Fortuna

by E G Manetti

  “I know not.” Rebecca carefully places her fork across the plate now empty of fruit. “I suspect so, but the seer did not invite me to enter. Does Seigneur wish me to employ stealth? I could manage it on Seventh Day.”

  “Nay, lass.” Trevelyan places his napkin on his plate. “I doubt there is aught of note, and we will not offend the seer’s hospitality. What of the security measures? Mr. George thought them sound enough.”

  “Only the security measures are in good repair.” Rebecca mimics Trevelyan, placing her napkin on her plate, signaling the conclusion of the meal. “The Vistrite premise controls are well maintained and would require assault weapons to overcome. Lilian’s chamber is at the top of the staircase, between the entrance and her mother’s and sister’s chambers. There is an emergency route through the back of the house, and the mews that can only be accessed by the DNA of one of the three.”

  “Good, well done.” The state of the house is unfortunate, but not worrisome as long as the premise is secure. “Aught else?”

  “Lilian has a short sword under her bed,” Rebecca huffs.

  “I wonder what she thinks she could do against a fireburst weapon,” Trevelyan snorts.

  “Most vandals don’t—do not,” Rebecca quickly corrects. “Most vandals do not have access to fireburst weapons.”

  “Vandals?”

  “Yes, seigneur.” Rebecca nods. “When Lilian and her family returned from Gariten’s execution, the house had been vandalized and almost everything of value carried off or destroyed.”

  “Do they know who did this?” Trevelyan scowls.

  “Katleen believes it was Patrick Volsted and his friends,” Rebecca replies. “Lady Helena did not say, and Lilian has never mentioned it.”

  “Volsted and his ilk.” Trevelyan snorts his disgust. “Monsignor has already dealt with them over their attack on Lilian that first rainy season. I doubt there is more that can be done.”

  “No, Seigneur,” Rebecca agrees.

  “Keep me informed of anything else you learn.” Trevelyan rises.

  “Yes, Seigneur.” Rebecca rises, knowing she is dismissed. With deft fingers, she pulls a few locks free from her chignon.

  “Lass?”

  “Appearances must be maintained, Seigneur.” Rebecca flashes an irreverent smile and skips to the door, reveling in the sound of Trevelyan’s laughter.

  »◊«

  The Shimmering Horizon café where Lilian, Fletcher, and Nickolas took their midday meal was as comfortably casual as the Fountain Café in Serengeti. Lilian was relieved when the protégés elected a quick meal in the café rather than one of the two elaborate dining areas. Her passage includes access to all, but the formal dining areas are far more likely to be frequented by members of the warrior elite, who will not welcome her presence. The preparations for the Fortuna summit ended at fourth bell, leaving Lilian ample time to change and make her way to the Shimmering Horizon training chambers.

  Still marveling at the luxury of a brief commerce day, Lilian enters the training facility and scans the area for a suitable place to prepare for her fifth-bell match with the chief engineer’s mate, Hannah. Organized to maximize space, the Shimmering Horizon’s training chambers are a fraction of the size of Serengeti’s. A gallery containing auto-racers and other devices rings the central sparring area, which is segmented with moveable temporary half walls, creating ‘chambers’ in a variety of sizes capable of supporting classes or single combat.

  The vision of milord sparring with Nickolas distracts Lilian from her purpose. Tall, virile, and well muscled, both warriors are garbed in loose trousers and soft half boots, their chests bared—milord’s right pectoral displaying Socraide’s Sunburst, while Jonathan’s Lightning Bolt dives into Nickolas’ navel. The riveting sight has drawn more than one observer. Watching milord in combat, the sheen of sweat on well-defined muscles of torso and back, Socraide’s Sunburst shifting with each move, Lilian feels a sharp stab of lust drive through her. Forcing the desire back, she finds a place to begin Adelaide’s Discipline, calming her mind and body with the litany. Attempting combat with a mind clouded by lust is unwise at best.

  Finished with her practice and sifting through the available masks for one that will suffice, Lilian hears her name called. Two inches taller than Lilian, Hannah has fair, close-cropped hair, strong features covered in honey-toned skin, and pale blue eyes. Her well-muscled frame is elegantly curved and carries a stone and a half more than Lilian’s. The chief engineer’s mate is a stunning woman who could serve as a model for an Adelaide effigy. Lilian knew when she agreed to the bout that she would rely heavily on avoidance until an opportunity presented to turn the other woman’s momentum against her.

