The Warlord's Daughter (18 page)

Aral cleared his throat. “Neither man died at my hand.” She heard him twisting the towel in his hands. Her pulse skittered nervously. “But because of it.”

His voice was thick with sorrow, and even shame. Her throat began to ache. “It was you,” she said. Fates. “You were behind the coup. You let the prince pass through the perimeter.”

She pulled the towel off her eyes. He pressed it back in place. “Keep it on, Awrenkka.”

So he was back to calling her by her birth name. “Because of your actions, my father was killed.”

“Yes.”

A chill rippled through her.

He saw to the warlord’s death, then married his daughter.

Hero or murderer?

Or traitor? Until Karbon’s escape, Aral Mawndarr was the last battlelord standing. He’d wiped out every last one of his kind.

Her stomach ached. Blind, she gripped Aral’s hands with her shaking ones and thought back to the day they’d first laid eyes on each other. It had been the briefest of exchanges, but it had affected both their lives. She’d seen a lost boy, not a man capable of brutal violence. What in fate’s name had happened in between that day and now?

“I did it for you. I did it for us all. Despise me if you will, but I don’t regret bringing down this empire. I don’t know what our civilization started out as, but in
the end it was rotten, rotten to the core. Evil beyond redemption. Just as my father was. Karbon.” The name made him shudder with revulsion. “He was a monster of the same ilk as the warlord…with one difference. Your father practiced his cruelties on those outside his family. Not so Karbon. In fact, he seemed to derive the most pleasure in torturing those closest to him.”

She moved to take off the towel again. “No.” He pulled her hand away. “Keep your eyes closed.” He pushed to his feet. “One day, he raped and murdered our schoolteacher, if only because Bolivarr and I loved her.”

“Aral…” His name spilled out on a horrified gasp.

“I tried to save her, and he…” She heard his breath hitch. “He…”

“No.” She lurched out of the chair. Eyes closed, she found him, letting him crush her into his arms. “I don’t need to know more.”

He took a shuddering breath. “Between the drugs and the beating, I couldn’t be revived right away. I nearly died. When I did regain consciousness, he was gone. He stayed away for a year. It was the longest period of time he remained on assignment. It coincided with some of the Coalition’s worst defeats, the bloodiest campaigns. But that day I woke, I made the decision to stop him, to
end him.
I set out to punish him like he punished us. His family meant nothing to him. His status, his power, his empire did.

“I was on guard the day the warlord and your half brother died. I’d been passing intelligence all along, for years. I knew the Coalition prince was desperate to rescue his wife, the queen, from their clutches. I allowed the prince’s ship through the perimeter. I did this, and I
acted alone. I knew where the battlelords had run to hide. I gave their locations to Zaafran. Every last one.”

Wren clung to him as tears ran down her cheeks, some from the meds, some that were real. Aral Mawndarr had singlehandedly brought the empire to its knees, a civilization tens of thousands of years old. Thinking that she didn’t know her husband very well had become a gross understatement.

“The warlord blamed blindly, punishing others for the losses no one could explain. Battlelords were executed on his orders for the so-called lapses that
I caused.
Sadistic men, their passing didn’t sadden me in the least. I used the opportunity to befriend the warlord.”

“My father,” she whispered, knowing now where he’d go with this.

“I became a favorite. I was a frequent guest in the palace. I advised him. I made him laugh. He thought he’d befriended me as much as the man was capable of having a friend.” His voice dropped lower as he slid a hand over her damp cheek, cupping her face. Fates, if only she could open her eyes to see what was in his. “I could have committed my treason without becoming the warlord’s confidant. Easily. But there was more I wanted. There was a reason for my madness.”

He tensed at that word, his muscles bunching under her hands. “I left my morals at the door when I’d step into that palace. I cheered him his victories, and shared in the celebration. I turned my cheek to all manner of depraved behavior carried out within those palace walls. I was his friend. I tried to do so without compromising myself, but at times…” He paused, swallowing. “At times it was difficult. Then, one day everything I’d
worked for, and hoped for, came to be. He offered me his daughter. I took it. That, sweet Wren, I did for you.”

His fingers slid into her hair at the base of her skull. “May I kiss you, Wren?” His deep voice sent shivers spinning down her spine. She was his wife, willingly or no; he didn’t have to ask. He had every right to take, to force her hand, as was the way of their people, the way of
the Horde,
for thousands of years. He didn’t. He asked. It set him apart from all the others, even Sabra. Not once had anyone ever asked what
she
desired.

“Don’t be fooled. The boy will turn out like the father. A Mawndarr.”
Sabra’s long-ago warning screamed in her mind.

