The Warlord's Daughter (20 page)

B
ORROWED
T
IME
CAME
screaming out of the wormhole, warning alarms blaring. It had been a shrieking, jolting ride. How they had made it through a collapsing wormhole at all, Aral had no idea. Whether or not their pursuer had tried to follow was moot. They couldn’t.

He shared a glance with Wren.
We made it.

“Hull integrity 77%. Plasma loss number two thruster. Low fuel state.”

“Flarg. We’ve got a hull rupture. We’re leaking fuel and losing air.”

So much for making it, Aral thought. He homed in on the air-remaining readout. The digits were extrapolated to the ten-thousandth place. The smallest ones were plunging so fast that they were blurred to the eye. Taunting him. One hour and thirty minutes of air. A heartbeat of time in space.
Battlelord, what will you do now?
“Can we make Ara Ana?” With all the jumping through hyperspace they’d done, they were practically on its doorstep.

“Only if we don pressure suits. I’ve got three. The women get two. Mawndarr—we will flip a queen to decide which one of us gets to breathe.”

“Absolutely not,” Wren said.

At the same time Kaz shook her head. “We’re a crew. Either we all put on suits or none of us do.”

Vantos looked positively touched for a moment, then schooled his features. “If we abandon ship we can make it in the escape pod.” He magnified the still invisible planet many times until it filled the screen. “There you are, beautiful. At last.” Then he turned back to them. “It’ll be a one-way trip, boys and girls.”

Kaz took the news as stoically as ever, but as he watched she lifted a hand to touch her ruby earrings, a way she sometimes seemed to connect with Bolivarr when under pressure. But the earrings were gone. And he was gone.

“Life support reserves critical. Fuel state low.”

They had no choice. Wren found Aral’s hand. He leaned close to her, his forehead pressed to hers. “I wish I could have done more for you, Wren. I wish we could have run away like you wanted.”

“Ara Ana is where we’re supposed to go.”

“And not be able to leave?”

“We’ll find a way out,” she whispered.

“From the laser-fryer into the fire,” Vantos growled suddenly, drawn by an incoming call. “We’ve got a welcoming party.”

“Unidentified trader vessel, this is the TAS
Cloud Shadow.
We copy your distress signal. Do you require assistance?”

They jolted at the sound of strange voices after so long. TAS, Aral thought. That meant a Triad Alliance ship. Bloody hells. “It’s the Mission Origins vessel.” Not only had they beaten them to Ara Ana, they were offering them rescue.

E
NSIGN
M
ORGGIN
, assistant security officer, hurried over to where Hadley stood with Garwin and Bolivarr searching for signs of inhabitation. “We’ve got a target emitting a Mayday. It has a trader signature. Triad. No visible threat. It’s an old AG-250. Tiny, a crew of one to six, max. They’re down to emergency levels of fuel and air, Captain.”

“It’s a long way from home for a triad trader.”

“They could be our treasure hunters,” Garwin postulated, looking quite possessive about his hoped-for discoveries as he frowned at the damning images.

Everything plundered, hoarded and tucked away in a thousand years of upheaval was now fair game—and irresistible for trader types with old ways of earning money drying up as fast as border skirmishes.

Bolivarr shook his head. “I’d be surprised if they’re one and the same. That ship isn’t made for long-distance hunting. Close-in maneuverability, yes. They’re crazy to be out here.”

Already the cadets, on the bridge for the orbital entry, were speculating excitedly about the turn of events. “They’re probably lost,” Holster said to a burst of derisive laughter from the other rooks, all clearly feeling full of themselves for having spent so many weeks in space.

“We have a duty to rescue them.” Hadley turned to Bolivarr. “And quickly. Send a shuttle.”

“I’ll go.”

No, she mouthed silently. The incident in Sister Chara’s quarters was too fresh. He’d taken meds for a severe headache even as they’d left her quarters. He had no business flying in that condition.

“We’re still on level-two alert,” he reminded her,
trying hard not to lean on his cane. “I highly doubt these idiots were involved in the attacks of the religious settlements, but I can’t take that chance. Especially now with signs someone beat us here. I want to question them.”

“You can question them here.”