  “Are you ready?” Hannah asks, smirking at the protective mask in Lilian’s hand.

  “At your will.” Lilian nods agreeably. Other than a few warriors, none of those Lilian encountered in her explorations the prior day showed any sign of contempt or disdain. Hannah was openly delighted when Lilian approached her about a potential match. “Have we a square?”

  “In the center.” As Hannah motions to the space, Lilian notices that a considerable crowd has gathered in the gallery and around the reserved match square.

  “Is the entire crew present?” Lilian did not expect an audience.

  “Fewer than half,” returns Hannah. “Life can be dull on a transport. We take our entertainment as we find it. I didn’t think you’d object. Half the Twelve Systems viewed the visuals of last year’s festival. Many wish to see how I fare against the thorn woman.”

  Thorn woman, not tainted doxy or coward. At least within the Shimmering Horizon, other than the warriors, none is interested in Lilian’s corrupt lineage. Hannah’s crewmates are curious, not hostile. The sprinkling of passengers drawn by the potential of entertainment appears good-natured. If a few of the Serengeti contingent wish her failure, they will not speak with milord present. At the front of the crowd, milord smiles expectantly, his torso gleaming with perspiration from his recent exercise.

  “Do you wish to withdraw?” Hannah asks in concern. “I didn’t intend to cause you embarrassment.”

  “Not at all.” Lilian drags her eyes from milord. “I am eager to try my skills against your free boxing. It has been a long time since I had a match for naught but sport.” That milord will witness is both exciting and worrisome. She does not wish to disgrace Serengeti and free boxing is unknown to her.

  “Good, I’m enjoying our audience.” Hannah nods to the front of the crowd, where Nickolas is handing milord a towel. “Did you mention my interest to the green-eyed warrior?”

  “I did.” Lilian dons her mask. “As you can see, he is here.”

  As the two women enter the match square, Lilian gestures to the timer. “As you please, Hannah.”

  It is Hannah’s house, so she will start the bout timer. The rules are simple. They spar thirty minutes or until the first fall.

  Joining Nickolas and Lucius, Fletcher addresses Nickolas. “Two thousand in all, the purser is holding for us.”

  “So much?” Nickolas grins. “I thought they had all seen the festival visuals?”

  “Yes, but Mistress Lilian is unarmed, and all told, the brawl was not more than ten minutes. They are all quite certain that given thirty, their champion will have Mistress Lilian on the mat.” As Fletcher finishes his explanation, Hannah starts the timer, and the two combatants circle each other.

  The bout begins slowly as they test each other. Lilian watched Hannah spar the day before. Hannah has viewed the festival brawl visuals. They both have some idea of what to expect. The match square is only two-thirds the size of a standard warrior square. The smaller space provides the taller woman an advantage. Hannah can close more easily, and Lilian has less space in which to maneuver.

  Without the thorn, Lilian’s attack relies on sharp, fast striking blows. They mostly serve to distract and annoy. A lucky feint, aided by Hannah’s momentum, allows Lilian to blood the taller woman’s nos
e.

  With first blood, a cheer goes up from the Serengeti contingent and some of the other passengers. Lilian dances back on the balls of her feet, delighted with her success. Luck notwithstanding, she has drawn first blood. With a feral grin, Hannah wipes her nose with the back of her hand. The sparkle in the mate’s eyes promises to return the favor as she leaps forward, aiming for Lilian’s jaw.

  Full combat replaces careful probing. The pace increases as the women work to gain an advantage. Free boxing relies on physical strength, the ability to give and receive hard blows. Calling on the avoidance as she expected, Lilian is able to avoid receiving the physical punishment that many of the crew expected would topple her. At the same time, Hannah’s guard is impressive. Lilian is unable to penetrate it to land many blows of her own. Their breathing comes hard. Sweat shines on their skin while they struggle for victory.

  Lust stabs through Lucius as he watches Lilian battle. The flowing grace of her discipline counters the savagery of her opponent, both women clearly enjoying the challenge. Calling on his iron control, Lucius watches the women battle as the timer moves toward the thirty-minute mark. It appears that the match will end in a draw.