Wren’s instincts urged her to flee Aral. This was the trap she’d always feared, what she was certain would be the death of her spirirt: marriage to a battlelord. To a Mawndarr.

Run? Like a scared girl? Where was her courage? There was no freedom to be gained in running, in giving in to her fear. She needed to trust her instincts that told her she could trust Aral. Her newfound strength would make her his equal.

And soon, perhaps, his lover, she thought as his caresses melted the last shreds of her resistance. “Yes,” she murmured, “kiss me.”

As she held her breath in anticipation and pleasure, he placed one, single, soft-as-a-whisper kiss in the center of her lips. He’d hardly touched her and she was already shaking. He hovered close, his lips grazing her temple. Her blood heated to the boiling point as his lips traced a downward path along her hairline.

“It is time.” The physician’s melodic voice interrupted.

They moved apart but slowly, reluctantly. Aral kept a hand on Wren’s arm to steady her—or was it to steady himself? Her body sang from his tender kiss.

“Open your eyes, child.”

Wren used the towel to blot excess moisture. Then, holding her breath, she blinked her eyes open. And gasped. She’d been able to see with the glasses, but not like this. “Oh…my…” There were no words to describe it. What was always muted and blurred before was startlingly bright and clear,
vivid.
Everything looked bigger, closer. She’d never known what she’d missed.
The warlord did.
Yes, this is what he’d kept from her, either through sheer neglect or to keep her under his thumb. Never again. She soaked in the sight of Aral’s hard and handsome face. Happiness glowed in his eyes. They weren’t black, she realized, but charcoal-gray inside a darker ring. They’d seen so much pain, so much violence, and loss. She was able to put joy there.

“Tell, me, child, what do you see?”

“A hero.” Wren smiled. “I see my husband.”

A
RAL HONESTLY COULDN’T
recall the last time he’d allowed himself true joy. A rusty emotion indeed. In Wren’s eyes he was a hero, not a lunatic. If only she had an idea how much that gaze meant to him, her first taken without her glasses. He made sure he remembered to take her old glasses from the exam room. What was left of them. He no more wanted to shatter them than he did this moment. “I’ll save these for you to remember how far you’ve come.”

Miraculously, her arms rose. He caught her hands halfway to his shoulders and drew her close. His mouth
was on hers, and she was kissing him back with the heat of passion. Her skin was hot, her scent intoxicating, her body yielding. The need to hold her close went beyond wanting to console her, and wanting her to forgive him for all his mistakes, all his imperfections, all the invisible inner scars left from boyhood. They shared something, he and Wren, something that ran so deep he struggled to define it. He only knew that he’d never felt this way before.
Could not
feel this way with any other.

Then he remembered where they were—in a sanctuary, in front of
a priestess.
Almost roughly he pulled away before somehow calming himself, cradling her face in surprisingly gentle hands. Her violet eyes were as black as the band dividing twilight and space. As black as sin. He wasn’t a believer, but he had every reason to believe a night with Wren would be something close to heaven.

“Thank you, sister,” Wren gushed, gripping Aral’s hand. “Thank you for my eyes.”

Beaming at their joy, the woman simply nodded, smiling, as she waved at the door, signaling that they should go.

I
T WAS A NEW WORLD
. Wren couldn’t help but gasp at the tiniest things as they walked outside. “Everything’s so colorful. So clear.” Pirouetting, she felt like a newborn child. “I have a lifetime of seeing to make up for.”

“And I a lifetime of loving you.” With one big hand, Aral cupped the back of her head, sweeping her close. Aral was disciplined and cold, controlled. But it wasn’t the way he kissed. How she yearned to feel his hands on her bare skin, his hot mouth on her body. Every
where. It was said Rakkuu blood ran hot. It was one thing she’d inherited from the warlord that she actually didn’t mind having. No wonder her father had kept her locked away on a faraway all-female planet. He worried about
this.

Perhaps he did, but the reality of her situation dictated having to wait to know Aral more intimately. There would be no normal life for them until she completed her quest.

T
HEY RENDEZVOUSED
with Vantos and Kaz at the gate to Issenda. They buckled, holstered, and stowed their various weapons. “So what do you think now that you can see?” Vantos asked Wren, throwing his arms out wide.

Joyously she soaked in the sight of the sky and the hills, everything. “It’s incredible. More than words can describe.”

Vantos sucked smugly on a nanopick. “I knew you’d like me once you saw me.”

“Boor,” Kaz muttered, her dark eyes amused and disgusted at the same time.

“Are the provisions fully boarded?” Aral asked, all business again.

