Unbound (29 page)

“I truly doubt Dareh security would be chasing you if you’d accepted their offer.” Their nameless friend reached aside casually and entered an adjustment in the aircar’s board. “I wouldn’t have found you as I had if that were the case.”

Asrial didn’t like what she saw on the routing display. “We’re not headed for the spaceport.”

He nodded, unabashed by her discovery. “My apologies, but a direct route would surely draw Dareh attention.”

A plausible excuse. Still, she raised her stunner. She didn’t aim it at him, but the threat was clear.

A sidelong look from the grounder acknowledged it. He bent his head again in a formal bow—more courtier manners. “Pardon my impudence,
Sraya
, but I thought to seize this opportunity to approach you on behalf of another party.”

That was more like it. She hadn’t believed he’d offered his help out of the goodness of his heart. The tension in her gut eased, now that she knew the price for his aid. “Another party?”

“Dareh policies are designed for the benefit of the corporation and its allies. The Lomidari are left to the whims of the Bintanan—she who would call herself sovreine. You could help change that. Certain people believe the Dareh are wrong. Many people,” he added, staring at her intently. “With your support, there would be more. Enough to force the Dareh to recognize our concerns.”

Did he think she would welcome his proposal just because they opposed the Dareh? Asrial suppressed a smile.

“There may be two sides to a cred, but if nine parties were to sit down at a table, there would be sixty-four sides to their discussion.”
Jamyl had been fond of that saying. Opposition to the Dareh didn’t necessarily make this other party better for the Lomidari than the Bintanan. Like flying through a rock field, danger came from different vectors that changed over time: there was never a single, safe constant.

“Why me? I’ve never had anything to do with Lomida.” It didn’t make sense. So what if she’d been born a sovreine? That accident of birth had nothing to do with capability. She was a Rim rat. Yet even the Dareh treated her as if she were someone important, someone whose mere presence could rally Lomidari to their cause. Both sides simply took it for granted that she had such influence.

“You are House Dilaryn . . . and the rightful
reis
. You were able to enter Salima. Your entry and subsequent exit confirmed your heritage—in full view of all Lomida, in fact.” The grounder gave her a thin smile as he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs. “The coverage was live. The Dareh couldn’t stop it.”

Shocked by the matter-of-fact explanation, she gaped at the grounder. “Frigging crap. That’s got nothing to do with anything.” Calling her the rightful
reis
? What was with him?

“Only a sovreine could open the gate to Salima. No matter how loudly the Bintanan might proclaim her ennoblement, she could not force her will upon the walls of Salima.” House Dilaryn’s hereditary domain was considered the final refuge for the Lomidari—a sacred trust—and the main reason the Dareh couldn’t strip it from her family upon her father’s abdication.

“
Sraya
Dilaryn, our movement can return you to your rightful place.” The grounder presented such an earnest face, his dark eyes blazing with sincerity, that she couldn’t help feeling cynical. Naturally, after a plea to save the Lomidari from themselves, they would try to appeal to her nonexistent ambition. It only confirmed her suspicions that they knew nothing about her or her priorities. Even if she could stomach turning grounder, getting involved in Lomidar politics wouldn’t pay Amin’s medical expenses. Worse, doing away with his job as her agent would deal his pride a deadly blow.

She arched one brow in disbelief, slow and deliberate, the stunner in her hand a reassuring weight. Jamyl had stepped down to spare Lomida an internecine war—and that had been when he’d enjoyed broad popular support. “As a puppet, to be put on display and paraded when needed?”

“Of course not! You are sovreine—a true sovreine, not that bastard excuse who rules from the Tower—the daughter of the
reis
. You would rule in your own name.”

“You offer this so freely,” Romir said, his face as unreadable as the granite wall around Salima. She had to wonder what he made of this all. Lomida was the world his people had escaped to; that made the Lomidari his people. He’d sacrificed his freedom for theirs.
“Some of us had to stay behind.”
She didn’t doubt that he’d volunteered. If he hadn’t anchored the portal, he would have been safe. After millennia of captivity, did he have an emotional investment in the Lomidari?

The grounder frowned at Romir, puzzlement clouding his brown eyes. Apparently he’d initially dismissed him as mere crew. Now she could see questions forming as he gave more thought to Romir’s presence. “Who’re you?”

“You do not know?”

The frown deepened, another crack in the grounder’s confidence. “We don’t have a dossier on you.”

Romir spread his hands. “Then I am no one important.”

His soft answer only drew a sharper stare, calculations clicking behind that intent gaze. “Some might think so, but I’m not buying.” The Lomidari ran his fingers along the seam of his pants slowly, repeatedly, as though the motion would coax some wary insight to his hand. “You look Lomidari, but you’re not in any database—as Romir Gadaña or any other alias. You’re not blood, but you accompanied the Dilaryn into Salima. You’re unarmed, you’re not muscle, yet there you sit ready to give your life for the
sraya
. I suspect you are important.”

The shift in focus to Romir made her neck itch, the stinging bite of uncertainty nearly a physical thing, and she couldn’t do anything to alleviate the sensation; right then even scratching would be an unnecessary display of weakness.

Narrowing her eyes at the grounder, Asrial willed his attention back to her. “Who he is makes no difference to my decision. I’ll tell you the same as I told the Bintanan: no way in frigging hell.”

Large hands fisted and opened, fisted and opened, then clenched on tense knees, knuckles going pale—so pale that her trigger finger itched. Any sudden motion on the grounder’s part, and she intended to stun first and apologize later, if apologies were necessary. But he did one better than the Bintanan: no threats were forthcoming.

