The Warlord's Daughter (15 page)

At a desk nearby, Ellen Holloway sat hunched over an ancient religious volume with another cadet, Arrak, one of the half-blood twins. As part of their special project, they’d chosen to attempt to decipher Bolivarr’s scrawled runes, guided by Sister Chara, a pious woman who’d dedicated her life to the study of ancient Sakkaran. At the derogatory term “Hordish pillaging” Ellen glanced up with narrowed eyes. Was it a budding romance? Or was Ellen merely being protective?

Hadley could relate to both. Her focus shifted to Bolivarr studying the holo-image. If he broke down or had a seizure, she would cut off the transmission immediately. It would take time before Drakken were seen as entirely human. Too many monstrous acts during the war had given them the reputation of being soulless mercenaries. She didn’t need more negative press. Hadley switched off the broadcast feature and used a private channel to speak to the journalist. “Whether or not Drakken are responsible for any acts of looting, this mission wasn’t launched to place blame. It’s to bring us together and give us hope.” Disgusted, she let the interview resume. “Star-Lieutenant Tadlock is mapping the surface,” she said. “Using the most sophisticated equipment we have, we’re examining every square inch of the surface, and under every rock. If there’s a single relic left, we’ll find it. Even the smallest piece will be significant.”

“What are your concerns, Captain, in sending an advance team down to the surface?”

“That they’ll be able to see the wonders of a discov
ery before I will,” Hadley replied, all while keeping a wary eye on Bolivarr, who was now making a circuit of the holovis, his focus intense. “And, yes, there is the concern that others will have beaten us to the site. The planet’s been forgotten for generations. No telling who’s been here first. There is the threat of treasure hunters and pirates. I and my crew have full authority to arrest or deter any interference with our exploration.” She sounded firm enough, but knowing how green her crew was, an encounter with either treasure hunters or pirates would have her hands full. Hers and Bolivarr’s.

Hadley returned to the holovis and Bolivarr. He shook his head. “The planet itself means nothing to me,” he said, his hands flat on the table. “Nothing.” Somewhere inside he held the secret to finding the location of a significant artifact. Hadley was certain. But it remained locked inside him with the rest of his memories.

“It’s something from my life before.”

“Something bad?”

“Something I’m supposed to know.”

A wraith obsessed with the religion of his enemy, she thought. She hoped it reflected an epiphany he’d had before he was attacked and lost his memory, and not acts of genocide, ferreting out believers and turning them in. His bitter hatred of the warlord gave her hope.

His fingers brushed furtively along the line of her uniform pants. He motioned with his chin in the direction of her office. She followed him in and closed the privacy door.

“I’ve briefed the crew on the security warning,” he said. There were now three Drakken fugitives on the loose, two former battlelords and the warlord’s daughter.
Big trouble for the Triad. They were to be detained on sight. “We got out of the Ring just in time. Things must be chaos right now.”

“It’s humiliating for Zaafran. He trusted the younger Mawndarr and he turned on him.”

“What if he didn’t?”

She stopped in the middle of neatening her desk. “I…don’t know. I never considered doubting what Zaafran said.”

“I’m not saying we should doubt him. It just seems premature to assume the son freed the father. It’s too easy.”

She considered Bolivarr as she pondered his opinion. “It’s easy because it’s obvious.”

Bolivarr’s brow lifted. “Is it?”

“If Aral Mawndarr didn’t free his father, then who did?”

“They’d better be looking down that path, Hadley. That’s my point. Otherwise, all we’ve got is a witch hunt, and that might be exactly what the resistance wants.”

He seemed to be leaning more heavily on his cane than usual. Meds had kept him from obsessing over the five points to the point of losing sleep, but she wasn’t so sure they were working. “On a lighter note, I wanted to let you know I’m looking forward to our dinner tonight. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.” He pretended to concentrate. “Hmm. I can’t remember anything at all, in fact.”

She pretended to frown at him. “Stop that.”

He smiled.

“Mother’s package arrived before we left the Ring. I’ve got most of the ingredients I need. The rest I’ll procure from the galley. Talo cuisine is so good it’s rumored to be an aphrodisiac.”

