Shrouded: Heartstone Book One Read Free Page A

escaping a life as Jarn’s wife, Vashia would happily take the pothole. She shook her head and pushed against the ground, slipping over the rim and into the pit.
    She expected to hit bottom a great deal sooner, and her arms flailed outward before the jar of impact darted up through her knees. What she’d taken for a shallow hole reached well over her head. She could just tip the rim with her fingers if she stood on tiptoe. The walls felt rough and wet. She stopped exploring after a brief touch.
    Her savior clicked near her heels. A fleshy hand touched hers briefly. She dropped to a squat and peered into the darkness. A lighter circle outlined the Chromian’s tunnel. He’d been at more than potholes apparently, and Vashia thanked her luck and her few extra coins for winning her such an ally. She smiled and crawled on hands and knees after the fat tail. The tunnel curled to the left and opened suddenly into the cellar of the building overhead.
    Whatever business operated there, her plump guide didn’t seem to fear discovery. He slipped out of the tunnel and out of her view without hesitation. Vashia followed, but paused at the tunnel’s edge and scanned the space. Dust hung in curtains from the ceiling, the sheet webs of some stray arachnid. Shelves lined the walls, broken and hanging in places but sturdy enough to hold an impossible assortment of trash.
    Vashia swung her legs out and stood up. She noted other dark circles and tunnels leading out of the room that she now assumed had to be the Chromian’s home. She’d never imagined anything so bizarre, so precious could exist beneath Wraith’s filth. The shelves lining the storeroom overflowed with treasures scavenged from the city’s trash. She assumed her new friend had collected and stored the odd contents, an impressive undertaking for a diminutive creature that the rest of the galaxy considered a hair’s breadth above vermin.
    The shelves bulged with things cast off from the streets above. Vashia saw more tarps, piles of rope, cable, and metal parts to gods knew what sort of contraptions. There were ratty boxes and soft bundles wrapped tight and stashed into the narrow spaces. She wanted to peek, even took a step nearer and leaned in to inspect the nearest carton, but the Chromian clicked again, and she spun around to face it.
    “Sorry.” She couldn’t read a thing in his doughy expression. “Is this yours? Your home?” He squatted next to his mat, had his cards out again. His answer purred incoherently and she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
    One stubby finger lifted to the thing’s lips in the universal sign for quiet. Vashia nodded and crossed to the middle of the room. She knelt beside him, met the dark, inhuman eyes and whispered. “I need your help. You know that, right? I need to find a way out of here, but I haven’t any money this time.”
    The creature smiled and nodded back at her. Vashia would have bet what was left of her luck that he didn’t understand a word she said. He waved his hand over his shiny cards and plucked one circle from the spread, holding it up for her to examine. The silver disk flashed even in the low light of the basement. She could see the symbol on its face as the plump hand spun it before her. It flashed, from silver to red to silver as the card went round—a perfect, ruby red heart.

    T he smoke choked in his throat and nostrils. Dolfan watched Syradan hunch over the brazier and struggled not to cough. He couldn’t imagine choosing to live in this, couldn’t ever understand the appeal of devotion to darkness and fumes, no matter what the bonus. He needed to breathe.
    He’d seen Syradan struggle with it when he left the comfort of his temple. The man’s lungs could hardly process clean air, even the artificial kind. His old skin had darkened until he carried an ashy hue to match his sags and wrinkles. Dolfan watched him now bent so low his long beard sizzled in the brazier’s heat. His beady eyes