“Please reconsider.” His eyes blazed, erupting with livid frustration. “They tie us up with regulations that only benefit the Dareh. Nonaffiliated businesses are losing out to the conglomerates and their allies. They’re strangling us, and it’s not even on purpose; they’re doing it to defeat non-Lomidar interests. Our memories are not so short that we’ve forgotten how it was under House Dilaryn, when we had a
reis
. With you to lead us, Lomida could be that shining trust once more.”

Bold words. He sounded sincere, but the Spirit of space only knew how much truth it held. She knew nothing about their “movement” and had no intention of throwing her support behind them simply because they opposed the Dareh.

Her to lead them? He was either bordering on desperation or thought her naive.

Her, turn grounder? She couldn’t imagine tying herself to one planet when the vastness of space awaited her, much less to a planet of turbulent politics that had already spat out her parents. She had a greater responsibility to Amin and his family; at least that was something within her control.

“Politics is for the insane. I’m a spacer, a Rim rat. I know nothing of Lomida and have no wish to rule it. That would be a direct course to disaster.” Asrial grimaced. It was only the truth, but she felt as if she’d crashed the floater of a lamed man. “No, we’re lifting as soon as possible.”

Their nameless friend’s face went blank, wiped clean of all expression. “As you wish,
Sraya
.” He bowed his head in seeming acceptance of her decision.

That was a sight easier than the Dareh. Maybe too easy?

The aircar landed. To her surprise, they were at the starport, beside the
Castel
. She’d half expected to be dumped in the middle of Yasra for her refusal. Or perhaps their nameless friend wanted her to think his side was better than the Dareh?

Asrial slumped against
the hatch, relieved to shut out all the Lomidar insanity. What a wild ride. After that spectacular escape, they had to leave—before the Dareh schemed up a plan to take her or the
Castel
into custody. Now she truly understood at a visceral level why Jamyl and Nasri had avoided this crazy planet. If she never visited this sector of space again, it would be no great loss.

Strong arms drew her up to lean into a hard chest. The muscles under her cheek felt hot and solid, only the lack of a heartbeat betrayed Romir for djinn—and a powerful one, to judge by the stunner blasts he’d stopped and turned back on the Dareh.

“Are you sure you’re fine?”

“My prison does not draw me so strongly. Perhaps I am developing some resistance.”

She studied his features. The lack of tension about his eyes and mouth supported his claim. After everything he’d done, she expected him to be struggling against mist. Worry drained on a surge of relief, flowing from her tight shoulders, down her spine, and through her trembling knees, leaving her clinging to Romir.

Embarrassment threatened to weld her feet to the deck. What had happened to the independent Rim rat content to explore ancient ruins all alone, relying on only her own strength and wits? To the strong woman working desperately not to be a burden to Amin and his family? One run-in with the Dareh, and she was clinging like some spineless jill.

“That’s good. In fact, that’s great.” She retreated to the piloting chamber before she made a bigger fool of herself. Surely Romir had done enough earlier, protecting her from the stunner blasts.

A green light blinked on the board, indicating a completed task. Asrial frowned at it in puzzlement. What task was that? Evading the Dareh’s invitation, Romir’s astonishing display of power, then that amazing offer from their nameless friend dominated her thoughts, forcing everything else out.

Eager to have something normal to handle, she activated the comp. Words filled the screen. It took her a moment to realize what they were: the translation of the light text. She’d left the comp working on it.

Her eagerness quickly melted into pity. The preface alone made her heart ache for Romir, cut off as he was from everything familiar, lost to his people.

The translation was awkward and left much to be desired. But if she understood the preface correctly, despite the sacrifices Romir and his associates had accepted to save his people, sympathizers of their enemy had managed to gain influence among the survivors—sufficient influence to force them to give up this weaving. That discovery would’ve been enough to scour the hearts of lesser men. But she couldn’t think about that now. What was more important was the technique of unraveling it hinted at.

Asrial buried her face in her hands, pressing on her eyes to force back the tears that welled up despite herself. What was up with that? The means for freeing Romir lay before her. She didn’t have time to indulge her weakness. But still, when she opened her eyes, the tears leaked through, blurring the text on the screen.

Scrubbing her cheeks dry, Asrial stared at the cryptic words in puzzlement. If that promise did indeed relate to freeing djinn, it seemed they didn’t want to make understanding it easy. The fount of life? What body was supposed to be anointed? To what purpose? The rest of the line hadn’t been translated—likely a deficiency in the comp’s vocabulary. That was probably the same reason why the translation listed hope, future, and existence in the first line: the comp couldn’t determine the appropriate reading.

A second pass offered no clarification. She forced her eyes past what she’d already read—perhaps the rest of the translation would help . . .

Then had to throttle back the excitement that sent her heart tripping along her ribs. Unravel the unnatural weave? Return the djinn’s sundered existence to its proper skein?

The translation was clearly faulty, skipping over several words. But even a manual search through Nasri’s library didn’t produce definitions for those words.

Hope struggled with caution, impatience at her cowardice playing the deciding hand. If this light text with its offer of freedom was the promise entrusted to generations of Dilaryns, she couldn’t turn aside. That way lay false kindness.

There was no avoiding it. She had to ask Romir for a proper translation. If the message did hold the key to freeing him, she couldn’t let her qualms about his reaction to the light text stop her. Perhaps away from Salima and seeing the text on the comp’s screen would mitigate its impact.

Steeling her nerves, she marched into the galley and stopped dead at the sight of Romir setting food on the dining counter. She stared. It was just a meal kit heated up, but he’d garnished the meat portion with shredded leaves that had to have come from hydroponics. “I thought you didn’t eat.”

“This is for you.” He added another plate. “You have not eaten, and you need your strength after that skirmish.”