He said in her ear, “As if we need one.”

She almost kissed him, then remembered where she was. She sat in her desk chair. It was the safest spot in the room, and the only place she could keep her hands to herself.

“I’d like to be able to eat Talo home-cooking the rest of my life. But only if you come with it.” He sat on the edge of the desk, his hand tight on his cane. “I don’t want to wait anymore, Hadley. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. We’ve been together for a while now. Waiting on my memories to come back to make us official isn’t something I want to do anymore.”

Was he revealing his intentions to marry her? Her heart couldn’t be beating any faster than when she’d been facing down the missiles of that Drakken battle-cruiser.

He rooted in his uniform pocket. “It’s just a little surprise. Something I hoped you’d wear tonight.”

“Wear? Ooh.”

He handed her a box that fit in the palm of her hand. As she lifted the lid, he watched her with a sweet, boyish smile and those dark, soulful eyes. Two tiny earrings sat on a square of silk. Each was set with a perfectly cut, red ruby stone. His choice surprised her because she’d never mentioned an affinity for rubies or even red. She’d just never considered herself a red girl. Pink maybe. Or powder blue. But they were lovely and maybe it was time to start being more “red” and daring. “Ah, Bo. They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Hurriedly she put them on, angling her head so he could admire them.

Watching her, he went still. A strange, almost confused look took over for a split second. “Memory?” she asked. “What? Get it out before you forget it.”

“It’s gone. Whatever it was.”

The earrings, she thought. “Where did you find them?”

“I was wandering around that indie market in the basement of the Ring before we left. I didn’t even mean to stop at that jewelry merchant. These just jumped out at me, stopped me right in my tracks.” He cracked a soft smile. “I actually didn’t buy them at first, but I kept thinking about them. Seeing them. It developed into quite a little obsession. That was it, I thought. I’m going to buy them for Hadley. So I did. I’m glad you like them.” He hopped off the desk, suddenly energized. “Dinner. Later.” He lowered his voice. “You’ll look great wearing red.”

Red. Blood. Drakken. She didn’t let her doubts appear in her face. She smiled instead as Bolivarr walked from the office, and reminded herself that red also meant love.

V
ANTOS RETURNED
to the bridge after seeing to some repairs caused by the repeated transits. “We’re in good shape, all things considered. Now, for practical matters. We’ve got four people aboard and one bunkroom—mine. Who’s sleeping with whom? I’ve got no problem doubling up.” He aimed a wicked grin at Kaz, who maintained her perfect military bearing and paid him no mind at all.

“The women will share your quarters,” Aral said. “I’ll take a mat on the floor.” And as far from Wren as possible.

The nightmares necessitated it. He would not risk her seeing the insanity tickling the edges of his mind. Karbon’s legacy.

She was searching his face even as he formed the thought. Her eyes missed nothing when it came to him.
She saw the signs of exhaustion, gut-deep and inescapable. Too many interrupted nights. In all his careful planning, he’d not planned for that eventual aspect of their marriage. Sleeping together. She’d never be able to spend the night with him. His shattered sleep would rob him of her in his arms.

Vantos gestured down the dim, narrow corridor with a flourish. “Hydroshower’s in my quarters. The bio-cleaner’s over there by the second lavatory. See? What service. When you feel the need to travel again, I want you to remember Vantos airways.” Chuckling, Vantos rubbed his stomach. “Running sure gives me an appetite. Anyone else famished?”

Wren stifled a moan. She was pale, her hair messy.

“Why, I thought you’d have your space legs by now,” Vantos said.

“I loathe flying. I abhor it. I want to find somewhere to live that doesn’t move—and stay there.”

“Not me. I can’t be still.”

“Neither can I,” Kaz admitted, and made a quick exit to use the hydroshower.

Aral wasn’t surprised to hear the runner wanted to keep running, but as close as he was to Kaz, her answer came as a surprise. Perhaps it was because her best memories were on board a ship. Oddly, his own were the narrow windows of time growing up on the Mawndarr estate when his father was away on duty. Bliss, those days were.

“And you, Aral?” Wren watched him with curious, appraising eyes. “Would you miss being on a ship?”