Although he knew the reason, he seemed to struggle with her order, hating to admit to what he perceived as weakness—his tenuous health—especially if it interfered with his assigned duties. He must have seen she wasn’t intending to back down, either. Or that she was indeed the captain of this ship. With a locked jaw, he nodded. She hid the shiver of relief that went through her. He hated worrying her even more than feeling shame of his physical and mental condition. “I’ll send the shuttle with extra crew—armed, then,” he said. “I take over once they’re back.”

“Approved.”

Morggin called from his station. “Captain, the traders have abandoned ship. We’re tracking the escape pod.”

“Raise the alert to three,” Bolivarr said.

Hadley nodded. “I concur.”

Bolivarr left to supervise the shuttle preparation, and Garwin to organize the first of many surface visits. With security mobilized and the threat level raised to three, a sense of purpose swept through the ship—and her. Finally they were seeing some action. A rescue mission would only add to the excellent training for the cadets, even if it meant bringing aboard a group of scruffy, directionally impaired traders from their ramshackle ship.

W
AITING IN THE ESCAPE POD
for rescue, the Drakken looked as if they were on their way to their execution. Maybe they were, Keir thought.

Blast it all. He tossed aside the nanopick he was chewing to listen to Mawndarr’s briefing. “On that ship we’re going to have to watch every word we say, everything we do. Three of us are at risk of being convicted for treason. Vantos, you’re the only one with a choice of sides.”

“Sides? You think I’m going to spill the beans? If they find out she’s the warlord’s daughter, there’s nothing to stop them from splitting the bounty between them while my frozen body drifts out the nearest airlock. No treasure, no bounty. Not a good deal for ol’ Vartekeir. Look, I got us into this, I’ll get us out.”

He felt Wren’s grateful gaze on him. “Nope, not hero stuff. Don’t even think it. It’s still about the money. It’s always been about the money.”

But it had become more than that.

Fates. He jammed a hand through his hair. He wasn’t responsible for her or any of these Drakken. He owed them nothing. But blast it all, common decency told him he didn’t deliver them into the Triad’s clutches and take the spoils.

“That’s hero stuff, Vantos.”
He cringed, thinking of Ellie’s words back on Zorabeta. Like then as now, doing something nice for a pretty girl who just happened to be the warlord’s daughter who’d lured him into her little snare telling him fifty-millions queens was pocket change didn’t sound like hero stuff to him. Nope. He wasn’t involved. No, just offering temporary assistance. The Triad never did anything for him. He owed them nothing.

“Look, we’ve got a watertight alibi. We’re traders
who got lost scoping out possible new routes. We tried to jump our way back and cooked the ship.”

“They’re scientists,” Kaz said, dismissing the Triad crew as nonwarriors the same way she’d once dismissed him. “They won’t care. They’re hunting artifacts.”

“That
we
happen to want,” Vantos said. “Our treasure.”

“My treasure.” Wren stared them down with her best imitation of the warlord’s stare. It was surprisingly effective.

Mawndarr wasn’t any happier about it than he was. Keir was a trader at risk of losing the deal of his life. And Aral? His wife.

The Triad shuttle coasted close. “Standby for tow.” The closing of a mechanical arm over the pod reverberated with a clank. The stars started moving again as the shuttle turned to return home—with them in its jaws.

“A battlelord, his second, the warlord’s daughter and a blockade runner hitch a ride on a Triad shuttle,” Keir said to the grim group. “It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.”

Aral sat with Wren held close. Keir couldn’t see her face. It was buried against Mawndarr’s chest. Mawndarr, an infamous battlelord, unrecognizable in his incarnation as a trader, cradled the warlord’s daughter so tenderly. He hadn’t seen such easy intimacy since his parents. This was why humans sought out someone else, he thought, feeling his loneliness and blasted well not wanting to. It was why his parents fell in love and took a gamble on spending a lifetime together. No, not just for the sex. For
this
—to be able to open yourself to another. To know someone had your six. Always.

He realized Kaz was watching him, her dark eyes
curious. “Do I get a hug, too?” he asked, half hoping she’d cave in.

Kaz snorted softly. “Trader trash.”

“But you say it with the utmost affection.”

Her lush lips lost some of their stiffness. “Yes, actually. I do. But don’t read into it.”