  Knowing that time is ebbing, Hannah makes a hard foot strike toward Lilian’s midsection. As Lilian spins away, a glancing blow steals her wind. Had it connected fully, it would have knocked the Raven over the barrier. As it is, the momentum of the kick leaves Hannah off-balance, allowing Lilian to complete her spin by sweeping her opponent’s leg and landing Hannah on the mat. Leaping forward, Lilian has her knees on Hannah’s shoulders and one hand on Hannah’s throat as the match timer sounds. Cheers burst from Serengeti and some of the passengers while several of the now poorer crewmembers groan.

  Fletcher and Nickolas share a delighted grin.

  “I will collect on our wagers,” Fletcher volunteers.

  “You do that,” responds Nickolas. “I will offer to comfort the defeated.”

  As the crowd disperses, her mask removed, Lilian half stands, her hands braced on her thighs, reaching for wind. Catching her breath and pushing to her feet, Hannah rolls her shoulders, releasing the strain.

  “Hannah, my thanks,” Lilian manages as her breathing eases. “This free boxing of yours is wondrously challenging.”

  “Would you care to be challenged again tomorrow?” Hannah suggests with a wry smile.

  Still working for air, Lilian refuses the offer. “I believe that tomorrow I will be feeling the extended effects of this encounter. You strike hard. I have experienced lighter blows from a training sword.”

  Before Hannah can reply, milord’s hot gaze captures Lilian. Handing her mask to Hannah with a polite, “Please see this returned, I am required elsewhere,” Lilian leaves the square to follow Lucius from the training facility.

  As Nickolas reaches her, Hannah shakes her head in wonderment and comments, “He didn’t say a word. He merely looked at Lilian, and she ceased what she was doing and followed him out as if tethered.”

  Smiling, heat in his own gaze, Nickolas meets Hannah’s regard. “A reasonable enough reaction to an arousing match. I find I share it. Should it please you, I would have you to my chamber.”

  »◊«

  Milord’s broad back draws Lilian onward through the corridors of the Shimmering Horizon. The lust Lilian rigorously suppressed before her match comes flooding back. The suite door has not recessed closed before Lilian is in milord’s embrace, milord’s mouth on hers. Demanding.

  Freed from restraint by the kiss, Lilian presses eagerly against the hard ridge of milord’s sex while her hands roam the broad, muscled back. With a sharp movement, milord’s hands part the fastenings of Lilian’s training tunic, forcing her to release her hold in order to drop the garment to the floor. Milord’s hands move to Lilian’s trouser fastenings, intent on disrobing her where they stand. Lilian quickly scuffs off her boots before they can trap the trousers.

  Wearing naught but the warbelt, Lilian finds herself on the rug, milord leaning over her. With one hand she works the fastenings of milord’s trousers, the other eagerly exploring milord’s chest until the hard length of milord springs free.

  Two bells later, relaxed and sated, Lucius rises to an elbow on his bed to take inventory of the woman dozing next to him, reduced to a limp rag by his attentions. Lying on her back, hair in disarray, arms curled by her head, one leg bent at the knee, Lilian is the picture of abandon. Her softened nipples are puffy and reddened from the onslaught of his passion, hinting at a similar tenderness in lower regions. Reddening along her left ribs warns of bruising to come. Most likely a souvenir of Hannah’s final kick. An abrasion marks the line of Lilian’s face along her right ear where the mask would have rubbed under a well-delivered blow. Swollen, reddened lips complete the inventory.

  For a moment, loath to wake her, Lucius considers abandoning the evening’s plans and sending instructions to Lilian’s phantom servitors. Two considerations halt him. If he keeps Lilian in his bed, he is going to enjoy her again, and it is too soon. She will be sore as it is. It will also be unforgivably rude to decline the captain’s reception at this late bell.

  “Lilian.” Milord’s soft call and a tickling sensation draw Lilian from her contented drowse. Milord is smiling down at her, brushing a lock of her hair against her cheek.

  “Yes, milord.” Lilian stretches, allowing her eyes to wander over milord’s face, shoulders, and torso. Reddening around one brown nipple suggests she may have over-enjoyed herself, as do the marks on one shoulder that could only have come from her nails.

