Van Laven Chronicles (7 page)

CHAPTER 13

Comron stared up into the night sky. The stars sparkled like brilliant diamonds against a velvety black canvas and the sounds of the night seemed to animate the evening. Under the right circumstances, he could find Patheis to be a wondrous place of solace but as it was the questions surrounding the day’s events would give him no rest.

Who had sent the assassin? Was the entire royal household the target or just him? Was it the work of a lone rogue-rebel or was it orchestrated by the core of the resistance movement? The nature of the off-world attack led him to believe that it was a well-designed, coordinated strike involving resources beyond Nethic.

He sighed heavily. Crausin, where are you? You need to know what I’ve learned.

With the assassin still hunting them, he didn’t imagine he’d get a wink of sleep. He was grateful that the shooter had been overly confident and given himself away by firing first at the girl. That costly mistake had been the difference between life and death for them. In addition, the act had removed one liability, now he only had Wensel to worry about.

Perhaps on tomorrow’s journey, fate would present him with another set of circumstances that would make for swift disposal of the man. If he had to help it along, so be it.

He suddenly felt Vaush’s gaze upon him. His eyes drifted to his left where she laid upon her side, head propped by her hand. A light smile touched her lips and something within him melted at the sight of it.

“I really wasn’t trying to antagonize you earlier,” she said.

Even in the moonlight, he could see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. They seemed to glow from within.

“Then you have a great deal to learn about diplomacy.”

“Ah, diplomacy, the art of keeping the peace, until you can find a big enough stick to take what you want.” She sat up. “I suppose there are certain subjects that push my buttons.”

“So I gathered.” He crossed his long legs at the ankles. “Actually, it should come to me as no surprise that you feel the way you do. It is quite common for the idle rich to turn to ideas of social reform and philanthropy, especially the ones who’ve never had to work for their wealth.”

Her smile faded. “Idle? You presume to judge me?”

“You’ve expressed your mind on the matter and I’ve had sufficient association with your type to put forth the theory.”

“What exactly is my type?”

“Bored aristocrat.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“When it really comes down to it, the sense of philanthropy is born out of boredom, too much time and resources on your hands. Despite all your posturing and eloquent speeches, you would never let your manicured hands become soiled by those you claim to aid.”

“That,” she jabbed a finger at him, “may be true of the pseudo-philanthropist that move in your circles, but you couldn’t be further from the truth about me.”

His pleasure at needling her was thinly veiled. “Let me guess. Once or twice a year, you organize some exquisite fundraiser championing the affliction of the day where you milk your acquaintances for every drop they can spare. Then you haul in some wretched soul from off the streets. Clean him up, of course, so that you can tolerate his stench for the day. All so that you may publicly bestow your gifts upon him. And then, you and your crowd go home feeling smugly superior and pleased with yourselves.”

“Have you always been this cynical?”

“Do you deny it?”

“I categorically deny it. Ever been to Midress…visit the new orphanage there?”

“Orphanage?” He frowned. “No, I haven’t.”

“I didn’t think so,” she said as if she just scored a major victory. “But you’ve been to Seneyla, no doubt.”

He nodded reluctantly, sensing he was being set up again.

“It figures.” She rolled those lovely eyes. “Mind if I tell you how I spent my spring holiday three seasons ago?”

He shrugged his consent, masking his keen interest to know.

“I wanted to treat my attendants to a much-deserved three week holiday in Seneyla. While there, we decided to venture out and see the local life. Needless to say, we were shocked and dismayed to see the deplorable conditions in which the natives lived, especially within five kilometers of the most extreme opulence. Even the locals who earned a living working at the resorts barely made enough to survive. It was appalling.”

His bored expression remained unchanged.

“After we’d been walking through the city for about an hour—”

“Wait…walking?” he asked with a look of incredulity. “Even you can’t be so naïve as to expose yourself to that sort of danger. You could’ve been robbed or killed, and you would’ve deserved it for such gross imprudence.”

She folded her arms across her chest and leveled him with a stare.

