Prince of Passion (17 page)

She knew she should have brought a larger crew, but considering the diver had been bought out and even Luac had been contacted unbeknownst to him, she couldn’t be sure whom to trust and had brought only her closest guards into the plan. The forest felt decidedly more empty as Pisey and his second melted away.

She could have trusted Icere.

Another useless thought. He had done enough already. She wanted the words in her head to sound more acerbic. Instead she felt regretful. Which was the sort of thing one felt before one died in a hail of hazer fire.

She forced herself to focus. This was like hunting megalocanths. The huge, armored and sharply spined fish were exceedingly dangerous but the hunt itself was straightforward enough, and Pisey had said it best: Don’t get killed.

Luac edged up beside her, deactivating his comm-link. “Mother, let me say again how sorry I am.”

Regret apparently spread as easily as muddy footprints through the barge. She touched a dripping lock of his hair. “I kept you too close to me, didn’t I?”

He grinned at her. “Ky would say yes. I say I love you.” His grin flattened and his dark eyes turned serious. “And I say I am ready to be more.”

Pride—a mother’s for her son, a leader’s for the one who would someday replace her—filled her eyes with more water than the rain. “I was afraid to let you go.”

“As I was afraid to be let go. You’ve made a place of such beauty and wonder…” his grin flashed again “…and passion, no one would ever want to leave.”

She stiffened. “Leave? How far?”

“Ky teases me, but she’s right about how little I’ve changed. Maybe it’s time I saw more of the universe. After this is over, maybe I’ll take Icere with me and he can show me the stars.”

The pride sharpened to pain in her chest. “The two of you would rule the sheerways.”

He studied her. “Or maybe Icere would rather stay here.”

“I can’t imagine why he would.”

“You can’t?”

She hushed him and put her finger to the comm-link in her ear. Not that Pisey had signaled, but she didn’t want to hear more from her son, not on this.

She was relieved when he reactivated his comm after giving her one last look. “Things don’t have to stay the way they’ve always been.”

“
Ahawe-aulu
,” she said.

“The wind is only a circle if you’re still standing in the same place.”

She scowled at him and he gave her a mock scowl back.

Just when she was starting to think they’d never have a chance to move—the mud would swallow them where they waited—Pisey whispered through the comm, “Omel is contacting her pickup. Can’t decode the message, but they must be close if she’s reaching them through the storm. We should hear them soon.”

Luac shifted the hazer in his arms. “Can we stop them with the firepower we have?”

“Negative,” Pisey said. “If we want to take the ship, we’ll have to wait until they open the hatch to let her in. We don’t want to risk an explosion and fuel dump this close to the malac field. We could lose everything.”

Rynn didn’t bother reminding them that if they lost the sheerways, everything would be gone anyway. Pisey was a good lieutenant because he focused on what was in front of him. It was hard to envision the universe when everything they’d ever desired was right here.

Only recently had she learned to want more, and now…

A distant roll of thunder made them all look up through the sodden branches. She blinked away the rain that flooded across her face as the thunder only intensified.

The heavy clouds began to boil, the gray masses bubbling and churning. A blinding yellow glow blistered through, and the clouds peeled back to reveal a sheership.

The blunt, sleek shape emerged like the megalocanth she’d imagined earlier, powerful and lethal with its gun mount front and center, making no pretense of its aggression. The design was brutally utilitarian, even ugly, but flawlessly executed. Here was immense wealth and purpose combined, without a care for impressions. She scanned its length for identifying markings—nothing—but she sensed the mind behind the ship would make a dangerous and implacable enemy.

She could almost hear the amused thought: What chance had her little pleasure planet?

She flicked the focus on the hazer to high and tight, and the weapon hummed in her tightened grip. “Let’s get our essence back.”

Chapter Thirteen

The hovering sheership was a unique model, like nothing Icere had seen in his sol-year of travels. Immediately he captured an image and added the detail to the information he’d amassed, wondering how it would fit in. Were they dealing with a shockingly rich private citizen or some experimental craft from a governmental agency? Something else? Obviously they were willing to risk this distinctive ship to retrieve Omel and her stolen goods.

