Fortuna

by E G Manetti

  Katleen and Lilian are convinced that Trevelyan’s Universalist tendencies are a product of his education. A suspicion Lilian once shared with Rebecca.

  “Katleen may be correct in this,” Rebecca remarks. “Master Andreas and the seigneur are certainly well known to each other. The scholar even greeted the seigneur as brother. Could they have been raised together?”

  While no one viewing the two men would think them siblings, fostering is common enough. Particularly in the case of orphans, the civil authorities will conduct a DNA search for the nearest genetic relatives with the means to raise the child to majority. In this instance, Lilian is certain that brother has a different connotation. One that could be dangerous to Seigneur Trevelyan. With as much casualness as she can muster, Lilian shrugs. “The society within Mulan’s Sanctuary is very tightly knit. They need not have been raised together to view each other kin.”

  “But the seigneur is not a Universalist.” Katleen frowns.

  “One need not be a Universalist to reside in the sanctuary. Even warrior families visit the sanctuary for prolonged periods,” Lilian remarks, hoping that the accuracy of her statements will mask her prevarication. Katleen’s ability to detect lies in the color of a person’s voice can be awkward. “And intermarriage is not so uncommon. Only one of his parents needed to be Universalist for him to be welcome.”

  “As I am at the school, even though I follow the Five Warriors.” Katleen finds naught amiss in Lilian’s explanation. “Rebecca, where is the freshening closet?”

  Relieved to have the subject abandoned, Lilian holds tight to her composure as Rebecca shows Katleen the hidden door to the closet. Katleen has not been enough among the Universalists to know that ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ are common forms of address for prelates. That Seigneur Trevelyan now follows the warrior ways can only mean he is an outcast—forever severed from the Universalists, forbidden to enter Mulan’s Sanctuary or any other Universalist settlement. His family and friends would refuse to know him. Only the direst of offenses result in an outcast. To Lilian’s knowledge, there is only one exception.

  Ten years gone, after pirates raided several Universalist outposts, a handful of Universalists broke with the hierarchy to join Lucius Mercio’s forces, including some prelates. Given the depiction of Seigneur Trevelyan in Maman’s vision panels, Lilian is certain he must have been one of those outcasts. As noble as Trevelyan’s actions were, separation from his family and the Conclave of the Universal Way must grieve him deeply. Nor would it be well for the seigneur if the other seigneurs learned that he was once a Universalist prelate.

  »◊«

  “Corrupt and dishonorable and selfish!” Lucius barks laughter. Lilian’s doxy friend may be irreverent and vulgar, but he could not have said it better.

  “So I was told.” Trevelyan shrugs. “Certainly, Rebecca and Katleen were with him but half a period when nearly two periods of reason had not served.”

  “Let us hope the record strip holds what we need.” Lucius’ humor fades with the seriousness of their dilemma. “Joyce and Rodolfo were able to place Fenrir in the Refinery District in the early bells of the day after the Moon Races. But it is not enough to prove he abducted Lilian.”

  “Not even enough for an indictment,” Trevelyan agrees. “Should I send for Lilian? It would be well to have her start work on the record strip.”

  “Not yet.” Lucius unrolls Helena’s sketch on the conference table. “What do you make of this? Lilian’s mother drew it in reply to your questions.”

  “Truly?” Trevelyan rises to stand next to Lucius so they can both study the drawing. “It appears Mistress Lilian’s recall is accurate enough. That is clearly Reynald with Fenrir. Interesting about the rodents; a fancy or a message?”

  “I have no notion.” Lucius does not know why, but the sketch disturbs him. “Whatever goes on in Lady Helena’s mind, Lilian is correct that it is unreliable and difficult to interpret. She was able to see enough to aid in Lilian’s escape but not enough to protect her from being taken.”

  “Mayhap it is a matter of asking the correct question.” Eyes narrowing, Trevelyan frowns at the sketch. “Could it be . . . ?”

  “What concerns you?” Lucius gazes from sketch to spymaster.

