Fortuna

by E G Manetti

  Lilian is correct. Her commerce judgment has progressed far more rapidly than he ever expected. Pride in her accomplishment mutes the anger that rose with this threat. Lucius defeated Sebastian Mehta, and he dominates Horatio Margovian in the Bright Star Consortium. He will triumph with Mercium. Taking Lilian by the shoulders, Lucius finds his mood easing. “You are correct. Engage Trevelyan to find answers to our questions. We will do naught else until we return to Crevasse City and whatever Trevelyan has discovered.”

  »◊«

  Trevelyan peers at the instructions on his worksite. The subtlety of Lilian’s discovery and Monsignor’s instructions suggest that Lilian’s insights have been active. The last time he went in search of answers to one of Lilian’s ‘wrong things,’ it instigated a chain of events that gave rise to Mercium and ultimately the defeat of Sebastian Mehta. He cannot help but wonder what this latest investigation will bring.

  Trevelyan would prefer to conduct the investigation himself. It will not serve. His elevation to seigneur has made him too visible. It will be almost impossible for him to remain anonymous in the Third System. All of his senior operatives either are engaged in other critical efforts or lack the infiltration skills for the assignment. It must be Malcon. The assassin is an exceptional infiltrator, able to impersonate warriors and raiders and more than capable of protecting himself. Tabitha’s skills are developing rapidly, but she is far too inexperienced for something of this scope. Nor can he separate her from the care of the shrines.

  With a few quick taps to his console, Trevelyan sends for the assassin.

  »◊«

  The commerce day nears its end, filling the Serengeti Headquarters training chambers. Ignoring the crowd, Rebecca and Tabitha swirl through the match chamber, their movements punctuated by the clash of training blades.

  “Rimon’s Rage!” Rebecca spits, stumbling under the impact of the training sword. Turning the stumble into a roll, she avoids the next strike and aims her sword at Tabitha’s knees. Tabitha dances aside, and Rebecca springs to her feet. The two women close, and the lead blades crash together. Pleased her muscles absorb the blow, as they would not have a year gone, Rebecca twists her wrists, freeing her blade for another blow. With a happy grin, Tabitha counters and renews her attack. Rebecca parries two more strikes before Tabitha forces her to retreat. At the next strike, Rebecca dodges right, swinging the training sword at Tabitha’s flank. The blow does not land, Tabitha dodging away to the sound of the match chime.

  “Peace!” Rebecca gasps, lowering her sword.

  “Peace,” Tabitha agrees. “You are getting better.”

  “Couldn’t tell from my bruises,” Rebecca grumbles, following Tabitha from the match chamber.

  “You can tell from my sweat.” Tabitha laughs as they return their weapons to the storage rack. “Six months gone, I did not need to work so hard.”

  “Mayhap in another six months I will be able to beat you purple.” Rebecca reaches for a pair of water vials. “Although I will probably need to tie you up first.”

  At Tabitha’s sudden stillness, Rebecca immediately wishes she could recall her words. Tabitha has had far too much experience with being bound and beaten. “Rimon condemn me!”

  “Peace.” Tabitha shakes off Rebecca’s apology, her laughter fading to a gentle smile. “You meant no ill.”

  “Yes, but—” Rebecca struggles, finally blurting out her thoughts. “What I said—it did not trouble you?”

  “You meant it not.” Tabitha drops onto a bench and opens the vial. “Had it been a true threat . . .” Tabitha’s voice trails away with a shrug.

  “Had it been a true threat, I suspect I would be in sorry condition,” Rebecca says wryly, rubbing a sore spot.

  “I admit, martial training does aid in my healing.” Tabitha grins. “I get particular benefit from the fireburst range.”

  “You said Jonathan’s Healers suggested it?” Rebecca found the notion odd two seasons ago. Skills with fireburst weapons are a militia function, although Trevelyan was pleased to encourage the activity. His operatives need to be versatile.

  “Meditation only takes me so far,” Tabitha explains. “I swallowed dark thoughts and emotions for two years; they need to be purged.”

  “Shooting targets purges dark emotions?” Rebecca grapples with the thought.

  “In my imagination, they wear his face.” Tabitha’s lips tighten.

  “Mayhap I should try fireburst training,” Rebecca says thoughtfully. “I have often slain Dean Rupert in my imagination.”

