Fortuna

by E G Manetti

  With a knowing grin, Tabitha pushes her contribution to the feast within Lilian’s reach, a bowl of late-season strawberries. With a murmur of appreciation, Lilian spears a berry. On the sofa, Clarice uses her slate to launch one of the romantic entertainments she favors.

  “The raider is a warrior in disguise,” Clarice insists. “I am certain of it.”

  “What of the healer’s assistant?” Tabitha peers at Clarice’s slate. “If he is a warrior, he will not have her to spouse.”

  “Consort, mayhap,” Clarice suggests.

  “Without a drop of warrior blood?” Tabitha scoffs. “I know it is a romance, but that is ridiculous.”

  “It would depend upon the status of his cartouche, and his rank within it.” Lilian attempts to join the game. “If it is a cadet branch and he is not the heir, it might happen.”

  “No, that will not work,” Clarice replies. “He must be highly placed and wealthy. He is the hero.”

  “Not a guarantee of heroism,” Lilian snorts. Once she might not have questioned it. No longer. “Martin?”

  “Well it is a romance.” Clarice widens her eyes. “It is not intended to be real.”

  At three pings from the front entry, Tabitha is off the loveseat and standing at the balcony rail, a fireburst pistol in hand.

  “It will be Maman,” Lilian reassures, following in the chair.

  “Stay back,” Tabitha hisses. “If it is Lady Helena, she will call out.”

  A figure in flowing peridot and silver floats into the courtyard and waves. “We have guests.”

  Guests? Lilian moves forward and peers over the rail while Tabitha holsters the pistol. Before Lilian can ask, Maman disappears back into the entry, undoubtedly heading for the stairs.

  Spinning the chair about, Lilian sends it back through the chamber and into the hallway. Apollo hastens toward her, carrying a large canister, followed by several acolytes with hampers and a tall, broad-shouldered figure with sandy hair. Chrys!

  “Lilian girl!” Apollo rushes forward. “May the Five Warriors favor you in the new year!”

  “And you, Lord Prelate,” Lilian returns in a daze. “But Chrys. How can he be here?”

  “Lilian, am I not Adelaide’s Prelate?” Apollo demands in his starchiest voice.

  Of course, Apollo is an unimpeachable chaperone. Smiling, Lilian agrees, “You are indeed. And the finest of warriors, too.”

  “And well you know it.” Apollo grins. “Is this where we feast? I would put down this weight.”

  “I beg pardon.” Lilian hastily navigates out of the entrance to the chamber. “Please, enter.”

  As Apollo directs the acolytes, Lilian turns back to Chrys. “It is wondrous you are come, but how?”

  “Lady Helena’s suggestion,” Chrys answers, passing her a small parcel. “I stopped at Hidaka’s Café. You had no sweets on the market list.”

  “Strawberry tarts?” Lilian beams.

  “May the Five Warriors favor you in the new year,” Chrys returns.

  “And you,” Lilian prays.

  “We will need more chairs from the kitchen,” Tabitha interrupts. “Chrys, will you aid me?”

  “Have you more glasses?” Apollo asks from Katleen’s chest of drawers, where the surface is crammed with year-turn delicacies. Holding up two magnums of sparkling wine, he adds, “We have wine, but not enough glasses.”

  “Plates and cutlery, too,” Helena speaks from the door, her vestments replaced by a flowing shift and light shawl.

  In a whirl of energy, Apollo organizes Lilian’s friends and the acolytes, sending them to gather what they need. Within half a bell, Katleen’s barren chamber fills with laughter and warmth to a degree unknown in the house for years.

  23. Raven Tales

  Only ten percent of those who complete primary education meet the standards for admission into advanced studies. Another fifteen percent qualify for entrance into the craft enclaves and guilds, where they learn skills required for specialty labor. Of those who progress to advanced studies, no more than ten percent are admitted to the first-tier universities and military academies clustered in the first three systems. Another five percent pursue achievement through the first-tier medical enclaves or the artistic conservatories. Secondary and tertiary institutes absorb the rest.