  “It is the answer to my question. I specifically asked for the purpose of this gathering.” Shaking his head in anger and dismay, the spymaster motions at the sketch. “It is an answer too terrible to speak.”

  “What say you?” Lucius studies the composition in confusion. “What do you see that I do not?”

  “Monsignor, where are all the eyes? On what do the crevasse-crawlers gaze?”

  Lilian. Lucius suddenly comprehends what troubled him in the sketch, what Helena had captured so accurately. They are all focused on Lilian. “It is the same unhealthy interest that Fenrir displayed on the voyage.”

  “Could Gariten have been so foul?” Trevelyan tries to deny the ugly truth.

  “It may have been to protect her from more than Gariten that Lady Helena hid her daughter on Mulan for nine years.” Lucius has also seen the truth.

  Where Trevelyan’s disgust mingles with rage, intellect tempers Lucius’ anger. Rising, Lucius collects his slate and engages the wall reviewer. After a series of taps, the visual of Gariten’s execution emerges. Flashing through the images, Lucius finds what he is seeking, the moment when Gariten raged at Lilian . . .

  “Worthless, misbegotten doxy. You have not won. You defied me from the day of your birth with your useless sex. Sold it, I did. You will be worth something yet.” Spittle is forming on the condemned man’s lips. He has risen from his chair and stepped as close to Lilian as he can.

  “That shadeless, degenerate Servant of Anarchy,” Trevelyan snarls. “He sold his fourteen-year-old daughter to Fenrir.” Trevelyan’s fists clench with fury. “No wonder Lady Helena is mad. How could she bear such knowledge?”

  “Sold her for what purpose? Why did Fenrir wait so long to collect?” Lucius stalks the length of his office, considering this new revelation, fitting it to what he already knows. Stopping mid-stride, he pivots on his heels to face Trevelyan. “Unless he did not.”

  “Did not what?” Trevelyan attempts to follow Lucius’ logic. “Did not wait to collect?”

  Turning to the reviewer, Lucius studies Gariten’s frozen features. Leaning his hands on the back of the sofa, Lucius recalls, “Lilian once mentioned that she suspected one of Gariten’s confederates betrayed him. The timing is interesting. The betrayal occurred within days of her committing to Serengeti over Matahorn.”

  “Matahorn?” Trevelyan joins Lucius by the couch. “Mayhap. If she had followed Gariten’s command and gone to Matahorn, she would have been within Fenrir’s reach. When Gariten failed to deliver Lilian to her buyer, Fenrir took revenge.”

  “More than simple revenge,” Lucius mulls. “With Gariten disgraced, Lilian was to have been forced from the security of Mulan’s Temple. Fenrir expected to have her easily.”

  Turning from the reviewer, Lucius begins to pace. “It does not answer the question ‘why.’ What was the purpose of the contract?”

  “A fell purpose for certain.” Trevelyan leans against the couch to watch Lucius pace. “No legitimate contract would require these methods.”

  “True enough, but why now?” Lucius puzzles. “Why wait two years?”

  “It is possible that this is only the latest attempt,” Trevelyan suggests. “There may have been other, unsuccessful, efforts. Since Patrick Volsted’s attack, Lilian has been cautious and rarely alone. And, after the shrine beggar incident, even more so. Mayhap it was not strain that had her starting at shadows before the Fortuna voyage.”

  “Speculation serves us naught,” Lucius concludes, dropping into a conference table chair. “The record strip is our best chance at ridding ourselves of Fenrir.”

  If the strip does not provide what they need, Lucius can pursue other avenues. Assassinating a highly placed warrior is far more dangerous than
eliminating an obscure militia corporal. Normally, Lucius would not take such a risk. In this instance, he will consider it.

  “Is Lilian to know?” Trevelyan joins Lucius at the table, motioning to Helena’s sketch.

  “Tell her that her father sold her for nefarious purposes, and Fenrir is attempting to collect?” Lucius sighs. “It will be yet another assault after so many.”

  “I doubt Lilian has any illusions about Gariten,” Trevelyan replies. “And the threat from Fenrir is not yet resolved.”