  With an acknowledging nod, Tabitha tilts her half-full vial in a casual toast.

  Sipping water, Rebecca debates prying. Tabitha does not speak much about her recovery, but the topic is open. The past dry season, Tabitha’s nighttime cries awakened her neighbors in the Associates’ Quarters. “Do the dreams yet come?”

  “They still come,” Tabitha admits. “Not as often, and recently I have known them to be dreams and been able to wake.”

  “Soon you will banish them completely,” Rebecca encourages.

  “The shrine healers say they may never go completely,” Tabitha admits. “But with their help, the memories that fuel the dreams have lost much of their power.”

  “How much longer will you need to visit the healers?” Rebecca wonders.

  “Mayhap another year, but not as frequently.” Tabitha looks into the distance. “Now that he has been banished from the Cartel, I find it much easier.”

  “You do seem much brighter in recent months,” Rebecca comments. “You even let Master Simon escort you to that puppet play.”

  “Master Simon is all that is honorable,” Tabitha says softly. “I find his company soothing.”

  “Soothing?” Rebecca tilts her head in question. “Odd way to describe a man.”

  “He asks naught but my company,” Tabitha explains. “He makes no secret of his interest, but he does not press even though he knows I may never again . . .”

  “Never is a long time,” Rebecca says bracingly. “The dry season gone, you could not tolerate being alone with any man but the master medic. In the past month, you have been to a midday meal with Master Simon as well as that puppet play. Do you look forward to his return from the Western Continent?”

  “We are to have an evening meal at his club this coming Seventh Day.” Tabitha smiles as she rises. “I will not mislead him, he knows naught is likely to come of it, but it is pleasant to feel . . .”

  “Feel?” Rebecca prompts as she rises.

  “Valued,” Tabitha says with surprised certainty. “After two years of being naught, it is pleasant to be valued as a person.”

  It is a sentiment Rebecca well understands. For all of her adult life, she was a valuable commodity, but only since coming into Seigneur Trevelyan’s care has she felt valued as a person. “It is a pleasant feeling.”

  »◊«

  Eleventh bell chimes as Lucius enters his suite. A few soft lights guide him in the dark. Lucius’ day has been long, the morning’s Mercium threat followed by more of Horatio’s endless intrigues for increased sway over Bright Star. The evening was given to Blooded Dagger family matters, mostly disputes Lucius needed to mediate. Between Estella’s illness and Sebastian’s intrigues, Lucius has spent too little time visiting his vast holdings. This Fortuna trip was long overdue.

  Lucius moves quietly through the suite, knowing if Lilian is abed she will have left her chamber open against his need. As he reaches his chamber, Lilian’s voice comes clearly through the adjoining door.

  “No, Lord Prelate, the discipline master has not done so.” Tension riddles Lilian’s polite tones. “Please, Lord Prelate, the River Quarter Alcove has been most gracious.”

  Abandoning his slate satchel and jacket on a chair, Lucius moves quietly to the door, where he catches Apollo’s unmistakable staccato baritone. “. . . Garden Center . . . denial . . . Adelaide’s consecrated.”

  “Please, Lord Prelate, the fault lies not with the Garden Center Al
cove.” Distress joins tension in Lilian’s voice. “I do not wish my devotions to be a spectacle, nor would Jonathan’s Prelate thank me for it.”

  Disliking the sound of Lilian’s distress, curiosity and suspicion aroused, Lucius moves to the doorway, hiding in the shadow of the threshold. Live communication between systems is complex to arrange and expensive to execute. Lucius dislikes that the mad prelate wishes aught of Lilian that justifies such an effort when they will be back on Metricelli Prime in a few days.

  “I will deal with Lord Gilead, Lilian.” Apollo dismisses Lilian’s concerns about Jonathan’s Prelate. “I will expect to witness your trial within two sevendays of your return.”

  “Yes, Lord Prelate,” Lilian capitulates. “Thank you, Lord Prelate.”

  This once, Lilian has been unable to stand down Apollo. At the limit of his patience with the prelate, Lucius steps through the doorway. At his movement, Lilian turns, the reviewer shuttering as she slips off her suit jacket, revealing the sea-green wrap.

  Lucius represses a smile at Lilian’s discretion. While the prelate might not favor women, he would well understand the implication of Lilian’s attire.

