Shrouded: Heartstone Book One (12 page)

“
W
hat happened
?” Tarren leaned over Murrel and tossed a frantic look at Vashia. “Are you okay?”

Vashia watched Murrel cry. She should have hopped over to the other couch. She should have draped an arm over the girl and done her best to help Tarren comfort her. Instead, she shrank away. She lay on her lounge and tried to blend into it.

“Oh.” Murrel sniffed, a loud and overdone gesture and one she’d pulled out three times since Nerala delivered her back to their room. “Oh.” She flung off Tarren’s arm and dove into her pillow face down.

Fingers tapping on the glass announced Jine, who didn’t wait for an invitation, but slid into the room and rushed to Murrel’s side. “Oh, Murrel!” She lent her own drama to Murrel’s. “Was it awful?”

Vashia frowned. She heard the dash of hope in Jine’s question. The girl was surfing for a story to spread. “I’m sure it wasn’t,” said Vashia. “I’m sure Murrel has learned her lesson.” She had no idea where the little flare of anger came from, but is snuck out before she could stop herself.

Three heads snapped in her direction.

“I mean, I’m sure Madame Nerala was gentle about it.”

Murrel sat up and sniffed again. She brushed off Jine’s arm and nodded, but her eyes held a tickle of suspicion. “She was,” she said, “but
they
were horrid.”

“Well what do you expect?” Vashia’s tongue refused to play it safe. “You mocked their whole belief system!”

She saw Tarren’s eyes narrow and sat up.

“She didn’t mean too,” Jine defended Murrel. “Did you?”

“No.” Murrel’s eyes didn’t flinch from Vashia’s. “No. I felt something. It was just like in the book, all throbbing and lightheaded.”

“It’s not like that at all.” Vashia held Murrel’s gaze. She felt the challenge, and couldn’t bring her stupid pride to back down. “It doesn’t feel like that for real.”

“Because it’s not real,” Tarren said.

“They both think it’s you.” Murrel dropped her bomb and waited. Her eyes accused Vashia, as if she’d done it intentionally, as if she hadn’t tried to stop Murrel from making an ass of herself.

“Don’t be silly.” Tarren’s voice shook a little, despite the force of her words. “Vashia doesn’t want to be queen.”

She didn’t move, though Tarren’s fears made her want to squirm a little. She didn’t want to be queen, but she didn’t confirm the fact; her silence damned her. She could see it on Murrel’s face and in Jine’s startled expression.

“What
does
it feel like?” Jine asked.

“Go back to your own room, Jine.” Vashia stood up and crossed the room. She stared out the glass into a mesh of thick leaves. Bad enough to alienate her roommates, but Jine’s whispering could do wider damage.

She waited. No way would she talk to them with Jine in the room. For a few minutes none of them spoke, and she felt the distance between them deepen, pushing her to the outside of the little circle. Finally, Jine stood up and came to the glass doorway. She paused in it, but Vashia refused to turn to her, to see whatever nasty face went along with her parting shot.

“You’re not the Kingmaker,” she said.

Vashia waited for her steps to cross the courtyard before she reached out and slid the panel shut. She turned and found her roommates watching her. She’d expected the fury on Murrel’s face, even the betrayal on Tarren’s, though she didn’t deserve either. Even so, her resolve wavered in the onslaught.

“Are you?” Tarren whispered first. She looked down at her hands.

“It feels like static.” Vashia reached up and tapped her temple. “In here.”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Bollocks.” Murrel stood up. “You’re wrong. That’s not how the manual says it feels.”

“Shut up, Murrel.” Tarren still wouldn’t look at her, but her words gave Vashia a little hope. “The stupid book is crap.”

“It also says only mates can feel it. How can they both think it’s her? How could they both feel you? Why would you even want both of them?”

“I don’t, Murrel.”

“Don’t.” She threw up her hands and sneered at her. “I don’t believe you.” She stomped to the outside door and disappeared into the hallway. Silence settled over the room again.

“Static huh?” Tarren looked up at her for the first time. Her voice was cool, flat and distant.

“I’m sorry, Tarren.”

“Why?” Tarren shrugged and crossed to her own couch. “Why be sorry? It’s not like I wanted to be queen.”

“I don’t either.”

“Maybe not, but I think you want one of them.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah. You weren’t too keen on my stinking plan.”

“Well, not on the stinking part.” She let a little laugh enter her words, tried to lighten the impact. “Listen, they’ll take you guys all over Shroud. There’s more than one ceremony.”

“I don’t want to get picked, remember?”

“Right.”

Vashia sat back on her couch and waited for Tarren to relax a little, to remember that they were friends. The idea was scary enough without being all alone on top of it.
Queen. Kingmaker.
It was enough to make her nauseated.

“Well, all right.” Tarren rolled over and smiled, maybe not genuinely, but it was something. “Just one thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t expect me to call you Your Majesty, or Highness or whatever the hell they use.”

“If you did,” Vashia relaxed into the pillow and tried not to panic at the thought. “I’d have to smack the crap out of you.”

J
arn piloted
the ship on thrusters until the station’s tractor seized the hull. Then he switched off and let the Shrouded bring him right on in. He set down on Moon Base 14 and waited for the station crew to tackle the job of unloading.

He’d brought them cargo—gas and metal to keep their tech and their artificial atmosphere running at full capacity. In return he’d load a pretty batch of stones for Eclipsis, or, more accurately, for a particular class of Eclipsans.

