The Warlord's Daughter (22 page)

“Y
OUR BROTHER IS
Aral Mawndarr?” They’d been in her office a half hour. Hadley’s thumping heart couldn’t possibly take another revelation, and he hadn’t even gotten to his big secret yet. His upbringing was startling enough. And agony to hear. A sweef-addicted father commanding legions who took out his frustrations on his eldest son, who went on to bring down the entire Drakken Empire.

Her head was spinning. She walked to the window, fingers pressed to her temple. Goddess. Bolivarr was a battlelord’s son. Her Bo, a
nobleman.
And she was just a farm girl. Yes, he was raised by an atrocious father, but he was upper crust, out of her league. Little wonder he needed to “figure it out” when it came to her. Her family was tuber pickers. And little wonder, too, that the earrings didn’t feel right in her ears. They were more flash than someone with such humble roots was used to.

Bolivarr waited as she wrestled with everything he’d revealed. Blast his patience. Blast him being so calm, so in control when she was not. “You should have told me about Aral right away,” she accused.

“I’m here doing exactly that.”

“You spoke to him first.”

“You’re acting as if I’ve betrayed you in some way.”

“You have.” Her voice was low and a little unsteady. “There’s a warrant out for his arrest. You know that, and yet you didn’t do anything.”

“Hadley, I haven’t seen him for five years. He thought I was dead. What did you want me to do—say ‘Hello, Aral, you’re under arrest’?”

“If your loyalties were in the right place, you wouldn’t have hesitated. You wouldn’t be questioning me now.”

In the face of her accusation, his eyes turned as cool and smooth as obsidian glass. Her kind and sweet Bo had vanished, leaving a cornered and possibly dangerous wraith in his place. A stranger. She realized how much she truly didn’t know about him. “That’s unfair,” he said.

Maybe it was. Maybe she was transferring her jealousy over Kaz to this critical exchange.

“If anything, gaining my memories back solidifies my loyalty to this Triad even more,” he argued. “I know what it’s like to live under the warlord’s rule. And I know why I despise him so.”

She remembered Sister Chara’s comment. “Were you a Keeper, or did you hunt them?” Just as she suspected, the question startled him. “The information on Keys and Keepers is documented in the earliest writings of our civilization. When you reacted to the runes, I asked Sister Chara to explain them to me. What were you, Bolivarr?”

“I was neither. I worked for Aral. I knew of the Keepers, though, through other wraiths. I gained the trust of a secret sect called the Hand of Sakkara. They allowed me access to the old books. I was on a quest to find a Key.”

“Why?” she asked, unable to keep the fascination from her voice.

“So the warlord wouldn’t. Aral and I suspected my father was hunting for her. Possession of a Key would give the Drakken unimaginable power. They’d control the goddess treasure, and the sacred planet of Ara Ana, the birth world of the goddesses. It would have broken the spirit of the Coalition, Hadley. They would have lost the war.”

But not before both sides annihilated each other. “What do the five marks mean?”

“It’s the sanctum itself. An obelisk that contains revelation of
everything.
To be unlocked only by the one with the blood of the goddesses in her good and pure heart, meaning a priestess. A Key. It was the first hard evidence I found that Ara Ana was real, that the treasure wasn’t a myth and—” his voice quieted with awe “—that the Key wasn’t a myth. I thought,
I have to find her before the empire does.
But I was being tracked. I passed Aral the intelligence in case something happened to me, then…”

“Karbon found you.”

His fist on the desk, his eyes remained trained on his white knuckles. Whatever pain he felt he didn’t want her to see. “On Junnapekk, in the Borderlands, he caught up to me. He wanted what I knew.”

“Oh, Bolivarr.” She clutched at her hands, knowing the story ended in the worst imaginable way. She held back. Helping Bolivarr, rescuing him, was easy when she’d assumed he was a smart and modest soldier. Someone like her. It wasn’t the same now that he was a battlelord’s brother and one with a great presence to boot—a hero, if what he told her was accurate—who
was wanted by Zaafran himself. Now she was harboring a fugitive on her ship! Heaven knew what the other three with him were suspected of. Goddess help her.

