Page 29 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

“The five marks,” Aral said.

Kaz came halfway out of her seat. “It’s what Bolivarr showed us. The pattern is identical.”

Aral began to reach for the pendant then drew his hand back. Out of respect, not fear, she sensed. “If my brother knew of a pendant or a physical key, he never mentioned it. His last communication was a page filled with runes and the same five points of light as the pendant. Another message was to follow. An explanation. But we lost contact. It’s been four years, and we’re no closer to learning what happened to him.”

“It ended badly, surely.” Kaz’s brows bunched. “He was a spy. He lived dangerously. He took too many risks. He fell under that treasure’s spell, I think. But he died a hero, defending his secrets.”

“Aye.” Aral’s hand balled into a fist, his tendons bunching.

Wren shared the sorrow in Kaz and Aral’s hearts, but she sensed something else pained Aral. Something unresolved, related to his brother’s death. “You lost your Bolivarr. My Sabra was like a mother to me. She would’ve traveled with me to Ara Ana. But my other guardian, Ilkka, wanted control of the treasure to go to the loyalists. They fought over it—fought over me. I killed Ilkka to save Sabra, but I was too late.” She stared hard at her bowl of soup. “Three lives lost because of the treasure that we know of. May they be the last.”

“The last lives lost.” Kaz lifted her mug in a toast.

Aral nodded. “Aye. The last.”

They dug into the meal. The soup was as delicious as it had smelled, despite the ingredients. Or maybe Wren was too hungry too care. After a second helping, she pushed her bowl away, her brow wrinkling as she studied the pendant. “What makes me so special? Why can only I open the sanctum. Did Bolivarr say?”

“He suspected that the ability is in your blood,” Aral said. “The blood of high priestesses.”

She winced. Not her blood again. Her DNA. “That can’t be right. There were only brutal warlords on my father’s side. As for my mother, I never knew her. Lady Valla. She died when I was a toddler.” If Wren concentrated, she could conjure a vague memory of being held, and then being released before she was ready to be let go. “I doubt she was a priestess. Not if she married my father. His lifestyle wasn’t exactly priestess-friendly. Don’t they take vows of chastity?”

“Some do, certain sects,” Aral replied.

Could that be the reason he went out of his way to avoid physical contact? Her priestess blood? Her alleged chastity hadn’t deterred the refugee who assaulted her in the camp, but Aral was noble enough to want to respect such a choice. Except she’d made no such vow. Quite the opposite. Awrenkka, the little mar-mouse, the warlord’s runt, wanted to survive, but Wren wanted tolive. For as long as the fates allowed—which, considering the long odds against her, probably wouldn’t be very long. To that end, she didn’t want to go to her grave without first experiencing the thrill of making love to a man, and ever since the day of her presentation, she’d never wanted that man to be anyone but Aral Mawndarr.

Who wasn’t interested inthatway.

If not for his desire to complete his brother’s mission, would he ever have come looking for her?

Suddenly, her frown matched Aral’s. “So there’s no misunderstanding, I have taken no vow of celibacy.”

He almost choked on his tea.

“But some high priestess blood could come in handy. I heard in the camp they’re executing my father’s High Command as fast as they can find them. I’m in a lot of trouble with the Triad. What if they want to execute me? They might think twice if it’s a mortal sin.”

“They’d have to get past me first,” Aral growled. “And by the fates, Wren, it will never happen.”

His eyes found hers, and in them she saw the same look that gave her hope all those years ago:We’ll find a way out.

Her insides swooned.

Abruptly, Aral stood. “The jumpdrive will be recharged by now.” A blur of efficiency, he cleared away the evidence of their meal. What Ilkka had always called “women’s work,” he accomplished in a swift, serious, and yet masculine manner, as if he were attending to damaged hardware after a battle. He folded a cleaning rag into a perfect rectangle, taking care that the corners were lined up. “I’ll take those coordinates now, Wren. We’ll leave for Ara Ana as soon as we’ve programmed the nav system.”

“I don’t have them.”

“We need the location of Ara Ana to set a course.”

“I thoughtyouknew it.”

He exhaled. “Well, this complicates things.”

Kaz touched an earring, her eyes narrowed. “Bolivarr knew how to find Ara Ana. Why else would he have sent us the five points of light?”

Wren brushed her fingertip across the pendant. Its faint, pulsing glow made it seem alive.

Aral leaned forward. “Do that again. Touch the face.”

Wren complied, and again the pendant glowed.

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