Fortuna

by E G Manetti

Sevenday 101, Day 4

  “Master Medic, is the sealant not sufficient?” Lilian flexes her feet, not quite suppressing a wince as the white sealant pulls against her damaged flesh. “Will you not release me from restricted duty?”

  Chin sighs inwardly at the request Lilian has repeated for four days. The sealant applied the day gone remains white, the healing half-done, but it is her drawn face and shadowed eyes, not Lilian’s feet, that concern him. A few more days of limited activity can only be of benefit. “Your feet are healing well, but they are not yet healed.”

  “Master Chin, I beg you.” Lilian’s voice edges into panic. “Forms only. I will not fall.”

  “When the sealant dissolves will be soon enough,” Chin insists. The signs of stress are worrisome. The abduction and recall of Captain Reynald’s murder may have succeeded in pushing Lilian past her limits. Her healing feet are a useful excuse to limit her activity and give her the rest she needs to recover. “Do you sleep? Do you require another potion?”

  “The potions bring evil dreams.” Lilian pulls on the soft ankle boots that have replaced the medic’s protective footgear. “I am better without them.”

  It is not the first time Lilian has made that complaint. Evil dreams are no more restful than lack of sleep. Chin could send her into gray space for a day or two, but it is an extreme treatment for Lilian’s physical ills and will do naught for those of her spirit. Hoping continued rest will repair her, Chin agrees. “Very well. You may forgo the potions. Visit me again tomorrow.”

  Before Lilian can argue further, Chin admonishes, “Enough. You will have no further concessions. You remain on restricted duty.

  With a defeated nod, she accedes. “Yes, Master Medic.”

  »◊«

  Five Warriors take it! Lilian frowns at her worksite reviewer. Nickolas and Fletcher have nearly succeeded in mastering the first of her six planned SEV1 navigational trials. The next two are nearly ready, but when she developed them, she enhanced the underlying complexity models. Her diagnostic algorithms detect no anomalies that could compromise the essential randomness. It matters not. Using diagnostic algorithms of her own devising to validate her changes is pointless. She may simply compound her error. In most matters, the risk is so minor it is unimportant. However, the safety of the SEV1 means that even a remote risk is too great.

  The scholar who developed the models licensed them to Serengeti. He will be the best source for validating her alterations. Putting aside the models, Lilian composes her inquiry. By the time Fletcher and Nickolas are ready for the second trial, she will have confirmation of the validity or the information to correct it.

  Thirty minutes later, satisfied with her correspondence, Lilian raises her eyes from her worksite to discover Tabitha smiling at her. “Has the SEV1 conquered the Thirteenth System?

  “What say you?” Lilian asks, bewildered. At Tabitha’s gesture to Lilian’s worksite, Lilian shakes her head. “Not as yet. It is but an inquiry to the scholar who developed the models I am using. I have nearly finished the next two trials, but I need advice.”

  “Advice? On complexity analysis? You?” Tabitha drops into the guest chair.

  “Complexity analysis is an attempt to define the forces of the universe in mathematical formulas,” Lilian explains.

  “An impossible task?” Tabitha frowns. “Sounds like you. Why need you the scholar? Can you not call an insight?”

  “Would that I could.” Lilian sighs. “It does not work that way. As for the scholar, in enhancing his models, I may have inadvertently added predictability. It is not likely, but it is possible. It is better to have my work examined than risk the SEV1 and Masters Fletcher and Nickolas.”

  “Fair enough,” Tabitha agrees. “Are you ready? Sixth bell has chimed. You look exhausted and Mr. Stefan will be waiting.”

  Sevenday 101, Day 5

  Finding their quarry in the fountain café, Fletcher and Nickolas drop into open seats. “Mistress Tabitha, Master Douglas, well met.” Nickolas continues without waiting for an acknowledgement. “Mistress Tabitha, what goes forward with Mistress Lilian and her household?”

  Seeing the woman begin to bristle, Fletcher cuts in with his easy and disarming smile. “Peace, Mistress Tabitha. We seek no breach of privilege. We know Katleen is exit the planet on some mysterious errand with Seigneur Trevelyan and his Raven. We know that the household of the seer is furnished with little but echoes, and you are a guest there. We seek only Mistress Lilian’s well-being.”

