bounty?”

Her heart almost stopped. He wanted the bounty. Of course he did. Everybody did.

“More,” she said, “than that.”

“It’s fifty million queens.”

“Pocket credits compared to what I can give you if you get me out of here.” She hoped she was right. She honestly didn’t know what kind or how much treasure waited to be unlocked, or where she’d find the mysterious Ara Ana.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m listening.”

Her spirits leaped. Dangling her bait, she’d appealed to his greedy side and caught him. Now all she had to do was reel him in by convincing him that her offer trumped the Triad’s. “I have a key to a treasure. I need transportation there. In exchange, you’ll get a percentage.”

“You still haven’t told me how much.”

“Riches beyond your imagination.”

“You don’t know my imagination. It’s pretty big. Where is this treasure?”

“No more answers until I’m safely on your ship. And don’t think you can steal the key and keep the treasure for yourself. I have to be present to open it.”

“You’d better be telling the truth. When we get to the treasure and there’s nothing for me, it won’t go well for you, sweetheart. I guarantee that.”

When.
He’d said when. “So, you’re in.”

“Hells, yeah, I’m in. I know a win-win situation when I see it. Let me see that key.”

“I’ll show you on your ship. Not a moment before.” Fates, she thought, growing light-headed from the heat and nerves. What had happened to the quiet mouse?

She disappeared weeks ago.

Whatever doubts he’d had earlier, he’d conquered them. “Let’s go.” He started walking her away.

“Vantos! Where are you going?”

“To complete a business transaction.”

“What about her eyes?”

“Give me her data square back. They won’t see her without it.”

“No can do.”

Wren sensed tension ratchet up in Vantos. It put her on alert. She was desperate, but she’d make blasted sure her instincts were right about him before she set foot on his vessel. Why was he suddenly her champion? He’d jumped in to help her even before she’d brought up money.

“My job’s to keep you and everyone else in this camp from obstructing justice. I can’t make exceptions, even for you, Vantos.”

“Come on. This isn’t justice.”

“How do you know? This camp is crawling with
criminals. We just haven’t the time or resources to find them all. Not that you’re one of them, sister,” she assured Wren. “But we have to be cautious.”

It didn’t matter. If the guard put enough doubt in the trader’s mind, he’d never consider her proposal.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Vantos. I’ve got agents on the way. They’re armed.” Ellie paused. “And I’m armed.”

He choked out a laugh. “You’d shoot me, Ellie?”

“I swear, Vantos, you are going to spend the night in the brig if you don’t stop interfering.”

“It’s me, Ellie.” He banged his fingers against the center of his chest. “Me.”

“That’s the only reason your ass isn’t already in jail, you crazy runner. In fact, I’m inclined to throw you in one cell and her in the other when I bring her in.”

Jail.
Wren imagined a cell with no way out but the executioner. Suddenly she felt weak in the knees. The black spots floating in her vision ballooned and she wobbled on her feet.

The heat and terror had finally caught up to her. Her skin went cold despite the sun baking down. The scene spun, her ears whooshing.

“I’ve got you,” an unfamiliar voice said. Strong arms catching her was the last thing she remembered before she became aware of sitting on the ground in the shade with her head lowered between her knees. She heard Vantos some distance away, arguing with the guard. Several pairs of boots kicked up dust next to her.

She was so parched and hot that all she wanted to do was to lie down and go to sleep. It was too dangerous. She might not ever wake up, but the temptation to give
in was strong. Only the need to get out of Zorabeta alive kept her conscious.

A straw snicked between her lips. “Drink.” Cold water squirted in her mouth. She choked and managed to get some down her dry throat. “More.”

She shook her head, but he didn’t take no for an answer. At his insistence, she drank her fill. Thankfully it stayed down.

The man crouched behind her. The smells of leather, dust and faint tang of sweat filled her nostrils. “Listen closely. You are not under arrest. This is a rescue operation. A raid.” He spoke close enough now for her to feel the warmth of his breath on her ear. Her body reacted with equal parts interest and alarm. “Obey my orders and you’ll get out safely.”

“Out of the camp?” she asked, not believing it could be true. Vantos had helped her, but how could she be sure about him? How could she be sure of this man? Suddenly everyone wanted to help her. Something was wrong. On the ground she was vulnerable. Blind and cornered, she wouldn’t let it end this way. As it ended for her father—blind to his enemies, a prisoner on his own ship. An inner voice urged her to run. She dragged her boots under her and pushed.

Hands heavy on her shoulders kept her in place.

“Let me up.”

“Do not fight me. For one, you won’t best me. Second, I’m not the enemy here.
They
are.”

They are.
Since Sabra had died, she’d been a solitary player in a terrifying game. No one had been on her side. She tried to wrest free.

“Awrenkka,” he warned low and soft in her ear.

She froze. He knew her name. Her real name. It startled her out of her daze. She blinked, swinging her gaze around. For all the good it did her. She couldn’t see. But she could hear and finally noticed what she should have before: the hint of the inflection characteristic of a noble-born Drakken in his voice. “You’re a loyalist,” she hissed. They’d finally found her. He claimed he was on her side. The words were seductive, all right. He knew just what to say. But this man was no rescuer, no savior. He was a self-absorbed, power-hungry crony of her father’s, the kind of man to whom her spirit, her feelings, meant nothing. She wanted nothing to do with the spoiled rich of the Hordish nobility, their rampant snobbery and class-awareness, their grating, suffocating attitudes on the subject of monogamy and commitment—one-sided, of course, to be obeyed only by the woman forced to marry them—which she’d decided long ago was a dangerous proposition for any sane-minded female. Growing up, she knew that marrying a battlelord was as inevitable as death; it would eventually claim her. Avoidance was futile. Had she found freedom only to stumble back into this trap: an ur-wolf dressed in trader clothing? Part of her wanted to throw herself on the mercy of the camp guard and plead for help. The other part of her knew it was too dangerous. Publicly making a connection with her and this loyalist could very well expose her true identity.

“A loyalist?” The man’s soft laugh was as weary as it was bitter. “I have no allegiance to the empire. I never did. I did however do what I had to do for us to be together.”

Us?
He was delusional. She felt faint all over again.

His voice was low, too low for others to hear, and close enough to tickle the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck. It raised bumps on her flesh. “The entire galaxy’s searching for you. We’ll find a way out. I am going to save us both.”

We’ll find a way out.

She twisted in his arms, her heart slamming hard against her ribs as she thrust a hand at his face. He didn’t flinch, didn’t fight her as she used her fingertips to “see,” tracing with no gentleness whatsoever the length of his nose, the jut of his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw. The dimple denting the very center of his square chin stopped her. Her fingertips hesitated, an unintentional caress. Aral…“Aral Mawndarr.” Her lost boy.