“Yeah. We’re done. We’re ahead of schedule, but I don’t want to jinx anything.” Wren started walking away with the men before she noticed that Kaz hadn’t followed. She remained with the blond sister, conversing with her, their voices too low for even Wren to hear. For a wild moment she thought that Kaz might want to stay behind. Then, solemnly, Kaz reached for her ruby earrings and removed them, dropping them one at a time into her hand. “There.” With a rueful smile, she carefully arranged them on the same polished slab where
they’d placed their weapons earlier. “A gift for the sanctuary.”

Kaz flicked a moist gaze at Aral, avoiding Vantos’s baffled gaze completely as she swept past the men in the direction of the ship.

“My brother gave them to her,” Aral explained.

In farewell, the blond sister made the sign of the goddess. “By the stars of Ara Ana, go in peace.”

Wren halted so fast that her boot heels skidded on the dirt. This time there were no glasses to worry about jostling off her nose. Her heart bouncing, she turned back to the woman. “Ara Ana,” she whispered. “It’s the birthplace of the goddesses, yes?”

“Wren, no,” Aral and Vantos cautioned at the same time.

“Do you know where it is?”

“We remember all,” the priestess supplied.

“We’re trying to find it, but I’ve never been here before.”

“No.” The sister bowed her head once and with respect. “But your mother has.”

A
RAL SWUNG
W
REN AWAY
from the priestess, his pistol coming up. Vantos and Kaz had theirs unlocked and ready to fire an instant behind him. “No,” Wren cried, lunging at him. “Please.”

“She knows who you are.” Alarm ripped through him. Fates, not this. Not now. He should not have let down his guard.

“Stop it.” Wren pulled on his arm, almost tearing off his sleeve. “Don’t!”

“Don’t!”
Into his mind burst the horrible image of him taking his father’s shirt in his fists as he tried to pull him away from a sobbing Nanjin, his ill-fated teacher.
“Let her go. Father, please.”

Aral coughed out a curse. Racked with self-loathing and shock at being put in the same place as his father, he pulled back but didn’t lower his weapon. “She’s a
priestess,
for fate’s sake,” Wren yelled, her eyes blazing. “She wants to help.” Furious, she pushed at Aral, and almost did the same to Kaz. Then she seemed to catch herself, staggering a few steps away to gulp deep breaths.

“Wren?” Was she hurt?

She thrust out an arm. “I’m fine. I…need a moment.”
She swiped a hand over her hair, calming herself. “Better now,” she whispered, turning back to the group.

“We’d better get out of here,” Vantos said, low and easy.

“Agreed,” Kaz said curtly. The fear he so rarely saw in her face was back. They were trapped away from their ship and their identities were compromised.

The strapping blond woman had observed the entire spectacle with little outward reaction, and certainly no fear. “Sorry,” Wren told her. “I’m sorry for what my father, my people, did.”

“They are forgiven. Go. Go now.”

“But my mother…what do you know about her?”

“Wren.” This time Kaz urged her to leave. But Wren seemed as uncaring of the danger as the priestess was sad.

The woman’s facial expressions were hidden by the silk. Only her blue eyes told of her feelings. “If you are here and not her, then…it is not good. I’m sorry.” She paused, her voice lower. “You have her eyes. That’s how we know.” Then she drew herself up to her full height, resembling a warrior more than a priestess. “Go quickly. Go now.”

Wren put her hands together, stepping backward as she bowed. “May the goddess be with you.”

“And also with you.”

Before the woman had even finished the sentence Aral was shoving Wren ahead of him. “We must egress now.” No matter what her thoughts about the strange priestesses here, they knew who she was. Unexpected as hells, but it had happened. How? The only people other than himself who knew what Wren looked like were dead, executed for war crimes—he’d made sure of it. Except for Karbon. Impossible. His
father didn’t keep company with believers. He slaughtered them.

You almost did.

He cringed. Fates. He’d never deliberately attacked believers, but in that moment the sister had been an enemy and, had the war-lust of defending Awrenkka overtaken him, he would have.

Wren jerked free of his grip. Proud, drawing her weapon, she pulled out in front.

He strode hard to match her pace. How did such a small woman walk so fast? “That was a foolish risk you took. Had she been a hostile, you’d be dead now.”

“But I’m not.” Her banked fury simmered. “She knew my mother, Aral. She recognized me because of our eyes.”

“Another disturbing turn of events.” Wren would be recognizable to some because of her unique eye color. And what had he gone and done? Encouraged her to go without glasses. She would have been better served hiding her eyes. “No more shore excursions for you.” He couldn’t abide the thought of anything happening to her. “If we need to dock, you stay aboard.”