He folded his fingers together and stared at his reflection in the dead screen. Who gave a shit? Trade had nothing to do with this visit. He grinned and watched the beacon device flash against the console. A fleet of mercenaries waited for his signal just outside the Sector. Kovath’s money had bought him an army, even if it hadn’t exactly secured his future yet.

His contact on Shroud had provided a means of entry. The message he’d received before docking confirmed it. Jarn tapped his breast pocket where the data disk waited. They had the magnetic map now, a fair trade for the promises he’d made to the traitor. Thanks to Syradan, they possessed what no one else in the galaxy had—a route into Shroud and a direct line to the palace once they’d arrived.

His thin lips twisted into a smile. All that remained was the waiting. He’d see the governor’s brat off first, make absolutely certain the girl was on the surface before he moved. Once Vashia had given them an official excuse, no one could fault them for their next step. Kovath could claim the child had been abducted, and the Galactic Council would fail to charge him with committing an unprovoked act of war. He watched the cargo sleds file past and nodded. A little wait, a little time, and all the pieces would fit together. Vashia would lead the way, and all he had to do was follow.

T
he Gauss warbled
a little that morning. Dolfan frowned at the readings and ignored another little stab of insecurity. He had nothing to worry about. In a few hours, the whole thing would be decided. In a few hours, he’d have everything he’d ever wanted.

The shuttle waited to ferry them all to the elevator. Nerala would bring her candidates, and he and Mofitan would accompany them to the surface and pilot one of the larger transports back to the Palace for a ceremony that should be the last he’d have to endure. He saw no need for the sharp edge to his nerves, for the tremble in his gut, but he couldn’t seem to shake either.

The door banged open, and Mofitan stormed through it. He ignored Dolfan and stepped to the gauges, tapping a finger on the screen and frowning at the Gauss readout.

“Variance this morning.” Dolfan leaned back and turned his chair to face the other prince.

“I can read.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.” Dolfan shrugged. “I always wondered.”

“She’s not for you.” Mof didn’t look away from the screen, but his voice was all fight.

Dolfan stood and turned to the door. “We’ll know soon enough, won’t we?”

He heard Mofitan grunt as he left the room. Once outside, he let his own anger surface. He balled fists at his side and twisted a pop out of his shoulders. The last thing he needed was to get physical with Mof. Both their statuses would suffer for it. Hell, the throne would suffer for it.

Dolfan couldn’t help the stomp in his steps as he took the corridor toward the shuttle bay. He could see the main hangars through the tube walls. The sleds busily unloaded the newest shipment. He scowled. The ship that brought it had a derelict, battle hardened hull, which he supposed would be the norm outside of standard trade lanes.

That one had come from Eclipsis, and Dolfan’d rather it hadn’t. When Pelinol caved to his Council’s pressure and opened lines with sectors like that, sectors that didn’t operate entirely within galaxy regulations, it put the whole operation at risk. He’d suspend them, if he did end up on the throne. The new council could push him all it wanted. Dolfan didn’t like the idea of ships like that hanging out on Moon Base 14.

Dolfan heard Mofitan approaching and moved on. A good stretch of corridor between them would at least keep things civil. He prayed they could do the same on the trip down, but the idea of close confines, of him, Mofitan and Vashia all traveling in the same space didn’t bode well in his book. If they all survived to reach the Palace, he’d consider it a blessing.

Dolfan reached the shuttle bay from the hangar end at the same time Nerala led the brides in from the atrium tunnel. Theirs was the only shuttle waiting, and he met them beside the hull. Vashia hung behind the others. She always did. Her gray eyes watched him through the gaps in the crowd, and their bond buzzed a background of static.

The sled carrying the women’s things hovered behind the shuttle’s main hatch. He nodded a silent greeting to Nerala and then started loading the bags. Mofitan joined him moments later, and they stowed the fourteen identical duffels in the cargo racking.

He stuffed the last bag into an empty slot and turned. Mof blocked the exit, and Dolfan had to sidestep around the man’s bulk. He reached the bottom of the ramp only to have someone plow directly into his chest. His arms came up on reflex, and he found a pair of slender shoulders in his grip. His senses hummed louder.

“Oh!” Gray eyes turned up to him. They held a wild glint of panic. “Excuse me.”

“What is it?” It occurred to him that these were the first words he’d ever spoken to her, that this was the first time they’d touched. He might have savored it, but the fear on her face swept the moment in a different direction.

She shook her head and said nothing more. The look she darted over her shoulder told him enough. She was running from something—his eyes lifted to the corridor—or from someone. He squeezed against the wall and waved her up the ramp, felt the surge of both static and adrenaline as she brushed against him in passing.

Another woman followed her, and the rest soon surged forward. He let them pass. Mofitan could show them to the couches. He bit back a flutter of jealousy. Better to have her safely on board, even if it meant with Mofitan. Then he noticed a man stalking across the shuttle bay and recorded as many details as he could. Perhaps this was who she had been running from?

“Madame Nerala,” he called to her just as the stranger passed. “I believe we’re ready to depart.”

She tore her gaze away from the man as well, noted that her charges had already boarded and scurried to follow them. Dolfan let her slide past him. He watched the stranger’s mouth curl around some hidden amusement. He moved on, skinny and dark and slick as oil. By the time the rear hatch had closed, that face was burned in Dolfan’s memory.

He knew a snake when he saw one, and though he didn’t know the reason for Vashia’s reaction, he quickly labeled the man his enemy. As soon as their bonding was official, he’d find out exactly why. In the meantime, at least she’d be off the base. He smiled and turned his back on the doors. On Shroud, at least, no one would be able to find her.