wandering from the gauges to the flashing drone and back. He’d pass twenty-two relay points on the way to the platform. Each was situated just far enough apart to maintain a useable system and still allow anyone not familiar with it, anyone without the codes and drones, to find themselves lost between points. He grinned and leaned low over the bike, letting its speed and the colors of the Shroud lighten his mood.
The Shrouded were not a populous people, nor were they a militant one. He imagined that’s why they ended up here, hidden in the gasses and content to live without interference. They had been refugees at one point, conquered and expelled from their home world. Little was said about it.
On the topic of their new home, however, it had a great deal to say. He saw the drone ahead wobble and felt a rush of adrenaline. It steadied immediately, before the gauges even registered the fluctuation. Never trust the Shroud to be constant. But they did trust it. They trusted the Shroud to hide them, the core to shelter them and the storms and confusion to keep away anyone that didn’t have a proper invitation.
The brides were on their way. The Kingmaker approached, bringing with her a Heart choice and a new face on the throne. It was a proper invitation. The Heart brought the right candidate. Every Shrouded had faith in at least that much. Riding under the full depth of the Shroud, Dolfan couldn’t help but feel its weight. He couldn’t help the flash of fear, the thought that faith was, perhaps, a very thin armor.
Chapter Six
V ashia wriggled her hands against the restraints and fought off another wave of panic. She glanced around the hangar bay, took in the filth, the rows of chained slaves, and cringed. What have I done? The roar of ships departing shook the bench where they sat. Fourteen lost souls who’d passed the prescreening and signed away all their worldly rights.
And she’d done it too.
She eyed the dirty, bruised legs across from them and couldn’t remember for the life of her why she’d signed. Her mind reasoned that it was all an act. That the poor souls opposite their line were the real slaves, but her doubt argued, how do you know? She’d trusted complete strangers because of one word: offspring.
After the exam she’d been informed of her acceptance and handed a simple contract. There’d been no small print, no secret clauses. She’d checked. It just said two things: That there’d be no return for the “candidate” and that she and any offspring born of her union would be full-fledged citizens of Shroud. She’d never thought about having a child. The idea caught her by surprise.
Beside her, a girl called Murrel glowered at the waiting slaves. She spoke as if she’d snagged Vashia’s thoughts from the ether. “Can you imagine if this whole thing turned out to be a trap?” Her voice still held a note of disdain, but there was a tremor of fear behind the words.
“I was imagining that exactly.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Murrel attached herself to Vashia as soon as they left the exam room, despite her previous snarling on the couch. Vashia couldn’t decide if the woman had just relaxed once they’d passed screening, or if she clung to Vashia because they were the only two in the group that didn’t come from the brothels. She didn’t care either way. It felt good to have someone to talk to, even someone a little snarly. Snarly at least felt familiar.
The far doors slid open with a bang and three port officials entered. Their footsteps slipped against the steel floor, echoing in the huge space. The coordinator—who’d driven the transport the short distance from the screening warehouse to the hangar—snapped to attention. He stood and faced the spaceport staff. The slaver in charge of the other line of broken souls mirrored his actions.
“What now?” Murrel whispered at her shoulder. They’d been given rags to wear along with their shackles, and the smell they carried made the
The Shrouded were not a populous people, nor were they a militant one. He imagined that’s why they ended up here, hidden in the gasses and content to live without interference. They had been refugees at one point, conquered and expelled from their home world. Little was said about it.
On the topic of their new home, however, it had a great deal to say. He saw the drone ahead wobble and felt a rush of adrenaline. It steadied immediately, before the gauges even registered the fluctuation. Never trust the Shroud to be constant. But they did trust it. They trusted the Shroud to hide them, the core to shelter them and the storms and confusion to keep away anyone that didn’t have a proper invitation.
The brides were on their way. The Kingmaker approached, bringing with her a Heart choice and a new face on the throne. It was a proper invitation. The Heart brought the right candidate. Every Shrouded had faith in at least that much. Riding under the full depth of the Shroud, Dolfan couldn’t help but feel its weight. He couldn’t help the flash of fear, the thought that faith was, perhaps, a very thin armor.
Chapter Six
V ashia wriggled her hands against the restraints and fought off another wave of panic. She glanced around the hangar bay, took in the filth, the rows of chained slaves, and cringed. What have I done? The roar of ships departing shook the bench where they sat. Fourteen lost souls who’d passed the prescreening and signed away all their worldly rights.
And she’d done it too.
She eyed the dirty, bruised legs across from them and couldn’t remember for the life of her why she’d signed. Her mind reasoned that it was all an act. That the poor souls opposite their line were the real slaves, but her doubt argued, how do you know? She’d trusted complete strangers because of one word: offspring.
After the exam she’d been informed of her acceptance and handed a simple contract. There’d been no small print, no secret clauses. She’d checked. It just said two things: That there’d be no return for the “candidate” and that she and any offspring born of her union would be full-fledged citizens of Shroud. She’d never thought about having a child. The idea caught her by surprise.
Beside her, a girl called Murrel glowered at the waiting slaves. She spoke as if she’d snagged Vashia’s thoughts from the ether. “Can you imagine if this whole thing turned out to be a trap?” Her voice still held a note of disdain, but there was a tremor of fear behind the words.
“I was imagining that exactly.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Murrel attached herself to Vashia as soon as they left the exam room, despite her previous snarling on the couch. Vashia couldn’t decide if the woman had just relaxed once they’d passed screening, or if she clung to Vashia because they were the only two in the group that didn’t come from the brothels. She didn’t care either way. It felt good to have someone to talk to, even someone a little snarly. Snarly at least felt familiar.
The far doors slid open with a bang and three port officials entered. Their footsteps slipped against the steel floor, echoing in the huge space. The coordinator—who’d driven the transport the short distance from the screening warehouse to the hangar—snapped to attention. He stood and faced the spaceport staff. The slaver in charge of the other line of broken souls mirrored his actions.
“What now?” Murrel whispered at her shoulder. They’d been given rags to wear along with their shackles, and the smell they carried made the
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