“Just an observation,” he muttered. It astonished him how easily she unnerved him with a mere look.

“Naturally, we disguised ourselves in the native garb. And furthermore, my companions were no mere attendants. They were highly trained and skilled professionals, my personal guard.” She paused a moment and then looked away. “Two of them were with me on the transport.”

He nodded. “I am sorry for your loss.”

She shook her head, bouncing her silken, dark curls. “As I was saying, we happened upon a crowd forming in the street. All the commotion was over a child who had stolen a loaf of bread. Poor thing was nothing more than skin and bones.”

This was no surprise to Comron, but finding himself desiring her approval, he furrowed his brow as a show of compassion.

“Apparently their laws were quite antiquated and the storekeeper was adamant that they be enforced. The child’s mother pleaded for mercy for the punishment was that the boy should lose his hand.” She paused for effect.

“That’s typical in an underdeveloped society. What did you expect?”

She ignored his question and continued. “The authorities asked the mother if she could pay for the shopkeeper’s loss, which was ten times more than what the woman could earn in a week. Left with no other choice, the officer started to carry out the punishment.”

“I called the officer in charge and I ordered my attendant to pay the shopkeeper and had the boy released to his mother’s custody.”

“Other than saving the boy’s hand, what do you think you accomplished?”

“I wasn’t finished with the story.”

“Dear gods, there’s more.”

“I realized that most of them suffered the same plight as the boy. Some of them wore aprons or uniforms so I knew that they weren’t lazy or idle, but workers of some sort. I bought the butcher and baker’s entire stock. All who could demonstrate that they had worked that day were given a warm meal.”

He inclined his head, smirking. “And the statue they erected in your honor, was it made of bronze or platinum?” Privately he conceded she had gone above and beyond the obligatory display of charity, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of admitting he was wrong about her.

Vaush fixed him with another frosty glare but continued. “For two weeks we remained and did the same each night.”

As he listened to her go on, it occurred to him that this sort of work came as easily to Vaush as breathing. Saving the helpless was her passion, her mission. Even if Crausin himself had been lying on the transport floor dying, Vaush would have saved him too. Strangely, it disappointed him that there was nothing unique or exceptional about what transpired between them. He was simply her latest charity case.

“So what happened to your fattened wards once you left?” he asked, endeavoring to stave off his melancholy.

“I established a foundation to continue the program but only to feed those who’d proven they’d worked that day, no matter how menial, so as not to encourage a sense of entitlement or sloth. So there is that.” She hid a smile. “And I acquired one of the smaller Seneylian resorts. I employ several of the townspeople and pay excellent wages. Despite the expense, it still generates a healthy profit which is reinvested into the town to build decent homes, schools and municipal facilities.” Her mouth twisted to the side, “Unfortunately, there are so many causes and never enough funds to go around.”

Comron was forced to admit that there was still a great deal of mystery to this woman. She was breathtakingly beautiful, naturally so, without all the trappings. Being the daughter of one of the most powerful and wealthy families in the sector afforded her immense privilege and luxury – she could have the whole world eating out of the palm of her hand, noblemen tripping all over themselves to win her heart. But such frivolous endeavors were not worthy of her time or attention.

He couldn’t help feeling naked in her presence as if nothing he had to offer would ever impress a woman like Vaush. Not that impressing her was his intention. Inevitably, his mood darkened.

“Larrs must be so delighted with you trudging around on backwater worlds, risking life and limb for people your father wouldn’t bother to spit on.” He wondered at her sudden change in disposition, as if he had mentioned something troubling to her.

“My father and I see eye to eye on very little.”

“Yet, he allows for your various foundations and charities.”

“So it would seem.”

He watched her as she gazed up into the night sky pretending to be fascinated by the glittering stars.

“Either that or you’ve been rather clever in concealing your operations from him.”

Her eyes revealed her trepidation at the thought of being exposed.

“Seems we have another secret to put into the vault.”

Her hazel eyes glowed with gratitude. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, only hinting at a smile. How many different smiles did this woman have? He wished he were at liberty to find out.