“Not on Ara Ana I won’t.”

He swore. He’d forgotten all about her guardian’s death wish. He’d never keep Wren from it. A sense of frustrated helplessness gripped him. His gut clenched, his lungs hungry for air. He was at the receiving end of his father’s fists all over again, a spectator at Nanjin’s killing.
No.
This was now, that was then. He took a shuddering breath and separated the two. “I’m going to be at your side every moment, whether you like it or not, Wren. If I have to kill to keep you safe I will.”

Her chin jutted out, her violet gaze snapping with
challenge. Then her fury dissolved into something he didn’t understand. Slowly, evenly she said, “Then be sure, Aral. Don’t press that trigger unless you are. If anyone dies because of me, it will be justified self-defense.” Her fingers touched his sleeve, dragging along his bicep before she pulled her hand away and made a small fist. “I want to live, Aral. You made it so. But no more deaths on my conscience. I have a billion weighing on my shoulders, thanks to my father.”

They stomped up the gangway. This time the runner had left the security feature off, thank the fates. They had the hatch opened and then closed in seconds. Wren pulled the pendant from her blouse and set it on the navigation console. The glassy black face with its five, piercing lit jewels stopped all of them for a moment. “She knew I had this. It must have been my mother’s. Somewhere in her life Lady Seela made it to Issenda. How? Why? As an eligible beauty her movements would have been as controlled as mine were. After her marriage, she would have been in my father’s control. How did she find her way here? It doesn’t seem possible.” She seemed to lose herself in studying the pendant. “If this was once hers, how did it make its way back to me?”

“And how did my brother come to know it?”

Nodding, she turned pleading and determined eyes to Aral. “I want to find out what happened to her the same way you want to know about your brother.”

Aral took the pendant and handed it to Vantos. “I would guess that there are coordinates to Ara Ana embedded in nanocoding.”

Vantos held it up to the light, then slid it under a
scanner to await the results. “Look at that,” he said, leaning forward to look at the screen. “The road map to wealth. Ah yes. I believe I’m about to get rich.”

The runner might be celebrating. Aral felt like doing anything but as they accelerated away from Issenda.
Be sure, Aral. Don’t press that trigger unless you are.
Wren’s demand echoed in his aching skull. How sure did she want him to be? If he hesitated, he’d lose her. He knew it as surely as he breathed. Yet if he killed without any forethought, was he not just like his father?

No. Karbon killed with abandon and with glee.

He
killed through necessity. Or was his opinion based on point of view only?

Bloody hells. He remained silent, his hand in a fist on the armrest of his chair.

There was a downside to being an undefeated battlelord, he thought. He did not know how to take defeat. Bringing Wren under his protection had been so irrevocably linked to destroying his father and the Drakken Empire that he’d never envisioned failing. The priestess on Issenda knew Wren’s mother. It proved danger lurked around every corner. No matter how many precautions he took, he could be blindsided.

He thought of the nightmare he’d had the night Wren first came to comfort him. Was it a premonition or simply a manifestation of his fears? No matter, he’d lost her. It was a warning he’d better heed.

B
OLIVARR APPEARED
in the doorway to Hadley’s office. In the mode of security officer he was all business, but she knew him well enough to detect the slight amuse
ment lighting up his dark eyes. “Bed-check failure. Two cadets didn’t make it back to their quarters for curfew.”

“Which ones?”

“Holloway and M-19.”

Sighing, she closed her captain’s log. “I’ll help you look for them. I’ve been working on reports too long. Zaafran wants images of the surface.”

“That’s Garwin’s job.”

“The prime-admiral wants my commentary anyway, in daily reports.”

“My guess is that the attacks on the priestesses have him worried. In this planet he sees the intersection of a mission he cares about and religious artifacts he can’t afford to lose.”

“He needs to have faith in me.”

“He does. You’re young. You’re a favorite. I think at times he sees you as a daughter. That comes with its benefits and its costs.”

Daughter, yes. Her previous commanding officer could be almost motherly at times. What was it about her that brought out parental tendencies in senior officers? “I want to be a captain in his eyes, Bo. Not a child.” When would that day come? Who knew if the planet they were racing to visit was even remotely connected to Ara Ana, but it was clear she had to excel in this mission to gain any esteem. “If I don’t prove myself to Zaafran and the entire high command, I’ll be seen as a girl the rest of my career.”

Bolivarr gave her a private smile. “I don’t see you as a girl.”