  Nearly eighty percent of those who enter advance studies achieve scholar credentials after the six-year course of study. Ten percent fail to meet the qualifications and leave without the credential, often ending in bankruptcy when they fail to attain commerce positions sufficient to pay the accumulated university fees. Another ten percent remain within the university system in pursuit of mastery credentials.

  The more highly place the university, the greater the opportunities once advanced studies are completed. ~ excerpt from A Social History of the Twelve Systems, an academy text.

  Sevenday 101, Day 1

  Lucius gently strokes Lilian’s wrists, the pale pink lines all that remain of the damage from her bonds. Only one cut from where she sliced the rope retains sealant, and from its gray color, it will shed within the day. Naught is left of the abrasions that covered her legs and forearms. The feet resting on the scarlet couch remain bandaged and encased in special footgear.

  As soon as Lilian crossed the scarlet threshold for eighth-bell status, Lucius had her stripped to her silver lingerie and across his lap, where he could carefully examine every inch. Lilian’s eyes are clear, although deeply shadowed, but there is no noticeable trembling in her limbs. Apollo’s impromptu year-turn celebration at Katleen’s house seems to have had no ill effect. At least the prelate had the sense to end the festivities well before dark of night. From Tabitha’s reports, Lilian spent most of Seventh Day abed. All in all, Chin has done well.

  Lucius cannot resist a brief kiss, tangling his fingers in the warbelt to pull her close. Her pliant eagerness and the warm welcome of her mouth is further reassurance. It is also uncomfortably arousing with Lilian on restricted duty. With a frustrated sigh, Lucius eases her back against the cushions, toying with the belt’s clasp lock, tracing the black enamel of his Cartouche.

  Turning the lock in his fingers, Lucius frowns at the gouges around the closing and scratches across the surface. “What caused this?”

  “I am not certain, milord.” Lilian touches a slash marring the Cartouche. “I suspect that the crevasse-wallower attempted to force the lock but could not with his weak blade.”

  “It is well they did not think to use your thorn,” Lucius comments. “The gold of the lock would not have withstood Ancients’ metal. Or even a good quality cutter. It is a wonder that you retained the belt.”

  “Jed would not have tried,” Lilian replies, her muscles tensing under Lucius’ hands. “He was afraid of the seigneur. He warned the other one— ‘She is to be handed over as we took her, not a hair or garment out of place.’ ”

  Lucius caresses her collarbone, seeking to soothe away tension. “Jed’s fear of Fenrir explains why they kept your thorn. It is likely they were told to discard your slate and seal and naught else.”

  “Milord, he was there!” Lilian jerks under Lucius’ hands. “The seigneur was in that building. They said he was angered when I would not wake.” Shaking her head in bewilderment, Lilian asks, “Milord, why would he wish me awake? An unconscious captive is docile.”

  “An interesting question,” Lucius agrees. “I doubt we will ever know. What is more interesting is that if you are correct, we may be able to prove that Fenrir was in that building with you.”

  “Milord?”

  Stroking his thumb along Lilian’s jaw, Lucius explains, “He did not walk there. He required transport. We have not traced Fenrir’s movements on race day. It never occurred to us he would have dared be present for your abduction.”

  At his words, Lilian shivers, paling at the discussion of her abduction. Wrapping a reassuring arm around her waist, Lucius considers his options. Of those within the security-privilege of the abduction, Trevelyan is abse
nt planet and Malcon off investigating the Mercium thefts. Only Joyce and Rodolfo remain to pursue this new investigation. Trevelyan’s resources are stretched thin due to the increasing demands of Mercium and Bright Star. Lucius must discover a means to banish Damocles and gather into Trevelyan’s control the full force of Serengeti security-privilege. For now, Lilian is chilled. “Don your garb, and we will turn to commerce.”

  »◊«

  Fifteen minutes later, dressed for commerce, Lilian returns to milord’s lap. Restricted duty requires Lilian be seated, and truly, it is welcome. The protective footgear hinders her balance, and even with the master medic’s potions, her feet burn if she stands for too long. Milord’s lap and casual caresses are as unexpected as they are pleasing. Milord’s embrace is also distracting. Gathering her wits, Lilian presents her latest analysis. Milord’s fingers lightly circle Lilian’s knees as he stares intently at the wall reviewer, assessing her proposal. It is radical for all its potential gain.