He shook the thought from his head.

“With the sniper still out there, we should sleep in shifts,” Comron announced, thinking it best to end their discourse before he betrayed Nethic altogether. “Why don’t you rest now and I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

“Very well,” she said agreeably and turned over onto her side with her back to him. “Good night, Comron Van Laven,” she whispered.

The sound of her voice pleased him immensely, particularly the way she spoke his name. Her tone was deceptively soft, witty at times and just then, astonishingly…sultry. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about her narrow waist and luscious curve of her hip, or the perfect roundness of her sweet ass.

He clenched his jaw and fought the powerful urge to move over and draw close to her, to touch her and feel her body against his…

Damn!
It was going to be a long night.

CHAPTER 14

The next morning, Comron kept them moving at a fast clip through the dense foliage, making it as difficult as possible for the assassin to get a clean shot at them. The heat from the morning’s sun turned the thick air into an oven as Vaush and Wensel struggled to keep up with Comron’s grueling pace.

She didn’t dare ask for a break. From the moment she’d awakened he’d been in a particularly foul mood, barely speaking, and only then to growl orders at them.

She wanted to be rescued just as badly as he did, but she saw no reason to be so belligerent about it, or act as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Each time he turned to look at them, his expression was so full of annoyance she wondered why he didn’t abandon them altogether.

Vaush knew they were slowing Comron down considerably, but despite repairing Wensel’s injuries, he was in no condition to undergo such a physically exhausting endeavor. And with the heeled boots Vaush was wearing, going any faster was simply out of the question. Her explanation did nothing to improve Comron’s mood.

Up ahead, she saw him kneeling next to something on the ground. Upon closer examination, she realized it was another one of the investors from the fated flight. It was a female corpse and Comron was removing its shoes.

“Have you gone completely mad?” she asked aghast, Wensel appeared equally appalled.

“She doesn’t need them anymore.” He held up one of the shoes, a flat sturdy ankle boot. “Looks about your size too.”

“I’m not wearing a dead woman’s shoes!”

“You will wear them or I’ll leave you behind to fend for yourself.” He removed the other one. “Here, put them on.”

“You’re really going to make me do this?” she said in utter disbelief. “This is wrong on so many levels. It’s sacrilegious, it’s stealing.”

“So leave her your boots in exchange,” he said exasperated. “I mean it, Vaush. Put the damn shoes on and let’s go.”

She glared at him, but he met hers with an equally unyielding stare.

“Put them on
now
,” he growled.

“Please, just do as he says,” Wensel said, looking frightened that an even more unpleasant confrontation would arise.

She snatched the shoes from Comron. “Fine, but this is unforgivably profane,” she muttered as she flopped to the ground and began pulling her heeled boots off.

“Hurry unless you want the sniper to paint the forest with your brains.”

“Oh,” Wensel groaned in memory of Halyn.

“For Frithe’s sake, man,” Comron exclaimed as he began helping Vaush lace her ankle boots. “You just met the woman twenty four hours ago. What could she possibly have meant to you?”

“Comron,” Vaush said in alarm.

“What?” he replied impatiently. “I want him to stop moping around and you to move faster so we can get the hell out of this place.” He stood and hauled Vaush to her feet. “Now let’s go, double time.”

Despite the macabre aurora, Vaush had to admit that the shoes felt far more comfortable. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying as much as she fell in behind him. Wensel pulled up the rear.

Comron gave her a knowing look nonetheless. “You’re welcome,” he said over his shoulder.

After two more hours of traversing the forest, there was still no sign of the sniper as they proceeded alongside a widening stream. By now, Vaush was soaked clean through in the sweltering heat. The cool crispness of the shimmering water beckoned her as the sunlight danced across the surface. What she wouldn’t give to take a quick dip in the coolness of it.

Further ahead, Comron stood at the bank waiting for them.

“What is it now?” Her eyes scanned the forest for the shooter.

He turned his empty canister upside down. “Water break.”

“Thank heavens,” Wensel said, all bent over and panting.

