Page 5 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

Sabra shook her head. A few strands of blond hair fell over her face as she walked around the bed to Wren. Her eyes looked tired, her face haggard. She wasn’t young, but Sabra hadn’t ever looked her age until now. “There’s no easy way to say this. The warlord is dead.”

Shock sucked the air from Wren’s lungs.

“Your brother Rorkk too. Murdered, both of them. Assassinated. My sorrows.”

It seemed unreal, a father Wren barely knew, a brother she’d never met, gone. Tears didn’t fall. Terror didn’t squeeze her chest. Only quiet surprise at the brutal end of her family. To whom did she owe such composure—her murdered father or her late mother, Lady Valla, the legendary beauty the warlord had cast off for producing a daughter before a son? “Who did this?”

“We weren’t told the identity of the killer—it’s classified information, they say. Here’s what we do know: your father abducted Queen Keira. He wanted to marry her to Rorkk. Her divine blood mixed with that of the House of Rakkuu would have created the most powerful dynasty the galaxy has ever known. That was his plan, at any rate. But he didn’t account for how many Drakken still worshipped the goddesses. Within his very palace were secret believers. When they saw the queen was in danger, they revolted.”

Wren let out a soft cough. The convoluted tale of treachery was beyond comprehension. Her father had kidnapped a queen—a queen. A woman believed to be a goddess by her people. Had his ambition known no bounds? No wonder he’d forgotten all about marrying her off to one of his handpicked minions. He’d been a very busy man.

“The Empire is no more,” Sabra said. “It was a people’s coup. The oppressed rose up—millions and millions of them, on thousands of planets, all across the realm. Your father’s battlelords, his highest commanders—the entire High Command—they ran for their lives. Some have been captured and executed. Others simply disappeared. It’s been many months since the surrender. The war is over.”

“And we heard nothing?”

“The blockade. And communications were jammed. We’re a remote world. An unimportant one. It’s why the warlord sent you here when you were a tot.”

“What if it’s a trick—a lie? Coalition propaganda.”

Sabra shook her head. “A new government has already formed. It’s called the Triad Alliance. Three sides joined together—the remnants of our empire, the Coalition, and a frontier world called Earth. They seem to genuinely want peace. That’s who’s come—the ship. The lack of supplies to this sector will persist. They’re not sure they can prevent us from going hungry. They wish to evacuate us to a temporary camp, Zorabeta, where there’s food and medicine available.”

Wren absorbed the information. “Then we can come home. Right? After.”

“It’s no longer safe for you to be here, and it may never be again. The Imperial Palace is under Coalition—Triad—control. It means the warlord’s private records are under their control too.” Sabra glanced at the front door and back again. Her voice grew quiet, as if she feared eavesdroppers huddled outside. “As soon as they figure out he had a daughter, and where he hid you, they’ll come for you. Your existence is a threat to their peace treaty.”

“What threat am I to them?”

“You’re the last link to the warlord. Mated to a man with the right credentials and ambition, you could resurrect the empire. That’s what they fear.”

“Pah!” Wren shoved her feet into her boots. “I’m not interested in being mated. To anyone. Ever!” Let alone to a man who would want to use her. “The warlord’s dead. That means I’m free.” She felt lighter with each word. “Free to turn down all offers of marriage.”

“Your consent will mean little to the loyalists. It’s your bloodline they’re after.”

“My blood, my blood—will it always be about my blood?”Orhisblood—the warlord’s.What of her mother? Lady Valla was rarely brought up. Why was nothing ever said of her lineage, or whether she shared any characteristics with her daughter? The only conclusion Wren had been able to draw was that she was her father’s daughter in every way. “Maybe the Triad is justified seeing me as a threat to their peace treaty. Evil breeds evil.”

Sabra clasped Wren’s chin between her fingers. “Your heart is pure and true. Pure and true. Never forget this.”

What did Sabra really know of Wren’s heart? Or what lurked inside her?Something fierce and furious and not quite in her control.Only out on the lake, alone in her boat or at the river, knee-deep in the rushing water with a fishing pole in her hands, could Wren settle herself and find inner peace. Now she would have to leave the wild beauty of Barokk behind.

The thunder of the landing ship rattled the windows.

Sabra made a circle with her fist over her heart before kissing the knuckle of her index finger. “Watch over this girl, for she knows not what danger stalks her. Help me to keep her safe on her destiny’s path. Blessed Goddess, I remain your servant. In your name, I so say.”

Wren let her mouth fall open. Sabra was praying.Praying.“You’re a believer?” On the Coalition planets, they worshipped their goddesses. In the Empire, only the warlord was—had been—worshipped. No one dared practice religion openly—it meant certain death. Yet Sabra, the most significant person in her life, worshipped the goddesses, and Wren had known nothing about it. Burning curiosity mingled with the sting of betrayal. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And allow you to develop practices that would endanger you?”

“You should’ve given me the choice to take that risk or not.”

“It is my duty to steer you to your true path. Sometimes it means not giving you a choice. Come to the shed. Our currency is worthless now. We may need my gems to sell.” Sabra hooked her arm with Wren’s and steered her toward the back door.

CHAPTERTHREE

Outside the chalet,shouts in unfamiliar accents told of the strangers patrolling the narrow, twisting paths of their village. Wren and Sabra hurried across the yard in darkness. “What about Ilkka?” Wren asked. “Isn’t she coming too?”

“It’s her choice. I hope she will. She knows my plan is for us to evacuate. I outrank her. She’ll listen to me—she has to.” Wren’s guardians had always argued over her care, but in recent years, they had barely seemed to tolerate each other. “She was so insistent on moving the hopper out of the hangar—just in case we needed it—that I let her. There’s a cabin on the southern continent. Ilkka’s always kept it stocked with supplies in case we ever needed to escape.”

Wren had never given much thought to the hopper, the small, space-faring craft they kept stored in an outbuilding. Ilkka flew it now and again. Yet to maintain a cabin she knew nothing about?

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