Dinner was a formal affair, the four of them sitting at a large table spread with expensive china and crystal and gold flatware.
They spoke of the wedding, discussing the menu, the guest list, the food for the reception following the ceremony.
After dinner, Niklaus took her on a tour of the house. One room was filled with expensive paintings and ancient tapestries, another held a collection of blue-green Venusian glass. There were more bedrooms than she could count, each one lavishly appointed, all with fireplaces and tele-screens, one with a waterfall.
He switched on the outdoor lights and they walked around the grounds.
She saw rabbits scurrying here and there, peacocks, a trio of deer. The stable held a dozen hot-blooded horses. Long haired cattle and curly-haired sheep grazed on the verdant hillsides.
"It's amazing," she said. "Simply amazing." Niklaus smiled, his face fairly glowing with pride.
"I should like to see Number Four while we're here," she said.
"You worry overmuch for his welfare, my dear."
"Perhaps, but I should like to see him just the same. The man saved my life at great risk to his own. The least I can do is make sure he is comfortable."
"Yes, I suppose so," Niklaus agreed.
They walked down the narrow path that led to the detention area. It had become a common practice for the wealthy to keep slaves. Ashlynne had never given it much thought, until she met Falkon. It had been a fact of life on Tierde, as it was in other places. The Confederation had abolished the death sentence; incorrigible prisoners were sent to the prison planet Jaol with no hope of pardon, while criminals who were considered nonviolent were sold to those who could afford them. The credits earned from the sale of slaves paid the wages of the prison guards. She wondered how Falkon had escaped being sent to Jaol. He was a hired mercenary; certainly he would be considered dangerous.
Hassrick's family kept six slaves. She tried not to notice the faces of the imprisoned men as she walked down the line of barred huts, but it was impossible. They all looked at her with eyes empty of hope.
Niklaus paused at the last hut.
Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Ashlynne peered inside. "Number Four?"
She heard him swear, and then he walked out of the shadows. He stopped several feet from the door. His face was set in hard, implacable lines, his blue-gray eyes were cold when he looked at her.
She wanted to smile at him, to tell him she loved him, but she couldn't, not with Niklaus standing there beside her, listening to every word.
"Are you well, Number Four?" she asked, unable to keep the tremor from
her voice. Why was he looking at her like that? Surely he knew locking him up had not been her idea. "Is there anything you need?"
He shook his head, his gaze moving past her, his hands clenching when he saw Niklaus.
Ashlynne glanced over her shoulder. "He's very good with horses," she said. "Perhaps you can find a use for him in your stable."
Niklaus shrugged. "Perhaps." He frowned as he pulled his portacom from his pocket. "Excuse me, my dear, I need to take care of something over at the barn. I don't know how long I'll be. Can you find your way back to the house?"
"Yes, of course."
With a curt nod, he turned and headed across the yard toward the stable.
Ashlynne turned back to Falkon. "Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.
He approached the door then, his expression softening. "Yeah, I'm fine."
He grinned ruefully. "This reminds me of the time you and your friend paid me a midnight visit."
Ashlynne nodded, pain twisting through her heart as she thought of Magny.
"Why did you and your friend come down to the mine that night? What were you looking for?"
"You, of course. Magny thought you were very handsome. She talked about you all the time."
"Yeah?" He reached through the bars and stroked her cheek. "And what did you think?"
She covered his hand with her own and drew it down over her breast. "I thought you were a scoundrel."
"Ah, that cuts me to the quick."
"A very handsome scoundrel." He laughed softly. "Is that why you were always following me around?"
"I was not!" she exclaimed, and then shrugged. It was true and there was no sense lying about it. She looked past him into the hut. It was small, but clean, a vast improvement over his cell at the mine. There was a narrow bed against one wall, a single chair, a square table. "We have to get out of here."
"I'm open to any suggestions you've got." He glanced at the door between them. It was solid and could only be opened by entering the right code into the keypad. His free hand slid up to curl around the bars.
"Maybe I can find the code."
"Maybe."
"They must have them written down somewhere."
"Yeah, unless the same code opens every door."
"Well, they still might have it written down," she insisted.
He shrugged. "Maybe. So, how are things with Hassrick?"
"He wanted to get married right away, but I told him I needed some time to mourn my parents. Why do you think he's in such a hurry?"
Falkon grunted softly. The answer was obvious to him. She was beautiful, desirable. What man wouldn't want her? "Ashlynne, why are you still here?"
Falkon withdrew his hand and took a step backward.
Ashlynne turned at the sound of Niklaus's voice. "I was just leaving."
Later that evening, Niklaus escorted Ashlynne into the solarium. It was, Niklaus informed her, tradition for the family to meet there each evening before bedtime.
Zahara took Ashlynne aside. She switched on the tele-screen and a variety of wedding gowns appeared, along with veils and shoes.
"That one is quite lovely," Zahara remarked, pointing at a bright yellow gown of crushed velvet. "Although the color might not be right for you.
Perhaps it comes in green. Or would you prefer a more old-fashioned look?"
"I prefer white," Ashlynne replied. She had dreamed of being married in a long white gown and veil ever since she was a little girl and had seen an old photograph of her great-grandmother's wedding. These days, vivid colors had replaced the once-traditional white, but she didn't care about style or fashion. She wanted a satin gown and a gossamer veil and a bouquet of snow roses... She blinked back her tears. She had wanted Magny to be there with her, had wanted to walk down the aisle on her father's arm. What difference did it make what she wore, when she couldn't marry the man she loved, when her best friend and her parents couldn't be there to share the day with her? "White? No, I don't think so." Zahara shook her head. "It simply won't do.
What will people say?"
"You're right, of course," Ashlynne agreed. What difference did it make what she wore? "Yes, I think the spring green," Zahara said, nodding. "It will look wonderful with your hair and eyes."
Several minutes passed by while Zahara clicked through a number of different styles. Ashlynne watched the screen, paying little attention to the discussion between Niklaus and his father until Rugen mentioned Tierde, and the mine.
"Niklaus, what about the mine?" Ashlynne asked. "I heard the Romarians had taken it over."
"Yes, temporarily," Niklaus said.
"Temporarily? I don't understand."
"The mine belonged to your family," Niklaus said. "The Confederation cannot claim control so long as there is an heir."
She stared at Niklaus, finally comprehending what he was saying. Of course, the mine belonged to her now. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Not only the mine, but her parents' considerable fortune, as well.
'After the wedding, we shall return to Tierde," Niklaus remarked. "Until then, Commander Drade and his troopers are overseeing production."
Drade! The man Falkon blamed for the death of his wife and child.