Desperation or overconfidence? Either way, they would have to pay.

Ky touched his shoulder. “Look. There’s Omel, across the field, in that clump of trees.”

“The Saya and her people must be close.”

“Where’s your ship?”

He didn’t answer but he quickly sent another message to the
Asphodel
, updating them on the situation. He relayed what he could see of the raider ship’s weapons system, and after a heartbeat, he added, “Worth the risk?”

Benedetta would say yes without hesitation, but he knew Corso would take the question seriously, not only because the
Asphodel
was his but so was Benedetta, and he would imperil neither of them without cause. As a sheership captain, Corso needed the stars, but he loved his l’auralya more.

Rynn had said a l’aurlyo required a mercenary sheership captain to teach him to gamble, but Icere knew he’d needed the former lone-wolf captain to show him a more elemental balance: the vastness of the universe weighed against the depths of love.

But for the first time, Icere wondered if he still needed an outside force to provide that balance.

Maybe he had his own star to guide him now.

Though the ship still hovered, Omel rushed out from the cover of the trees, gesturing madly and more than a little rudely.

Ky grunted. “I don’t see them yet, but she must know Mother is right behind her.”

“The ship’s people are obviously thinking the same thing.” How badly did they want the liqueur?

Omel held a package in her hand and now she ripped the cover free to hold the malac sachet aloft, clearly taunting the ship: Come get me or you get nothing.

One of her compatriots suddenly emerged from the trees as well, his hazer fixed on Omel.

“Double cross,” Ky murmured. “They sure are making this easy.”

Omel spun and shot the man in the chest. He stumbled back and fell, a thin curl of smoke from his wound quickly lost in the rain.

The blood took a longer time to dilute.

“Not so easy for him,” Ky said.

The hazer in Icere’s hands felt unaccountably heavy. “Where is the Saya?”

“Letting them fight it out amongst themselves while she lurks. That was always her way with Luac and me. Then when they least expect it, she’ll glide in and set them straight.”

Icere considered. That wasn’t what she’d done with him. If anything, she’d done the opposite, trying to ignore what was between them.

He added that piece of information to another database he was keeping just for himself.

The anonymous ship unfolded its landing gear slowly, as if with great reluctance. Omel’s remaining two henchmen emerged from the trees, their hazers aimed not at Omel but at the forest behind them, clearly not caring who carried the malac sachet as long as they got off the island.

With a delicate precision for its mass, the ship settled on the sandy soil. The backwash from its engines nearly flattened the foliage, and Icere’s heart stuttered, wondering where Rynn, Luac and the others were sheltered. That gun turret could swivel in seconds and lock on its next target.

The ship’s hatch descended like a plasteel tongue coming from the dark throat of the walkway beyond. Omel strode for the opening, her two men still sweeping the forest behind, where Rynn and the others must be.

The Saya and her people needed to take the ship intact if they were going to stop the threat permanently, but it would be impossible for them to emerge when Omel and her rescue ship were focused on the forest where they must be hiding.

Without another thought, Icere bolted from the roots where he and Ky had hidden, firing his hazer full bore.

Ky screamed, but he didn’t turn back. If he could disable the nearest strut on the open hatch, the hatch would be unable to close. The ship would be unable to escape atmosphere before sealing off the damaged section.

Meanwhile, everyone’s attention—and the gun turret—swiveled his way.

The first blast from the ship took out a huge patch of earth, blasting sand over his wet skin. But he’d already swerved after his opening volley. Still, the shot was close enough to warm him as it vaporized the rain.

He fired again.

Over the shrill whine of the hazer, he heard another shout, and his heart stumbled faster than his feet.

Rynn.

She burst from the trees, Luac only a step behind. From another spot farther around the circle of the clearing, Rynn’s lieutenant and a second guard appeared. All of them converged on the ship, and the gun turret swiveled again, seeking a target though a sheership’s gun wasn’t ranged for close-quarters fighting.