When Bolivarr finally met her eyes, he seemed older, less carefree. That one look revealed how much he’d suffered and sacrificed in the name of peace, more than she’d ever done, or people she’d served with over the years who dismissed all Drakken as monsters—and still did. “One of the requirements to be a wraith was to submit to thought suppression. Trauma to the body, or meds, triggers it. My father, he…He lost his temper when he couldn’t get what he was after.” He clenched his jaw and sucked in a breath so quickly it sounded like a sob. Sickened, she’d never hated anything in that moment more than she did Karbon Mawndarr. “He left me for dead.” The anguish in his eyes was nothing compared to what she’d glimpsed a moment ago. This was real, raw. Fresh. “He treated me no different than how he did Aral all our lives. I felt for Aral, I truly did, but I never knew how bad it was. Never, Hadley. I failed him because I never once defended him. He’d tell me to stay back, and I did. I let him defend me. That changes today. Here and now. It’s a freepin’ travesty that my brother stands accused of helping Karbon escape when he’s the last person in this galaxy that would do so.” His gaze was hard leveled at her. “I won’t allow him to be taken in, not with Karbon out there and traitors on the inside. If those traitors helped our father escape, they’ll make sure Aral won’t. Karbon’s out there, Hadley. Here in the Borderlands. Those attacks on the sanctuaries? It’s him trying to find the Key. It’s got his signature all over it. I’m sorry, Hadley. I won’t hand my brother over.” He started removing his rank.

“Wait.” She stopped him before he could place the epaulets on the desk. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t take the fall if I go against orders.”

She paced in a circle, torn. Knowing what she knew now, she saw that the Triad was clearly in the wrong about Aral. Even the prime-admiral himself had doubts Aral Mawndarr had helped his father escape. She’d seen the officer’s indecision as clear as day. But if she disobeyed the orders to hand Aral over, it was treason. She’d lose her ship, her command. And Bolivarr, too.

K
EIR SCOWLED
as he stalked around his ship now snug in the hangar of the Triad ship. Damage included more than a tank rupture. The entire fuselage was covered with burns, dents and scratches. The former hurt his chances of flying out any time soon; the latter just his ego.

Kaz followed him around the ship, her face paler than ever. Her arms were folded protectively across her chest. Not around Bolivarr, he noted. She hadn’t mentioned anything more about the man, and that was fine with him. It wasn’t as if he was jealous or anything. Who she took in her bed was none of his business. Unless it was him, of course, and he had about as much chance of that as a snowcicle in hells.

“We’ll have her fixed up before you know it, sir.” The
Cloud Shadow
’s crew chief was a grizzled, middle-aged bloke who looked as if he’d seen too many battles. Now peace had stuck him on a science expedition crewed by teenaged cadets. “I’m happy to have something to do. Checking coolant levels on the shuttles isn’t exactly my kind of work.”

“I had to run chem-toilets into the refugee camps. I know what you mean.” They crouched down to look at the damage together. “How soon?”

“You itchin’ to leave? You just got here.”

He’s suspicious.
Keir exchanged a glance with Kaz and put on his best poker face. Hells, yeah, he wanted to be ready to get out if they had to. The only thing between Wren and Aral getting turned over to the authorities was the captain, and only because of her relationship with Aral’s brother. Seeing that the relationship was hanging by a tenuous thread at the moment didn’t give him a whole load of confidence in this interlude’s happy ending. With the treasure on the planet below and the key in hand, more or less, he wanted as many options left open as possible. That meant a ride out.

“A businessman’s got to keep on the move,” he said. He wasn’t going to let a few dings and dents keep him from delivering Wren to the birthplace, and the treasure into his happy hands. “What’s your best estimate?”

“Well,” the chief drawled. “Maybe by the end of the ship-week.”

“Not good enough.”

“What you’re going to need is to purge the tank, do the repair, then see if it can hold the pressure. There might be other damage. I’ll have to check. I like to be real thorough.”

Keir got the feeling the chief was going to drag out repairs to avoid going back to the monotony of his daily duties. Keir knew all about that. He couldn’t bribe the man to speed things up, either. This wasn’t a fly-by-night operation. It was a little ship tightly run by a green captain determined not to make any mistakes.

He rolled up his sleeves. “Sounds like you need a hand. I’m it. I’m an indie trader, ex-blockade-runner. I can fix my own ship. Not meaning to step on any toes, Chief, but I got a schedule to keep.”