  Dropping the jacket on a nearby chair, Lilian presents the attentive and composed aspect she assumes when awaiting his will. “Milord, I beg pardon. I did not hear milord’s return.”

  The status of the Mercium intrigue can wait until morning. This current development requires pursuit. Lucius has little authority when it comes to Lilian’s spiritual affairs. That the conversation happened in Lucius’ hearing provides him an opening he intends to exploit. “You were speaking with Lord Prelate Apollo as I entered.”

  “The Lord Prelate discovered that it has been two years since I was tried by an Adelaide Discipline Master.” With a frustrated sigh, Lilian shrugs. The slight movement shifts the wrap and partially exposes one breast, the nipple barely covered. Apparently unaware of the teasing exposure, Lilian continues, “Lord Prelate Apollo wishes that oversight corrected and soon.”

  To discover Lilian as frustrated by the domineering prelate as the rest of them amuses Lucius. The sight of her standing correctly at attention, needing only the slightest movement to send the piece of silk slipping away, tightens his loins pleasantly.

  “Do you object to the trial?” Lucius asks, shrugging free of his tunic. He cannot imagine why Lilian would resist an activity she routinely embraces. Dropping onto the bed, Lucius pulls off his boots.

  “No, milord, the Lord Prelate is correct. It is overdue. I have been expecting the request since Lord Apollo’s arrival on Metricelli Prime.” Eyes flaring and breath catching at his actions, Lilian continues, “Adelaide’s Sect is small. The Garden Center Alcove is the only one within reasonable travel of Katleen’s house that supports a discipline master. The Fourth’s Shrine is always active. It will be difficult to conduct a trial without drawing notice that I will not enjoy and that is likely to annoy Jonathan’s Prelate.”

  Free of his boots, Lucius rises and reaches for his trouser fasteners. Lilian is not mistaken that her notoriety is such that any trial engaged in the Garden Center Alcove will draw a crowd from the very active seat of Jonathan’s Prelate. It is not likely to be a receptive audience. For those reasons, Lilian executed her consecration ritual in the River Quarter. Nor is she mistaken that Jonathan’s Prelate Gilead will be displeased with the disruption of his shrine. Has Apollo locked horns with Gilead?

  Tossing trousers and briefs aside, Lucius notes that Lilian’s breasts have peaked and her lips softened. She has not moved since he entered, awaiting his signal. He gives it now, drawing her close with an outstretched hand. The wrap slides free, releasing her breasts for his exploration. Teasing one taught peak, Lucius asks, “How is it that Lord Prelate Apollo suddenly turned his attention to your training?”

  “Shrine politics, milord.” Lilian’s breath catches as Lucius releases her erect nipple to unwind the silk from her waist. “Word of my trial at Sinead’s Shrine made its way to the Garden Center Warrior Ring. I should have realized that Sinead’s Blessing of Bright Star would be the subject of intense shrine gossip. Formal blessings of any commercial endeavor are noteworthy, and Bright Star holds the excitement of the Twelve Systems.”

  “A formal blessing is very favorable.” Lucius slides the wrap free of the warbelt, savoring the brush of Lilian’s breasts against his torso. “How did that draw Apollo’s interest in your training?”

  “Lord Apollo was not happy to hear of it from Socraide’s Keeper Virgil.” Lilian sighs, arching her neck to Lucius’ lips. “I had not thought it worth mentioning, but when Lord Apollo understood the blessing came out of my trial with a Sinead Discipline Master, he demanded to know why I was not in the alcove. He was not all happy to discover that the alcove discipline masters have refused me trial.”

  Lucius lifts his head from the citrus-scented flesh beneath Lilian’s ear. Apollo would have been embarrassed to learn from a lower-ranked prelate that Lilian had engaged in what turned out to be significant shrine ritual, and not within the alcoves of her deity. Virgil did not forego an opportunity to claim an advantage over Adelaide’s Prelate. Such posturing is common enough within the shrines. Nevertheless, Lucius will not be pleased if it brings Lilian distress. “Apollo is unhappy with you?”

  “No, milord.” Lilian’s hands slide along his shoulders. “Prelate Apollo is unhappy I was denied trial at the alcoves and is determined to see the situation corrected.”