  Lucius dislikes it, but Trevelyan is right. “I will inform Lilian of what we suspect from the sketch. She may be safer if she understands the nature of the threat.”

  »◊«

  To the sound of sixth-bell chimes, Lilian settles into a chair at the conference table and accepts the data strip from Seigneur Trevelyan. Rebecca and Mr. Stefan are returning Katleen home and will return when Katleen is safely settled. For now, all Lilian’s attention can be devoted to deciphering the records she encrypted two years gone.

  Engrossed in her work, Lilian barely notices Mistress Marieth’s entrance until she hears the light clink of a tea glass by her elbow. Startled and pleased by the courtesy, Lilian offers brief thanks before delving back into the records of Gariten’s unsavory dealings.

  For half a period, Lilian works her slate, organizing the data and setting the structure for investigation. Completing her task, she raises her eyes to Seigneur Trevelyan and milord. Trevelyan checks his slate and nods his approval of her work while milord remains absorbed in the contents of his. Sipping her ignored tea, Lilian awaits milord’s will. Seigneur Trevelyan shows no such patience. “Monsignor.”

  Milord glances up and then back at his slate. With a few more taps, milord finishes and sets it aside. “It is done?”

  “Yes, milord.” Lilian turns her slate. “The data is as I recalled. By tenth bell before midday tomorrow, Seigneur Trevelyan will have the trail of whatever may be left of these enterprises.”

  “Even if they are not active, if I know when they were dissolved, it will be of aid.” Trevelyan taps his slate. “I suspect it will be a sevenday or so before my operatives are able to fully breach the security-privilege. Once within, if there is any connection to Fenrir, we will find it.”

  “Have you all you require?” Milord asks.

  “Aye, Monsignor,” Trevelyan acknowledges.

  “Very well, you may go,” milord dismisses the spymaster. “Lilian, remain.”

  As Trevelyan exits, milord rises and holds out his hand, his expression grim. Whatever milord wills, it is not passion. Leading Lilian to the couch, milord discards his jacket and indicates that Lilian should remove hers. In moments, she is in a familiar position, settled across milord’s lap, her back to an armrest. It is a position milord favors when he wishes to be able to both touch her and see her expression. Lilian is well aware that milord is able to read from her body what she can conceal with her face. Setting one hand on her hip, milord uses the other to stroke her collarbone through the thin silk of her blouse.

  I am the sum of my ancestors. The gentle contact and milord’s somber expression are unmistakable warnings that this conversation is not going to be pleasant. Outcast rises to the forefront of her thoughts and is ruthlessly suppressed.

  “Trevelyan was able to interpret the message in your mother’s sketch.” Milord gently thumbs her collarbone. Confused by the unexpected comment, Lilian is unable to form a response. Milord’s interpretation of Maman’s drawing is even more unexpected. Stunned, Lilian grapples with the information, certain milord is correct.

  Lucius is not surprised to feel the tension mount in his apprentice as he reveals their conclusions about the purpose of that long-ago reception and the source of Fenrir’s interest in Lilian. When he finishes, he waits for her reaction to this newest horror. The gray eyes flicker water clear, inward looking, but she does not speak, not even to herself. As quickly as it comes, the insight retreats. The deep gray eyes hold intelligence and speculation but no distress. “My thanks, milord. We cannot know for certain it was Seigneur Fenrir who betrayed Remus Gariten, but it does seem a most likely case.”

  Lilian’s reaction is disquieting, Lucius’ voice harsher than he intended. “Why are you not more distressed by this?”

  Bewilderment replaces speculation. Lilian’s eyes drop as she considers his question. Her words slow, she admits, “Milord is correct, I feel no distress. Nor anger.”

  Given Lilian’s fierce nature, Lucius dislikes this lack of emotion. Has this broken her? Concerned, Lucius slides his fingers under Lilian’s chin to lift her face. “Why not? There is more than sufficient cause for rage.”

  Lilian’s gaze flickers. “It is a relief, milord.”

  “A relief?” Lucius’ concern spikes at the inappropriate reaction.