Vaush reached for his water canister. “Wait here. I’ll bring you some water.”

“Heaven bless you,” Wensel said and collapsed on to the ground, looking pale and clammy.

Vaush followed Comron down to the water’s edge where they both knelt to fill their containers. Comron remained vigilant, surveying the area. “He has to be somewhere close.”

Vaush cupped the cool water and splashed it onto her face, letting it run down her neck. So refreshing.

“Stop.” Comron latched onto her wrist as his eyes scanned the area.

“What’s wrong?” She followed his gaze into the brush.

“Listen, do you hear anything?”

She strained, but could hear nothing, not even the ever present sounds of the woodland creatures. “Other than the gurgling of the stream, nothing.”

Comron drew his silver sidearm. “That’s what I was afraid of. Where’s Wensel?”

She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “Probably passed out back there. You’re driving him too hard. Maybe you could—”

“It shouldn’t be this quiet,” he said, cutting her off. “Get down.” Crouching low, they made their way back toward the large trees hunkering down next to one.

“The vibration of the shooter’s hover cycle must have disturbed the forest,” he said.

Vaush pressed in closer to Comron and was surprised at how her heart raced at their close proximity. He peered over his shoulder at her, sending a rush of exhilaration through her, making her feel like a love-sick schoolgirl.

He continued scanning the forest for the assassin. She forced herself to do likewise, but saw nothing to betray his location.

“We need a better vantage point.” He pointed at the tree branches above them. “I’m going up. Wait here.”

“No, it’s too dangerous. What if he sees you?” she said with a little more feeling than she had intended.

“We can’t remain here like sitting ducks; it’s time we went on the offensive.” With that, he tucked his gun into the back of his waistband then leapt up at the lowest branch and deftly climbed the tree.

Vaush sat below, watching him ascend to the highest branches that would support his weight. She looked out into the forest--still no movement, no sign of the shooter.

A moment later, the screech of a bird pierced the air. She glanced up at Comron who was stretched out across a branch with blast gun drawn. His eyes locked with hers, he placed his finger against his lips, and then shifted his body out of sight. Her mouth clamped shut even as she began to tremble in panic.

First she saw the black barrel of the high-powered blast rifle slicing through the brush. Then a heavily armored, camouflaged man stepped into the clearing with her. It was all Vaush could do to keep from looking up at Comron, which was the absolute worst thing that she could do. And where was Wensel? Not that he’d be of much help.

With her back against the tree trunk, Vaush slowly rose to her feet, directing her eyes to gaze out into the brush as if searching for Comron.

The man approached tentatively, eyes vigilant, glancing up occasionally in search of his primary target.

“Where is the Van Laven?” he barked in a heavy Nethicaen accent.

Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. “I-I was slowing him down. He abandoned me. I am Ti-Larosian of House Bastionli.”

He spat on the ground. “Your stench gave you away.”

“My father, the Duke of Ti-Laros will be searching for me. If you harm me in any way, he will hunt you down like the miserable dog you are.”

His lip curled into a sneer, white teeth shown against a face painted in green and brown camouflage.

“You don’t need that kind of trouble, do you, Nethicaen?”

His dark eyes continued scanning the area but the rifle remained trained on her.

“Do as you wish with the Van Laven, Ti-Laros will never whisper a word of it,” she said, seeking to allay his fears about leaving a witness.

“Which way did he go?”

She pointed behind her. “That way, he moves quickly but if you leave now you could catch him.”

“Do you really expect me to trust a dirty Ti-Larosian not to squeal?” His finger rested upon the trigger.

“Whatever Nethic is paying you, I will triple it.” She inclined her head at him. “Face it, you’ll never be able to return to Nethic. You’re too much of a liability to your backers. But we could set you up off-world in the lap of luxury.”

Something landed with a thud a few yards behind the assailant. The sniper wheeled around and Comron dropped from above right on top of the man. The sniper’s rifle flew out of his hands and Vaush was quick to grab it.

