Page 16 of Ren: Warlord Brides
The idea turned her stomach. Asking him for the favor put her too much in his debt. She was already beholden to him for paying off the money Gemma borrowed and finding her this job.
Caldar wanted to know who came to visit Pashaal, and that pushed Emry’s limits. She liked Pashaal, for all the woman’s flaws, and reporting on her made Emry feel squicky. She was just not built for subterfuge; her face telegraphed everything she felt, and she blurted out every thought in her head.
Fortunately, Pashaal wasn’t involved in nefarious activities. The older woman was on the Sangrin Council and had an imports and exports business. As far as Emry could tell, it was a legit business trading in luxury goods. Shady? Sure. That was the nature of commerce. Pashaal spent more time on her ship than on the planet, traveling to seduce producers and woo purchasers.
That evening’s dinner was a mix of buyers and manufacturers. No one even talked politics, except to complain about tariffs and trade restrictions.
Except when Emry slipped up about the tomatoes.
She got why Sangrin frowned on people smuggling in off-world seeds. No one wanted an invasive alien species screwing up the local ecology. The hydroponic garden on Pashaal’s ship kept them in perfectly legal, high-quality, and hard-to-source food.
The garden in the back of the house? Not so much.
Maybe she could ask Pashaal to help locate Gemma. She was on the Council, after all. That had weight. The police wouldn’t be able to ignore a call from her, not without risking a diplomatic incident. And it’d give her the opportunity to play the hero.
But if her rivals on the Council found out, they could cry about abuse of power. She couldn’t risk extra scrutiny, what with the highly illegal Earth plants growing on her estate. Vegetables probably weren’t the only thing Pashaal slipped past Sangrin Customs.
No. Better not to ask.
Gemma would turn up. She had to. Emry couldn’t face living in a universe without her sister. Being separated for months was hard enough. If she was gone—
A throat cleared.
“Are you ready for coffee?” Emry quickly swiped at the moisture in her eyes and turned to face the door.
“I was hoping to see the famed hydroponic garden,” Dovak replied.
“I don’t know what you mean. Everything came from the ship.”
Emry hastily buttoned her chef’s coat, but not before Dovak’s eyes flicked from the scar at her shoulder and up to her face. He made a noise of recognition at the distinctive Mahdfel bite.
“False. All organic material is sprayed with a decontamination wash. The taste is most distinctive.”
The memory of the bitter chemical flavor lingered on her tongue. It was, indeed, distinctive, and the main reason Pashaal grew the illicit vegetables in her own greenhouse.
“I use a baking powder wash. Old human trick.” She shrugged one shoulder, as if unconcerned.
So what if Pashaal, a member of the Sangrin Council, bent a few rules? She grew tomatoes. Big deal. The plants were in hydroponic pods, contained in a greenhouse. Wild zucchini was hardly going to take over the planet.
“You have lost someone important to you,” Dovak prompted.
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough. Gemmy-bean. Human names are strange.” He paused, waiting for Emry to spill all the details about Gemma.
Her mouth remained shut.
He sighed dramatically. “I am offering to help you locate this human.”
“No, you’re not,” she said.
“Give me proof of Pashaal’s illegal alien flora, and I will use my resources to locate your missing Gemmy-bean.”
“Her name is Gemma.”
“So, you agree to my terms?”
Emry hesitated. She was unfamiliar with Dovak, but he was a business partner of Pashaal’s; he would have influence and connections. If he was some agent sent to dig up evidence of Council corruption, he still had connections.