  Breath hissing as Lilian’s strong, agile fingers stroke his hips and buttocks before moving to his hardening shaft, it takes Lucius a moment to comprehend her reply. Apollo’s reaction comes from his affection for Lilian. Mollified by the knowledge that Apollo’s support can only help Lilian, Lucius drops the silk length to the floor and tumbles Lilian onto the bed. Soon there is naught by the pleasure of his passion, urgent pleading coming from the woman in his arms.

  »◊«

  Wide awake, Lucius peers into the darkened bedchamber, listening to his surroundings. Something has roused him from a sound slumber. Harsh, frightened breathing drifts in from the adjoining chamber. Lilian?

  Pushing free of the bed, his eyes adjusting to the dark, Lucius crosses to the doorway between their chambers, open from when he left her earlier. Gliding silently to Lilian’s bed, Lucius finds the slender figure twitching under the quilt, her ragged breathing loud in the chamber. Wherever she is in her dreamscape, his apprentice is racing for her life. As Lucius debates the benefit in waking her, Lilian starts up in her sleep. Her open eyes unseeing, her mouth wide in a silent scream, stark terror on her face.

  Socraide’s Sword! Lucius drops onto the bed, grasping Lilian by the shoulders. “Lilian. Lilian, rouse. You dream. Awake.”

  Lilian trembles. Her staring eyes blink and focus. “Milord?”

  “Peace, woman, it was but a dream,” Lucius reassures, only to find the trembling turning to violent shudders. Demon shit! Pulling Lilian to him, Lucius is shocked to find her body icy. “Socraide take it, woman, you are beyond chilled.”

  Dragging the coverlet over them both, Lucius wraps Lilian in his arms and legs as violent tremors tear through her form.

  “M-milord, I b-beg-g p-pardon,” Lilian stutters, burying her face in his chest.

  “Lilian, cease.” Lucius tightens his embrace, trying to halt her shaking. “No one intends an evil dream.”

  After some moments, the wild trembling slows and abates. It cannot be but two periods since he left her.

  “Milord? I—” Lilian begins as her shuddering slows.

  “Peace. Have you such evil dreams often?” The terror on her face before she woke is disturbing. The only other time he has seen her as overset was when he forced her to relive her mother’s abuse at Remus Gariten’s hands. Are the compounded traumas of the past two years finally taking a toll?

  Lilian’s shaking has ceased, her flesh no longer icy, her voice steady when she replies, “They came for a while after Martin’s assault, but they left when I
ceased Master Chin’s potions.”

  At her own words, Lilian goes still. There is something she does not wish to voice. It is late, Lucius is tired. Whatever her secrets, this one cannot stand, and Lucius lacks the patience to draw it forth gently. “Speak, woman. What brings it now?”

  Lucius can feel her brief desire to refuse his will before she yields, “It is the thorn. I dream not when it is with me. It is still in the satchel by the reviewer.”

  The thorn. That her satchel has found its way into her bed without slate and containing her thorn had not escaped Lucius’ notice. That she would feel endangered in his quarters should offend him, but the thorn’s return coincided with the fading of the circles from under her eyes, so Lucius chose to overlook it. Given her history, it is not a surprise she prefers to sleep armed. It appears she guards against more than corporeal threats. This night, Lilian dropped deeply asleep as soon as their passion was spent. Lucius tucked the coverlet over her and left. The thorn had not crossed his mind. “Have you the thorn, will you sleep?”

  “Yes, milord.” No equivocation at all in her voice. The chill has left her, and she is quiet in his arms.

  Rising, Lucius collects the satchel. Handing her the bag, Lucius warns, “This topic is not done. We will speak again on the transport.”

  Whatever it is that chases the woman in her dreams, it must wait until the Bright Star summit completes. Then Lucius will have time to work the secret from her and decide a course of action. Returning to his chamber, Lucius taps out a quick alert to Chin before finding sleep once again.

  Seven Day 98, Day 4

  The final day of the Bright Star summit is as hectic as the first. With the return of her thorn, Lilian slept undisturbed and awoke refreshed for the day. At eighth bell, Seigneur Marco and Nickolas arrived for a morning meal and a final strategy discussion. Once within Leonardo, Lilian spent the balance of the morning in the final consortium governors’ financial reviews. Midday respite was but half a bell to snatch a quick meal before delving into the Bright Star code. When third bell chimes, Nickolas pushes back in his chair and shutters the reviewer. “I need a respite, let us reconvene in half a period.”