Or he didn’t get paid.

A
RAL STRODE BACK
to the quarters he’d been assigned with Wren. Bolivarr matched his pace, negating the need for the infernal guards. He felt like a common criminal.
You are, in the Triad’s eyes.
“There have been attacks across the Borderlands?” Aral asked, aghast that religious settlements had been targeted.

“Right here in the UT.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Bolivarr coughed out a laugh. “Not you, too.”

Aral flicked him a baffled glance.

“Long story. I’ve been accused of the same all day. I
am
saying something. That’s why I’m here, pretending to escort you to your quarters. To
tell you.
” He turned serious again. “The attacks—I told Hadley, too. It’s Father.”

The sound of the word on Bolivarr’s lips sickened Aral. “Let’s make a pact never again to refer to the man as ‘Father.’ Karbon is sufficient.”

“He should be called far worse, Aral. You of all people have the right to do so.” His voice had turned quieter. Aral knew he was thinking of his own near murder.

“I don’t need that right. I’ll be happy if I never see the man again. That’s all I want.”

“As long as he’s alive, you won’t be free. He’ll never let you go free. He’ll spend the rest of his days tracking you, and he’ll find you. He can do the impossible, just
as he got away from his Triad handlers. Now that you have a wife, someone you love, you have to know the risk it brings. He’ll take more pleasure killing her than you, because it’ll hurt you more.”

“Enough.” Aral spun around, wheeling his brother into an area of the corridor where they had some semblance of privacy. His gripped the man’s shoulder. “Don’t speak of that.”

“You have to face the fact he’ll get to her to get to you.”

“I’ve faced it every moment of every day since I found her!” He fought for control, and it was blasted near impossible. “Because I didn’t kill him when I should have. Because I didn’t see him dead with my own hands, he roams free, stalking you, Wren, everyone I love. Because I was willing to allow someone else to do the deed, he’s organizing a resistance that threatens this peace.” With a shuddering breath, he turned away.

“He’s still looking for the Key, Aral. He never gave up. Neither did you. And you found her.”

Aral jerked his head around. Bolivarr’s calm black gaze pinned him. He realized his brother had grown, matured, hardened over the past five years. He’d thought he could hide things from him. He was wrong.

“Wren is the warlord’s daughter.”

They jerked apart at a quiet sound. Sister Chara, the resident priestess, had just overheard every word they said.

A
FTER THE REVEALING MEETING
with Bolivarr, Hadley didn’t call Prime-Admiral Zaafran. She didn’t brief her crew on what she’d learned from Bolivarr. She walked the ship. It was what Brit Bandar would have done. If only she could guess how her mentor would have
handled this situation. Turn in an innocent man, or defy her commanding officer’s orders?

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

The ship was busy preparing for the first trip down to the surface. The incoming survivors had distracted them for only a short time from the main aim of this mission. Hadley envied their focus.

Her PCD chimed. “Keyren.”

“It’s Rayder, ma’am. Just letting you know that the pilot of
Borrowed Time
’s pushing for repairs. He didn’t like my time frame, so he’s doing them himself. They might be looking to make a run for it.”

“Who’s with him in the cargo bay?” Her heart chilled with the thought that Bolivarr would run away, leaving her.

“The woman with the real short hair and their pilot. Plus our watchers.”

“Make sure the watchers stay there.”

“You got it, ma’am. I’m on guard, too.”

She thanked the crew chief and ended the call. By design or accident, she’d ended up in the area of the ship where Aral Mawndarr and his crew had been given shelter. Her stomach ached, seeing the door where she knew Kaz would be sleeping. She wasn’t there, choosing to assist with the repair of the crippled ship. Not choosing to be with Bolivarr, she noted.

Where was Bolivarr?

Aral’s bedroom door was wide open. A guard was posted outside. Silhouetted against the stars was Wren, his wife, gazing at the planet below, one hand spread on the clear-plate.

Hadley hesitated before disturbing her. The woman was an enigma. Underneath her delicate appearance
was something as hard as steel. This woman was not to be taken lightly. Curiosity drew her inside—and the hunger to learn more about Bolivarr. She walked in, taking the spot next to her to admire the watery world below. “It’s lovely, yes?”