  Before Lilian can offer contrition, milord slides from the bed. “We must rise and dress. We will be late as it is. Do not continue to regard me in that manner or we will be even later.”

  Milord’s smile takes the heat from the admonishment. It does not alter milord’s will. With another “Yes, milord,” Lilian rises, exiting to the reception salon. There she collects her abandoned training garb before finding her chamber.

  Twenty minutes later, Lilian gives her reflection a resigned glance. The simple gold silk skirt and sleeveless tunic are lovely and flattering. They can do naught to alter the appearance of a woman who has recently risen from bed. Her lips are swollen and her eyes heavy. With no time for anything else, Lilian has settled for a quick rinse in the shower and brushing her hair into a loose queue with a gold silk band.

  Entering the reception salon, Lilian halts at the sight of milord. Compelling in the formal suits of the Cartel, milord is breathtaking in a heavy silk shirt in Socraide’s midnight blue tucked into exquisitely tailored black trousers, the simple black belt emphasizing the strength of milord’s build. The platinum and rubies of the preeminence signet repeat in the hilt and sheath of milord’s warrior dagger, a display of milord’s power and ruthlessness.

  Milord’s warm chuckle breaks Lilian free of her admiring trance. Milord’s eyes are dancing with mischief and admiration as he motions toward the door. “Enough woman, we are late as it is.”

  »◊«

  Milord’s prediction proves correct; the reception chamber is crowded, and they are the last to arrive. Lilian is certain all are aware of precisely why. Honor endures.

  It is an informal reception where the guests mingle, eat, and drink as they will, so they have not inconvenienced anyone with their tardiness. Once they greet the captain, milord dismisses Lilian to mingle on her own.

  As soon as Lilian steps away from milord, Fletcher pounces on her with a glass of wine and a grin. “I know you may not benefit from the wagers we won, but I may at least do you the courtesy of fetching for you. That was an amazing bout. That Hannah is formidable, but Nickolas and I did not doubt you for a moment.”

  “My thanks for the wine, Master Fletcher.” Lilian accepts the glass gratefully. “I agree that Hannah is formidable. I shall carry the evidence of how formidable for a sevenday. What think you of the fare? Wine alone will make me tipsy.”

  Pleased to oblige the young woman who has added a thousand to
his accounts, Fletcher guides her through the buffet. Once her plate is full, he settles with her at a small table. Lilian has only begun to sample the meal when Nickolas joins them, heavy lidded and smiling.

  “What do you here, Nickolas? I thought we would not encounter you until tomorrow. Was the very lovely Hannah too formidable for you?” Fletcher was a little disgruntled to observe Nickolas make off with the lovely Hannah.

  “The lovely Hannah has returned to duty. Lilian, my thanks for communicating the lady’s interest.” Nickolas gives Lilian a small bow.

  Shrugging, Lilian responds before taking another bite. “I did naught but what Hannah wished. She is not shy about where her favor lies.”

  “It was prearranged.” Fletcher’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “I knew you could not steal her from me so quickly.”

  “You will not convince me that in a chamber full of women, you failed to find one you could charm for this evening,” Nickolas returns.

  “The purser is most charming,” Fletcher agrees with a pleased smile.

  All but certain of Fletcher’s hedonistic nature, Lilian hazards, “The purser is a comely brunette?”

  “Mistress Lilian, I am not so narrow. A comely blonde, if you please,” Fletcher retorts merrily.

  “I thought you oddly eager to collect our winnings, and you dare to tease me about the lovely Hannah? For shame. By the way, where is my share?” Nickolas holds out his hand and then happily pockets the proffered token. Turning to Lilian, “Mistress Lilian, we owe you a boon. These rogues made the error of underestimating you.”

  “Speaking of which, Mistress Lilian, have you finished your meal, a number of the crew and other guests have expressed an interest in congratulating you. Will you allow me to make introductions?” Fletcher’s roguish smile is a good hint to Lilian that the majority of these well-wishers will be female and comely.

  A quick glance around the chamber locates milord seated with Seigneur Marco and several passengers clearly of warrior status. Among them is an elegant woman in a clingy green knit who leans into milord to offer him a bite of some delicacy and an unobstructed view of her cleavage. Milord’s eyes briefly meet Lilian’s, but he does not beckon. Lilian is free to join Fletcher.