  The specialized Mercium rectangles for Bright Star will not be enough to attain the maximum transport speeds of the SEV1 design. Hoping there might be another alternative, Lilian provided Master Aidan’s specifications to every Vistrite mine and refinery. While Lilian recovered in Katleen’s house, the chief refiner on Desperation was busy. Her theory halts the refining midway, before the final proving process, in a manner that could reduce the density of the crystals and allow cutting as desired. It may or may not work. If it does, the crystals may or may not be able to hold the encoding. The chief refiner is convinced that she will be able to make a determination within ten sevendays.

  All the other refinery masters agree that the Desperation design is the most promising. For Desperation to provide such an important substance to Bright Star and the SEV1 is a significant achievement. Were Lilian an associate, not only would her reputation and status be enhanced, the financial recognition would be considerable. As an apprentice, there can be no financial recognition, but naught can diminish the importance of such an accomplishment.

  “Ten sevendays, Lilian?” Milord’s hand slides along her hip to her waist.

  Stretching under the pleasant contact, Lilian nods. “So the chief refiner claims. The Desperation master concurs, as does Seigneur Solomon.”

  Milord’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “Very well; even should she fail, we will at least have our answer.”

  Milord’s hands slide to her shoulders, pulling her close. Milord’s lips find hers, seeking, seducing. With a sound of pleasure, Lilian twines her arms around milord’s neck, parting her lips to invite milord within. A familiar warmth blossoms within her, pushing aside all thoughts of commerce, all thoughts of aught but milord and the pleasure of milord’s kiss. All too soon, milord pulls away, leaving Lilian aching for more.

  Milord’s eyes are heavy with passion, his lips curved in a wry smile. “I regret it also, but we must cease. You are on restricted duty and the morning advances. Master Chin will be waiting.”

  »◊«

  Lilian regards her feet with disfavor, unable to control a slight jerk when the master medic reaches the sensitive arch.

  “Lilian, cease twitching.” Chin’s grip is firm on the recalcitrant foot.

  “Master Medic, is there naught else you can do?” Lilian complains. “I cannot train in the bindings.”

  “Feet are difficult,” Chin replies with cool patience. “You are healing remarkably well. I thought you would need the chair at least another day. As it is, there is not enough sound flesh to attempt the sealant, but without the bindings, it may not hold. If the sealant fails, you risk renewing the damage. We will try again in another day.”

  Master Chin has been more than tolerant, explaining in great detail how the sealant requires sound flesh around the wound to hold it in place. It served well for the lacerations on her wrists and hands but Chin could not use it on her torn feet until they partially healed. She does not dispute the medic’s diagnosis. Her feet are sensitive and burn if she stands too long. Nearly a sevenday without training is causing her far more distress. “Please, Master Chin, I must train. I do not feel well without it.”

  Releasing Lilian’s foot, Master Chin examines her face with a furrowed brow. “This is not the first you have complained of this. I know not why a sevenday of inactivity besets you so, but use the Serengeti strengthening and training devices if you must. Several do not require you put weight on your feet.”

  »◊«

  No one in the half-full training chamber pays Lilian much heed as she makes her way to the strengthening devices. Thorvald’s disdain and that of his training masters may keep Lilian from participating in the Serengeti classes, but they cannot deny her access to the chambers. With Tabitha’s assistance, Lilian works her way through the devices until sweat pearls on her skin and darkens her training garb. With the final set, Chrys and Douglas arrive. Reaching for breath, Lilian gasps a welcome. “Well met Chrys, Douglas.”

  As she speaks, recognition dawns and a brief smile lights Lilian’s face. “I beg pardon, Associate Douglas.”

  It is First Day of the new year. Douglas’ bond has proved. He is a free man and associate of Serengeti and Grey Spear.

  With a grin of acknowledgement, Douglas replies, “Well met, indeed. How fare you?”

  “Well enough, Master Douglas,” Lilian replies, swinging her legs toward the floor.

  “I beg you, Lilian, do not. I remain Douglas,” Douglas asserts, abandoning custom for honor. He will not distance himself from those who have been his battle companions.