Comron threw two quick punches, breaking the assailant’s nose. The man produced a jagged knife and slashed Comron’s arm. As the prince recoiled, the sniper kicked him off to the side and leapt to his feet. He lunged at him with the blade, but Comron twisted away and scrambled to his feet. The two men were of equal height and stature but the shooter wore combat armor while Comron remained vulnerable with his arm bleeding.

The sniper growled and charged the prince. Comron shifted at the last moment, grabbing the man’s wrist, using his momentum to flip him over onto his back. Still holding his arm, Comron twisted it.

“Arrg!” The man struggled to get free, but Comron planted his knee in his chest, applying his full weight.

He wrenched the serrated blade from the assassin’s hand. “Who sent you?” Comron demanded.

The man glared up at him with eyes dark as coal. “Your father!” he laughed.

Comron swung the blade down impaling the man’s free hand to the ground.

Vaush winced as the man howled in pain. Just then Wensel darted into the clearing with eyes wide and frantic. “Dear gods!” he exclaimed before Vaush pulled him aside. They both watched as Comron continued his assault.

“Who sent you?” Comron’s voice was low and deadly. He twisted the blade, shoving it deeper into the shooter’s hand. “Now, I’m going to break every bone in your body starting with this arm.” He began applying pressure to the limb while twisting it.

When Vaush heard the bone snap, a cold chill ran down her spine at the realization that Comron fully intended to make good on his threat. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but his cries of agony told her everything. Wensel turned away in horror.

“Branson, his name was Jules Branson,” the assassin cried.

“Who does Branson work for?” Comron pulled the blade from the man’s hand eliciting another shriek of pain. He placed the tip of the blade at the corner of the man’s eye.

“I-I don’t know, but he carried the Undersoll sigil.”

“You’re lying, dog!” Comron said, nicking the man’s eye with the blade.

Vaush backed away at his cries, frightened at how far Comron might go to extract the truth from this man. Wensel covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I swear. I saw the red hawk on the fool’s kerchief when he held it to his brow.”

Comron appeared stunned by the revelation and Vaush felt relieved that the crisis had been averted. The shooter was no threat to them injured and weaponless.

Nonetheless, Comron persisted. “Where did you meet Branson?”

Vaush couldn’t see what Comron was doing, but the man’s garbled cries bore witness to the continued torture.

“At the Black Crown in the northern province of Ruboris!” he howled.

“When?”

“Arggt!” The shooter’s legs kicked and bucked.

“For Zelo’s sake,” Wensel cried. “Just answer him,
please
.”

“A fortnight ago! No more, please!”

“What was your mission?” Comron said, not letting up. “Am I your only target?”

“Yes, arrhg!” His heels dug deep grooves in the dirt. “I was sent to finish you if the crash did not.”

“Mother of bitches! Did they provide a reason?”

“None, just the money…” the shooter groaned.

“How much was your sovereign’s life worth, traitorous dog?” Comron flung the jagged knife aside.

The man’s body trembled with agony. Comron’s armed cocked back, slamming down twice. “How much?”

The shooter spat out blood and his legs convulsed.

“Five hundred…thousand…”

Comron grabbed the man’s head. “Receive your payment in full.” He twisted it sharply, Vaush heard the clean snap.

“Comron!” Vaush cried. Wensel fainted.

Comron shot her a feral look, his tone was filled with venom, “You heard his confession. That was justice.”

As he loomed before her with traces of the shooter’s blood on his doublet, Vaush stepped back but would not be silenced. “You have laws and courts to deal with these matters. Or is vigilantism the rule of law in Nethic?”

“Do you see any laws or courts out here?” The vitriolic sarcasm dripped from his voice. “I am the Crown Prince of Nethic, which makes me judge, jury and executioner. Furthermore, this is none of your affair.” He moved past her down to the water’s edge to clean himself up and tend to his arm.

Such arrogance! Vaush fumed and she checked Wensel’s pulse. How could Comron be capable of such vicious brutality and surprising tenderness? He terrified her and drew her all at once.

She watched him kneeling upon the bank, struggling with the flesh mender to get the proper angle to heal the gash.