“Being in another ship’s missile sights, sending my best-trained pilots out only to see three-quarters of them
return, seeing lush worlds blackened to cinders. No. I won’t miss ships, and I won’t miss war.”

Vantos observed Aral for a pensive moment before nodding and walking away to the galley.

Nevermore
had been stocked and ready for a prolonged journey. Vantos’s situation was the exact opposite. The man lived day to day. Aral planned years in advance. For what good it had done him, he thought. Nothing had turned out as expected.

From down below, cookware clanked and rattled. “Go with Vantos,” Aral told Kaz when she emerged clean from a quick and efficient sailor’s shower a few moments later. “Keep an eye on him.”

Kaz looked as if she wanted to do anything else as she turned toward the galley.

Next, he looked for his wife. They were finally under the same roof. He could hardly believe it.

Wren held the soiled priestess robes in her arms, about to deposit the bundle in the bio-cleaner.

“Careful,” he said. “We can’t afford to risk angering the gods. If there are any, I want them on our side.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” With as much respect as possible, she lowered the garment into the cleaner. It was a disguise they may well need in the future. “This technology is a marvel. We had nothing like this on Barokk.”

Quieter, he asked, “How are you faring?”

“I’m exhausted.”

“I hope Vantos’s quarters are to your liking. On
Nevermore
I had quarters specially made for you.” He’d taken pride in its construction. It had sat empty for months waiting for Wren to finally sleep in it.

“You planned for us to always sleep apart?” She
seemed confused. “Is the marriage only out of duty then? To protect me? I know I’m small…and plain, but…” Her voice turned a little husky. “You called me beautiful—”

“You
are.
” She had no idea what she did to him. What was beautiful about her went straight through to the soul.

“So you have no expectation of this marriage ever working?”

“Nor is that the case.” He scowled. His tone was sharp. “Sometimes I don’t sleep well.”

“It’s like that for everyone.”

“No. Not like this.” He turned to look out at the stars when all he wanted to do was tuck her into his arms. She’d probably crack him over the head with the pistol he’d given her, unless he concocted an excuse like he did in the camp, telling her they had to disguise themselves as lovers.

“I went through great pains to create a comfortable living space for you. It’s a sanctuary where you’ll feel safe. A place you can call your own.”

“You made a nesting spot one might put together for a new pet.”

“A pet!” Had he? Blast. “You will know the difference between being my wife and being my pet. I’ll make sure of it.”

Wren’s head tipped back as she adjusted her glasses. Her long, exploratory gaze started at his mouth and ended up somewhere near his belt. He didn’t think it possible, but he turned red.

Blast. Not again. Wren’s glorious eyes flickered with a hint of amusement. “What might that entail, Aral Mawndarr?”

“You wouldn’t know about such matters.” She was an
innocent, a quality held in high esteem for the typical battlelord husband. And why he probably didn’t place importance on the issue, aside from knowing he’d have to take care their first time.
If
there was a first time. Undefeated in battle, his record with Wren was laughably poor.

“I know more than you think,” she said. “I read a lot of books on Barokk.”

“I’m not talking about folk tales.”

“Neither am I. My guardian had several volumes of erotic literature. Dog-eared.” That seemed to strike her funny. It hit him that it was the first time he’d heard her giggle outside his fantasies. It got to him, too. His cold rock of a heart went out to her. Not in pity, but in stark admiration. After being pulled out of her sheltered bubble of an existence and threatened with an executioner’s chambers, if she’d curled up into a fetal position and given up, no one would have blamed her. Yet here she was, leading him in circles.

Leading him into bed with her.

She had already made it clear she didn’t mind the trappings of marriage. She just didn’t want the trap.

By the time he turned back to her, she was striding away in the direction of the hydroshower. It took a mighty effort, but he tore his mind from thoughts of his naked wife standing in the shower, water sluicing over her body, and how he’d like to chase the rivulets with his tongue. Then again, he’d always been able to express himself better physically than with mere words. If he could be with her the way he wanted to be with her, she’d understand his intentions, and perhaps even trust them. He wanted her as neither a slave nor a pet, but, blasted fates, he’d certainly not been very convincing.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. His head ached with fatigue.
Bed her.