“Thank the goddess.” Her tension released in a soft laugh. “Now, making sure rooks are where they’re
supposed to be at the required times will help, eh? It’s a small ship. How many places can they be?” She paused, thinking of all the trouble teenagers got into. “You checked the boys’ bunks, right?”

“That’s the first place I looked when they didn’t check in for curfew. Short of making a shipwide announcement and waking the sleepers, let’s walk the ship.” He rubbed her back. “Plus I get to see you before my shift starts and yours ends.”

She recalled the times she’d patrolled the
Unity
after hours with Admiral Bandar. Once, the woman confided in Hadley it was how she unwound after her hours on duty, contemplating how she could have done things better, what lessons she’d learned, and sometimes, on the darker nights, saying her personal farewells to crew members lost in battle. Even when peace stuck, the admiral never gave up the custom. Hadley could see why. The hum of a well-run ship soothed her. A ship that she ran. So far all had gone smoothly. Barring a few cadets who forgot about bedtime.

“Are you sleeping better?” she asked Bolivarr.

“Trying. The meds help.”

“I thought you said they were too strong.”

“That’s why they’re helping.” His mouth thinned. Faint shadows were still visible under his eyes. “They blank out my dreams. No dreams equals no night waking.”

“Doc said if they interfered with your REM sleep, he was pulling you off them.”

Bolivarr brought his finger to his lips.

“Bo…”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said a little too sharply. Instantly the wall rose up between them. “It’s like
having someone else’s thoughts, Hadley. I guess it’s still me, but I don’t know
that me.
I don’t know if I want to.”

“Why?” she asked quietly.

A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “I think I may have hurt someone.
Killed.
”

“You were a wraith. That’s what you were trained to do.” She hated to think about it, but there it was. Fortunately wraiths operated most times as solitary assassins. Mass murder was left up to the warlord and his battlelords. It was all that had saved Bolivarr from being tried as a war criminal. “Of course you killed. Most of the people we know have killed in some fashion, either directly like you or on a huge ship in battle. We’re soldiers.”

“Then why do I feel guilt over it? Guilt over something I don’t remember doing, or why.”

They were patrolling the ship without really seeing it. Hadley stopped. “We’re going to have to backtrack. I wasn’t even looking.”

He met her eyes with a sheepish smile of his own. “Me, neither.”

His hand brushed against hers, all the affection they could show in such a public place. She searched his face, looking for answers and finding none. “I’m not going to keep quiet about something that’s going to hurt you. If those meds make you sicker, then I don’t want you to take them. We’ll find something else to help.”

He nodded, exhaling. “A little longer, Hadley. Give me that.”

“All right. I’ll be watching you. You were doing really well.” Or did he put on a good face? Sometimes it seemed as if she could read him so easily. And other times? His waters ran cold and deep and left her out.

They retraced their steps then resumed their rook roundup. The shuttle docking area was peaceful. In days it would be bustling when they reached the planet they’d dubbed Ara Ana. Laughter and the smell of roasted snap-nuts drew Bolivarr to the pilot ready room. He peeked in the door. Chairs flew backward as three pilots stood, seeing her standing behind Bolivarr. Cards, snacks and piles of queens as bets were arranged on the table. A bottle of liquor was two-thirds full. The fourth pilot was on sleep shift and, she hoped, sober. “Captain,” they said, seeing her standing behind Bolivarr.

“At ease.”

“Looking for a couple of rooks. The Earth girls,” Bolivarr said. “See them?”

“No, sir.”

They left the men to their game.

In the main part of the ship, the mid-shifters were already coming on duty, headed for the mess hall for their breakfast. Everyone shook their heads. “Nope, haven’t seen them.”

“You might see if they’re with Sister Chara,” the assistant mechanic suggested, standing in line for a helping of ground-meal and fruit. “They were at the service earlier.”

“The service?” Hadley lifted a brow at Bolivarr. M-19 wasn’t religious, and Ellen was of an Earth sect called Catholic and viewed her services through the comm. Neither practiced as believers. But ever since they’d started work on their special project translating runes with Sister Chara, their interest in the way of the goddess had soared, if only academically. It was hoped the writings would yield hints as to where relics might be found. Of course that was based on a big supposition:
that the planet otherwise known as 95834-UTF was actually Ara Ana. Regardless, what had started out as a special project had seemed to turn into a labor of love.

As they neared the sister’s study, the scent of incense lured them closer. Hadley tapped on the door. “Sister?”

From inside the study, a young female voice coughed out a startled curse in Earthling English that Hadley still recognized from Tango’s vocabulary. Ellen Holloway, Hadley thought with an exasperated smile. In the next instant, she heard the girl apologizing to the sister for her language.