  “As you please, Douglas.” Lilian nods, grasping the frame. “Tabitha, I pray you, catch me should I stumble.”

  With Tabitha standing by, Lilian eases to her feet. She is relieved to find she is neither uncomfortable nor unsteady. With her friends surrounding her, Lilian makes her way to a bench, collecting a water vial on the way. As soon as she is settled, Douglas demands, “Who stole you? What can you speak? Were you harmed other than your feet?”

  “You raced alone through the Refinery District,” Chrys adds with a frown. They did not discuss Lilian’s abduction the night before. Such dark tales are inappropriate for a year-turn celebration. “You are fortunate you acquired naught worse than torn feet.”

  “Peace.” Lilian leans against the wall. “We know not who instigated the crime. Seigneur Trevelyan is investigating, but the two who held me captive are missing. The seigneur suspects they are dead.”

  There is no proof that Lilian killed the crevasse-wallower, and without a body, there will not be an investigation. Although it was justifiable defense of Lucius Mercio’s property, Lilian is safer if the killing remains a secret, and truly, Lilian would prefer not to dwell on it.

  “They wished knowledge of Bright Star.” Douglas scowls. “They did not interrogate you?”

  “Mercium or Bright Star,” Lilian counters, weaving Trevelyan’s well-crafted tale. Even if milord could have hidden Lilian’s abduction, he did not will it. The crime justifies her guards. As for the true purpose behind her abduction, its connection to Gariten’s crimes makes it far too dangerous to Lilian to reveal. “I did not remain long enough to discover which one. I escaped before they could interrogate me.”

  “The Shades favored you,” Douglas says with relief. “Torn feet are mild compared to a determined interrogation.”

  Silently, Chrys swaps her empty water vial for a full one, his fingertip lightly grazing hers, his pale brown eyes welling with reassurance and relief. Raising the vial with thanks, Lilian fills her gaze with certainty as she insists, “Truly, I am well. The master medic is over careful.”

  »◊«

  The Grim Twins’ attention fixes on Lilian as she makes her way to her worksite. Cautious in the balance-impairing footgear, Lilian moves slowly, minimizing the impact to her feet. Neither guardian speaks nor acknowledges her. Both are alert, coiled. Does Lilian stumble, they will make certain she does not fall. With an inward smile, Lilian manages to find her seat. She has known for mo
nths that they are Trevelyan’s operatives. She would like to thank them for their diligence, but it is not possible. They have higher rank and must speak first.

  Igniting her techno array, Lilian wonders if Tabitha would convey her thanks to the Grim Twins. The fleeting thought dissolves under the onslaught of a sevenday’s worth of alerts. Twenty minutes later, Nickolas and Fletcher interrupt. Their quick “Well met, Conservator” allows Lilian to retain her seat while the two protégés claim her guest chair and Rebecca’s.

  “Well met indeed. Master Fletcher, it was an excellent race this season.” If she can she avoid it, Lilian would prefer not to discuss her abduction. “I understand that Master Chin and Seigneur Trevelyan did quite well from their wagers.”

  “As did Nickolas, among others,” Fletcher responds with a sly glance at the other protégé. “I shall not buy my own wine for months.”

  As a contender, Fletcher could not wager on the race. His benefit will come from the recognition of those who did wager.

  “Mistress Mayling also profited.” Nickolas grins at Fletcher. “It is a pity she exited the planet with Matahorn before Fletcher was able to receive her appreciation.”

  “Enough.” Fletcher returns the grin. “You will make me blush.”

  Turning to Lilian, Fletcher’s grin fades. “I regret it proved an ill-fated day for you. Are you well?”

  “The master medic’s care is excellent,” Lilian says brightly. “And I was not seriously harmed.”

  “The shadows under your eyes say otherwise.” Nickolas’ smile fades. “And you are pale as a wraith.”

  “You need not discuss it, if it distresses you,” Fletcher adds.

  “It was unpleasant, but it is over.” Lilian fingers her conservator seal. “Does it please you, I would prefer to discuss the Moon Races.”

  With a determined smile, Fletcher complies. “The Matahorn contender was decent enough, but the Euphrates contender was another matter. Fortunately, he was well back in the field, or I might have been tempted to drive him into an asteroid.”