  “Mistress Lilian will not speak of this most recent trial,” Nickolas explains, “but the shadows grow beneath her eyes. Is there aught we can do to lend aid?”

  After a brief exchange of glances with Douglas, Tabitha shrugs and turns toward the two warriors. “Truly, I can offer naught. Adelaide’s Prelate sends his servants with our meals. Sinead’s Shrine tends the exterior of the house. There is little needed to maintain the interior. Monsignor Lucius’ security is well done.”

  “Then what?” Nickolas demands. “It has been four days since her return to the Cartel, and she does not improve.”

  “I believe she sleeps but little.” Tabitha sighs. “There is naught to be done there that the master medic does not already attend.”

  “Lilian will improve when she can train,” Chrys’ quiet voice joins in. His stiff nod to the protégés is the bare minimum of courtesy.

  “Lilian trains daily. I am with her,” Tabitha protests.

  Shaking his head in denial, Chrys corrects her. “Lilian exercises her body on the devices. It is not the same.”

  “What say you?” Douglas asks. “What else does she require?”

  “You have witnessed Lilian in devotions and battle,” Chrys reminds the other man. “It is not exercise. It is true discipline. She is Adelaide’s consecrated in the old sense of the term. It is devotion as much as it is martial training. It is her spirit that is suffering, not her body.”

  Fletcher and Nickolas exchange glances and nod.

  “We witnessed her best a Sinead Master,” Nickolas says. “Sinead’s Keeper blessed the offering.”

  Eyes narrow, Chrys studies the two warriors. Lips tight, he suggests, “Master Nickolas, could you go to Monsignor Lucius?”

  “I will voice it, Master Chrys,” Nickolas agrees. “Whether or not Monsignor will be able to sway Master Chin, I cannot say. The master medic is beyond Cartel protocol and stricture in these matters.”

  »◊«

  As it happens, before Nickolas can approach his mentor, he discovers Chin in the training chambers, locked in conversation with Thorvald, their attention on the corner where Lilian is working herself into physical exhaustion.

  “What ails her, Master Chin?” Thorvald questions the master medic. “Her body heals, she does not limp. Yet each day she appears more drawn than the last.”

  Nickolas leaps on the Shade-sent opportunity. “Seigneur, Master Medic, Lilian needs to train properly. Devices are a poor substitute for Adelaide’s Discipline.”

  At Nickolas’ words, both men turn to him, Thorvald in confusion and Chin with a frown.

  “Has Mistress Lilian been entreating you?” Chin demands.

  “No, Master Chin, it is her friends who speak so,” Nickolas explains. “We have all noticed Mistress Lilian is in difficulty. Those who know her best are certain she will do better once she returns to Adelaide’s Discipline.”

  “What think you, Thorvald?” Chin turns to the warrior. “She insists she can manage the forms. That she will not fall.”

  “If she does not spar, I doubt she will fall,” Thorvald admits with grudging respect.

  Turning his attention back to the sweat-drenched young woman with the darkly shadowed eyes, Chin nods. “Very well. Other than sparring, she need not remain on restricted duty. If she does not improve, we will explore another path.”

  Sevenday 101, Day 6

  The soft leather of milord’s transport enfolds Lilian in comfort as Mr. Stefan slides into the forward compartment with Mr.
George. Next to her, milord watches from beneath hooded lids as she frees her hair and brushes out the silky waves. Lilian has barely stowed her brush when milord pulls her into a loose embrace, his fingers combing through her waves. Content to rest her head on milord’s shoulder, Lilian gazes into the harsh features that have become so familiar. Milord’s warm expression turns to a frown, his forefinger tracing what she knows is a dark smudge beneath her eye. “Are you unable to slumber? Have the evil dreams returned?”

  “It is naught of dreams, milord,” Lilian explains. “I am unable to quiet my mind.”

  “Has your busy mind produced anything useful?” Milord resumes stroking her hair.

  “Only that I am certain that whatever brought the militia captain to the house that night, it was not an interest in Remus Gariten.”

  Milord’s hand halts and then resumes. “What reasoning brings this conclusion?”

  Milord’s hand travels from her hair to cup her breast, the strength and heat setting off pleasant tingles. With a small sigh, Lilian responds, “Nine years, milord. Had the militia an interest in Remus Gariten at the time of the captain’s murder, it would not have required nine years to bring Gariten to a protocol review.”

