Page 57 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

Incompetents! The entire Triad. It was one thing on which he and Karbon could agree. No wonder they’d needed Aral to hand them their victory; they couldn’t have done it themselves. Their idiocy made a mockery of his efforts to see Karbon executed. Now the monster was free and here, knowing exactly who sold him out.

And there was no doubt in Aral’s mind he was going to pay dearly for it too. Karbon would punish him by hurting Wren. Fates help her—and Kaz too, if Karbon found her next.

Not if. When.

Aral was to blame. In wanting to keep his hands clean of Karbon’s actual killing, in wanting to be something better than his father, he had brought danger to everyone around him. He should have been there for the execution as Zee had wanted, he should have seen it through to the end. But he’d been afraid of hearing his father’s caustic words. Words that deep down Aral feared were true. Words he’d fled from, words that had driven him to this point in time, a dead end:“You won’t ever beat me. One day, you’ll learn.”

Aral’s dozer hung from Karbon’s hand. “Aren’t you going to ask me how you set me free, Aral? I see the question burning in your eyes.”

Let him talk.Wren might hear his voice as she came out, and know a stranger had come. It might give him a chance to warn her. She was armed. She was tough. He’d do anything to save her life, to save her from Karbon, no matter how low the odds.

“Since I was so cooperative, they agreed to move me off death row temporarily. I escaped during the transfer to a less secure location.” He smiled. “I still have friends in certain places. I know you do too, Aral. I’ve had my spies following you and your brother for years. What I didn’t understand was why one of my sons was spending so much time at Issenda Crossroads. I finally figured it out. I killed him, you know. Bolivarr.”

What?Aral quaked with shock. In his mind’s eye he saw the little brother he’d always protected from his father’s harsh hand, the boy who never seemed to provoke the wrath that Aral did.He knew when to fight and when to fold. You were too stubborn.

Karbon had gotten to him anyway, and almost gleefully shared the news. “Once you were revealed as a traitor, I put the pieces together—what your plan was. I sent my spies to that sanctuary your brother liked so much. They had to torture a priestess or two but I got the information I needed. I knew you’d be headed here with that ugly little insect in tow. Those glasses, Aral. Does she take them off when you fuck her? Or do you like that sort of thing?”

Aral almost lunged at him. His wrists were bleeding from the pressure he unconsciously put on the restraints.Do not react.It would give Karbon exactly what he wanted—yet another triumph over Aral, knowing he still had the power to provoke such a reaction in his son. That sneer, that terrible, knowing glint in his eyes—Aral had hoped to never see it again.

Karbon’s eyes flicked to the closed portal. “Whatisshe doing in there? Brushing her hair? Applying perfume? Well, since we have a little time to kill…” He crouched far out of Aral’s reach, his voice low. “Remember Nanjin? Your pretty schoolteacher. The blonde.”

Aral flinched; he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to hear his father’s words, but they found him.

“I’m going to fuck your little bedbug like I did Nanjin, except this time I won’t ask for your help. I’m going to do it right here in front of you. I’ll take my time with her too, so she feels everything. I’ll keep you alive so you can watch. I want you to see our Awrenkka’s face when I slit her throat. I want you to see the life leave her eyes.”

“Put the gun down, Karbon. Real slow.” A slender man in a Triad uniform materialized out of the shadows, looking like a shadow himself, clad in black with almost black hair and an earnest, angular face. A face Aral could never forget—or mistake.Bolivarr!

CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

Karbon’s eyesswiveled in Bolivarr’s direction then rounded, his face turning ashen. As if he’d seen a ghost.

Bolivarr advanced on him. “Aye, Father, I’m back from the dead.”

“Good stars. I thought I finished the job on Junnapekk Station.”

A muscle pulsed in Bolivarr’s jaw. An older, thinner Bolivarr. “Put the gun down. Hands on your head,” he said in a voice Aral thought he would never hear again.

Karbon set Aral’s dozer on the ground, rising slowly. “What do you think the Triad will do when they find you both here? You and Aral. Eh? I’ll tell them we’re in cahoots. I escaped with your help. They’ll believe me. Is that what you want? Let’s talk this out. Figure out a plan.”

“The weapon, Karbon. Slide it this way. Use your foot.”

“I’ll talk my way off death row again, but you and Aral will be saying hello to the executioner. You’ll never have your treasure. I told you that on Junnapekk. You’ll never save your puny little Sacred Key.”

The cave wall rippled and broke apart, stones falling, a fissure opening. Wren appeared in the portal, an enormous book in her arms.

Aral bellowed, “Wren—go back!”

Karbon turned toward her, smiling, and reached behind his back for his firearm.

Bolivarr fired first.

Karbon grunted and spun away, his teeth bared, a scorched hole in his shoulder. His shot went wild and entered the sanctum, a streak of light. A vicious gust howled out, plowing into him. Karbon flew backward, his dozer skittering across the floor.

Wren strode out of the sanctum, her reddish-brown hair in wild disarray, looking as if she’d survived a hurricane. She raised her dozer and fired, hitting Karbon square in the chest.

If in the moment before his death Karbon felt any remorse—or fear—not a smidgen was visible. In fact, he’d appeared mildly annoyed by the situation. It seemed only right that the last thing he saw was Bolivarr alive and well, Aral unbroken, and Wren with what might be the most meaningful relic in all the galaxy in her control.

Karbon would die knowing he’d failed.

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