“I thoroughly intend to.” They regarded each other in the pod’s snug confines. Keir leaned a shoulder insolently against the inner wall—or, rather, he leaned his shoulder as insolently as a man could in the total absence of gravity.

Shaking her head, Kaz made her way to a seat. With a firm hold on the handgrip behind his head, Keir tried to keep his legs from floating up in front of his face and obscuring his view of one hells of a cute ass moving under standard-issue trousers he was sure weren’t designed to spark the imagination. But despite all reasonable efforts to assure a different reaction, Kazara Kaan did spark his imagination—in a decidedly un-commerce-like way.

Kaz drew the straps over her head. The movement sent her short hair swirling around her face like ink poured in water.
Don’t try to get close to me.
The sentiment was written all over her face.

“Don’t you have something else to do, Vantos?” she asked.

“A good-luck kiss would be nice.”

She made a choking noise. He’d actually startled a laugh out of her. Imagine that. The woman who had treated him with unrelenting, absolute disdain from the moment they’d met, a battlelord’s second who reserved the lion’s share of her respect and regard for Mawndarr, and who saw the fact that he’d quit the military as instant
points against him. Even if that military service would have meant fighting as her enemy. To her, civilians were as boring and necessary as the supplies stashed in a cargo hold. As meaningless as chem-toilets. “So, you like me now.”

“I hate you.”

Liar.
“It makes you a challenge.”

“I told you—I don’t want to be involved with anyone, Vantos.”

“Keir. Sexy beast is fine, too.”

Her expression chilled further but two spots of pink appeared on her cheeks. Oh, yes, he was breaking down the walls. It made the humiliating tow-in to the Triad ship almost bearable.

She focused on him again, this time as if sizing him up. For what purpose, he had no clue, but that gaze did something to him. He wanted to be with her, he decided. At least give it a try. It completely and overwhelmingly went against everything he stood for. Not only for what she was, a Drakken, but for who he thought
he
was. His standard operating procedure told him one thing, but when he was in this woman’s company, the rest of him was telling him something completely different….

Keir closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the uncomfortable seat for the duration of the trip. He’d lost his ship and just about everything else that mattered. He wasn’t going to throw away his bachelorhood, too.

A
LOUD, HOLLOW CLANG
left Aral with no doubt they’d been released from the shuttle’s tow claw. “We’ve been deposited in their cargo bay,” he explained to Wren.

“From hauling cargo to being cargo,” Vantos muttered.

A voice on the comm instructed. “Disembark and proceed through decontamination. Leave all weapons behind.”

Vantos popped the hatch. With an ear-popping cold rush of air, they stepped into the cavernous cargo bay. It was as if they were alone on the ship. From the cockpit of the shuttle, a gloved hand motioned toward the decon tubes. Aral nodded his understanding and the pilots replied with a friendly wave. So far they’d been treated with cordiality and understandable reserve. It said a lot about the captain of this vessel. It was a well-run ship.

He held fast to Wren’s hand as they stood in the decon mist. They were a married couple. It was the one part of their reality that he wanted as part of their ruse. It would ensure they were able to share quarters.

The doors opened to a larger bay filled with supplies of various kinds. He and Wren exited first as Vantos and Kaz then stepped into the decon chamber behind them.

“Welcome to the
Cloud Shadow.
”

A young, pretty blond woman greeted them. With his battlelord’s observation, he noted the captain’s stripes decorating her sleeves and labeled her instantly as inexperienced in her role but sharp, her confidence a thin veneer over her uncertainty in her new position.

Her steps faltered, and she paused, giving Wren no more than a quick friendly glance but staring outright at Aral in definite recognition. His heart accelerated. Had Zaafran sent a picture around? Witness descriptions from Zorabeta, or of his father, Karbon?

No. That wasn’t it. Her eyes held no threat. Only shock. Wren must have noticed, too. Her hand squeezed his in warning as the captain turned to a tall, lean
golden-skinned man striding into the bay to join them. He flashed a smile at them, his gaze only momentarily tripping over Aral.

A smile Aral knew. A gaze he could never forget—or mistake.
Bolivarr.
Aral made a quiet, choked sound in his throat as his ears rang with a rush of roaring blood. His brother was alive!