  “That reasoning applies to Fenrir as well.” Milord lightly rubs the nipple hardening under his hand.

  “Yes, milord.” The transport has slowed to a stop. It is time to enter the penthouse.

  »◊«

  Standing before the bedchamber windows, Lucius examines Lilian’s nude figure, the late-day light revealing every line and mark. The thorn score across her back from her alcove trial has healed and faded. There is naught of the regular complement of training bruises and abrasions. Other than the hint of gray at her heels from the fading sealant, the only mark on the creamy expanse of skin is Adelaide’s Mark in flight at her right hip. Lucius gently traces the small tattoo with a fingertip, drawing forth a shiver from Lilian.

  Milord’s fingers trail from Lilian’s mark to her shoulders. Milord’s warm breath and warmer lips tickle across the side of her neck not blocked by the hair pulled over one shoulder.

  “Await me on the bed.” The heat in milord’s voice does as much as the caressing lips to cause Lilian to tremble with desire.

  Obedient to milord’s will, Lilian climbs into the middle of the bed, legs curled to one side, pushing her hair behind her back. Her breath catches as he sheds his garments, revealing his hard, muscled form. Coming to her, milord captures Lilian’s mouth in a heated kiss as he lowers her onto her back, a determined knee probing between her thighs.

  Falling into the kiss, Lilian arches into milord, her arms twining around milord’s neck, her tongue tangling with milord’s. Released from milord’s kiss, Lilian meets the hot gaze, one of her hands roaming across milord’s broad shoulder and back. Smiling, milord captures the trailing hand and kisses the palm before placing it on the bed and holding it there. Something wicked enters milord’s eyes as Lilian’s other hand is captured and similarly treated.

  Milord shifts both his knees between her thighs, nudging them open. Bending to her lips, milord breathes, “Wider,” as he takes another kiss. Responding to both the command and the kiss, Lilian’s thighs loosen and part further. She is completely open. Milord’s mouth withdraws. Milord whispers another gentle command against her lips. “Do not move.”

  The promise in milord’s words causes things low in her body to clench. Milord’s gaze locks with hers, holding her captive with his will. Clever fingers find her breasts and tease the tips into aching tenderness. Lilian’s breath comes rapidly as she strains to hold herself still.

  Milord releases her from his gaze but not his command as his mouth follows his fingers. Milord’s warm, wet tongue further teases one aching tip and then another before the lips close, tugging one aroused peak. The sensation pulls a whimper from Lilian, her fists clenching on the sheets. Milord makes a satisfied, masculine sound before releasing the breast from teasing to move lower.

  Closing her eyes, steeling herself for the next onslaught, Lilian holds her breath as milord’s fingers gently stroke nether lips and then her opening. Finally, the clever fingers pluck and roll her jewel, forcing Lilian to release her breath on a sharp cry. The cry is followed by entreaty. “Please, milord, please.”

  Warm breath against her thighs ignites trembling she cannot control. Milord’s breath sears wet and aroused flesh. “No, Lilian, not yet.”

  Milord’s tongue laves and then teeth nibble and tantalize, calling forth yet another mindless cry. Clever fingers replace tongue and teeth, slipping into her and then out, caressing, teasing. Vibrating with desire Lilian can bear no more. “I beg milord, please, please, milord.”

  “Yes, Lilian, now.” Milord plunges two hard fingers deep inside her while his thumb finds her aching jewel and works it hard.

  With a wanton cry, Lilian arches and writhes, gyrating on milord’s hand, desperate for release. One more hard caress and milord’s sex replaces his fingers. The long, hard length of milord drives into her and over that perfect spot. Again and yet again, ratcheting her need to new heights and wringing further cries of pleasure.

  Rising to meet the driving thrusts, Lilian clings to milord. Her eyes open to meet milord’s heavy gaze as she gasps and shudders. Clenching hard inside, Lilian shatters, senses overwhelmed by her release.

  »◊«

  The light in the room is fading. The dwindling afternoon light suggests it is past seventh bell. Half sprawled across Lilian, Lucius raises his head to find Lilian’s eyes closed, her breathing even. Lucius did not realize he had pushed Lilian so far until he released her. Her wild passion freed him to give full vent to his own, her extended release pulling him deep into a well of pleasure.