Suffering no such shortcomings, Omel’s men fired toward the new arrivals. Omel herself raced toward the open hatch, focused solely on escape. Icere fired at the strut again, throwing sparks. She swerved away from the danger, the sachet tucked against her belly.

Behind him, a modest
thwang
reverberated. A flechette whirred past his ear to bury itself in the strut, just one more sliver of metal in the hatch mechanism.

He glanced back at Ky. “What is that going to—?”

“Down!” She caught him between the shoulders and shoved him to the earth.

A fireball engulfed the strut.

As fireballs went, it was only a few hand-spans across, but Omel was knocked backward, and the strut buckled, wrenching the hatch tongue askew.

It wouldn’t be closing again without an overhaul.

Icere grabbed Ky and rolled as the ship’s gun opened fire where they’d been. Apparently the gunner was reconfiguring on the fly for close range.

“Nice shot,” Icere said.

“The flechettes are fitted with small charges. You don’t think we fish malac waters with plain old darts, do you?”

“I’ve never gone fishing.”

“It’s very relaxing.”

Omel pulled herself to her feet, though she swayed. Behind her, Rynn’s lieutenant and his second had pinned down Omel’s men.

Icere caught a glimpse of one of the barge guards crumpled in the grasses at the treeline. Alive or not, he didn’t have time to guess, because Rynn was running toward Omel, zigzagging to evade the targeting of the gun turret.

Luac split off from her side to aim toward the gaping hatch. He sprayed the interior of the ship with the wide-open beam of his hazer; not immediately lethal at that spread, but enough to force back any lurkers. He was going to force his way inside against an unknown force.

Engines wailing, the ship began to rise.

“Ni-Saya, wait!” Icere bellowed.

Rynn had her hands on Omel and had spun her around to grab the sachet, but when she realized where her son was headed, she released the other woman. She altered course for Luac and knocked him aside with her headlong charge just as the ship’s gun finally locked on them and shattered the earth.

Icere staggered sideways as the ground seemed to lift up beneath him. He caught a glimpse of Omel lunging toward the dangling hatch. Anonymous figures dressed in dark fatigues caught at her and pulling her inward, already reaching for the sachet tucked under Omel’s arm.

They were escaping!

The realization hit him almost as hard as the ground when he returned to earth. His ears rang with the force of the blow, but he found himself crawling through the torn sand and grasses.

Luac was prone, half covered in sand, eyes dazed but blinking. Icere passed him then rolled to his side in shock as Rynn rose up just a step away.

Her shift hung in tatters and her dark hair tangled around her in a wild halo on the engine’s blowback as she raised a spear gun. The little vermillion shells in her hair glinted like tongues of flame, and the qva’avaq key shone around her wrist, silver with the rain. The flechette she set in the launcher was tipped with not one but three charged points, and he couldn’t decide if he was more horrified or amused that she’d obviously hunted this way before.

Horrified, definitely horrified.

The ship lurched at an awkward cant, its systems no doubt protesting the hazard of the open hatch. But the pilot compensated, tilting the ship. The turret struggled to swing back to target them and locked just as Rynn loosed the spear.

The flechette hit square, blowing apart the ship’s gun in a hail of sparks and plasteel shards.

The ship turned tail, as if to run, but Icere’s heart stopped.

“Get down!” He grabbed for Rynn in the instant before the ship opened its engine and climbed for the sky.

He pulled her close. The wash of energy was almost pleasant at first, but the heat turned scorching. In front of him, a blade of grass blackened, and he curled tight over the smaller shape beneath him.

“Icere!” Her breath against his throat was almost cool compared to the fire all around them.

He wouldn’t let her go.

Never again.

The angry scream of the struggling ship redoubled, and for a bitter moment, he thought they were coming back, that they’d sear the clearing in retribution before he could ask Rynn about the key around her wrist.

But the new shriek of power was higher. A second ship.

The
Asphodel
pierced the cloud cover high above the raider ship, vapor curling in intricate, dreamy patterns. The raider ship banked toward the ocean, trying to get out from the threatening shadow of the hovering
Asphodel
.

Beneath him, Rynn squirmed. “Icere? L’auralyo! Rouse yourself. I need you.”