  Knowing his weight must be crushing her, Lucius shifts, easing to the side. The gray eyes flutter open, slumberous with spent passion as Lilian languidly stretches, her lips curled in contentment. Lucius briefly considers starting again. No, it will wait. Lilian should have a meal.

  Mind still fogged from the aftermath of her release, Lilian drowsily meets milord’s regard before he leans in for a featherlight kiss and then rises from the bed, reaching for the scarlet robe. Beyond the windows, the horizon is a narrow red ribbon separating the deepening midnight sky from the dark Crevasse where lights have begun to twinkle. Soon, the red will fade entirely, the stars will come out, and milord’s penthouse will once again appear poised on the edge of the abyss.

  Sound and movement turn Lilian’s attention from the developing nightscape. Milord bends over her, royal blue silk in his hands. Draping the sheer material over her exposed shoulders, milord commands, “Wrap yourself, woman, and join me without. There are slippers on the console table. Your phantom servitors have provided us with a meal.”

  The soft black satin slippers cushion Lilian’s feet. The royal blue of the Second Warrior brightens the gray of Lilian’s eyes and the flame highlights in her hair. The deep color makes her skin glow, and the sheer fabric clings provocatively, offering glimpses of the deep rose of her nipples as she moves. Milord raises his eyes from his slate, the dark depths flashing approval and desire as he views her in this latest wrap. Milord is pleased.

  “Trevelyan has the record strip,” milord announces, motioning her to a chair. “They should be within the Cartel by next Fifth Day.”

  Trevelyan has succeeded far sooner than Lilian expected. With the time difference, it has been but a day since Trevelyan and Katleen reached Artesia. She had not expected the scholar to yield so readily. It will be interesting to discover what swayed Andreas so quickly.

  “The scholar is remarkably accommodating,” milord echoes Lilian’s thoughts. Lifting his slate, he peruses the contents while Lilian begins her meal. “Apparently, Mistress Rebecca proved quite persuasive.”

  “Truly, milord?” At milord’s nod, Lilian’s expression lightens. “It is well then that Seigneur Trevelyan heeded my mother.”

  “What say you?” Milord startles.


  Lilian quickly relates the tale. “It was naught to do with Katleen. Maman was quite explicit that Seigneur’s Raven must fly with him, that the Seigneur would have need of her.”

  Lucius ponders the ramifications of Lilian’s revelations. Whether prophecy or motherly concern, Helena’s wishes were clear. Sinead’s Keeper would have supported the seer. Knowing that Lilian’s doxy friend was instrumental in persuading Andreas, Lucius suspects the form of that persuasion. He doubts Trevelyan lies with his apprentice, and he cannot imagine Trevelyan countenancing seduction. But the woman may have acted of her own will. The blonde’s irreverence for stricture and custom is well proven. While managing his apprentice is Trevelyan’s affair, Lucius pressured the man into it. Nor is Lucius convinced that put to the test, Trevelyan will enforce stricture as required. He cannot ask Lilian’s opinion, but perhaps he can lead her to comment. “It is unlikely Seigneur Trevelyan lies with Rebecca.”

  “I know naught for certain, milord.” Lilian readily follows his lead. “Rebecca will no more speak on such matters than any other. Nonetheless, I believe milord is correct, it is unlikely. May I be permitted to know why . . .”

  Lilian’s voice trails away. “Milord need have no concern. Mistress Rebecca will not shame the seigneur or herself.”

  “You are very certain,” Lucius challenges. Lilian’s loyalty to her friend may be blinding her. “If we are correct, it has been a year since Rebecca has enjoyed passion and must endure another before the bond completes.”

  Eyes bright and certain, Lilian insists, “Were it twice as long, it would not matter. Rebecca will not betray the seigneur.”

  For all Lilian’s conviction, Lucius cannot quite believe that one who was once the Cartel favorite would be able to maintain years of celibacy.

  Fingering her conservator’s seal, Lilian ventures, “Does milord wish to know how it is Mistress Rebecca came to Serengeti?”

  Until Rebecca became enmeshed in Lilian’s affairs and then Blooded Dagger, Lucius had little interest in her. Although he was surprised that Straus would accept a candidate from a beta-grade university, he found no reason to reject the associate master’s acquisition. Now, Lucius would know more about the woman. “I am listening.”