  “To know, milord.” Lilian’s shoulders relax, her customary reserve abandoned. “Seigneur Fenrir’s interest is but Gariten’s evil seed bearing fruit, and not another powerful warrior who has taken an inexplicable dislike to me.”

  Lucius had not realized. After surviving nearly two years of Sebastian Mehta’s deranged animosity, to find she is once again the object of a highly ranked warrior’s hostile attention must have been terrifying. It would be a relief to discover that what she had thought was an inexplicable fixation had a valid explanation, no matter how vile. With a sigh, Lucius pulls Lilian close, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder. “I can understand your relief, but why are you not enraged with Gariten?”

  Lilian’s form relaxes against his, and slender fingers slide to his waist in an unprecedented—and, Lucius suspects, unwitting—caress. Her breath is soft and warm against his neck. “I am not certain, milord. My distaste for Gariten is already so great—it may be I can hold no more.”

  Resting his chin on Lilian’s head, Lucius considers her words. She has lived with the knowledge of the man’s evil nature for a dozen years. This latest wickedness is but one among many. That his resilient apprentice has become inured to Gariten’s corruption should not surprise him. Feathering a kiss across Lilian’s brow, Lucius says, “He is long dead, and soon, the last of his evil doings will be as well.”

  “I regret we will not have justice for Captain Reynald.” Lilian’s fingers tremble against Lucius.

  “Trevelyan will find a means to indict Fenrir,” Lucius assures her. “He will follow Gariten to the Final Draught. It would be the same as if they were indicted for the captain’s murder.”

  “Yes, milord,” Lilian sighs.

  For all Chin’s and Lucius’ reassurances, Lucius knows Lilian continues to harbor a sense of guilt for not aiding the captain. There is no more Lucius can say on the subject, and there is another topic to explore. “What think you? What was Fenrir’s purpose?”

  At his words, Lilian stiffens, her head moving restlessly on his shoulder. Fingers flicker against his waist as she replies, “The same as Gariten’s purpose for my mother. To use my skills to advance his corrupt enterprises.”

  Lucius’ blood runs cold at the implications. “They knew about your insights?”

  “No, milord.” Lilian shakes her head. “Or, at least, not as such. Only that I was advanced in analytics. There was discussion about my attending the institute on the Western Continent for several seasons until I was of age for the university.”

  “You were but fourteen,” Lucius challenges, tilting Lilian against the armrest to search her expression. “Even if they cared not for the age of consent restrictions, you were far too young to be useful in commerce.”

  Rather than distressed, Lilian is thoughtful. “It is likely the full intention was similar to Gariten’s for my mother. A contract when I reached majority, cajoled from me under false pretenses.”

  “What is this?” Lucius keeps his voice low, hiding his astonishment and eager to learn more of Lilian’s family history.

  “I beg pardon, milord. That last is of no import,” Lilian utters, flushing with embarrassment and droppi
ng her gaze. The hand that has been resting at Lucius’ waist is hastily withdrawn and clasped in her lap.

  Lucius represses a snort of exasperation as he reclaims Lilian’s hand and replaces it at his waist. He was enjoying the contact. Had it been otherwise, he would have made it known. Nor can he fathom what in Helena’s history could be so terrible as to cause Lilian’s withdrawal. Truly, it may be no more than her deeply ingrained reserve and long-established habit of keeping the secrets of her sire’s evil. Whatever the cause, they are well past the point where she should fear his reaction. Grasping Lilian’s chin, Lucius turns her face to his. “I would know.”

  With an acquiescent nod, Lilian yields the tale. “After she lost her parents in a transport accident, my mother was sent to her cousins in the northern hills. When she was turning twenty, the matriarch told Maman they could no longer afford to support her. The cousins offered her a choice. She could accept a marriage contract that would fund the completion of her advanced studies and support cousins who had sacrificed to raise her, or she could enter the Twelve Systems half educated, destitute, and with an extensive honor debt to needy cousins.”

  Lucius can feel anger on Helena’s behalf coiling inside him. Twenty is the legal age of majority. Among commoners, it is the customary age for entry into commerce. Many foster families will pull support at that time, since the adult should make her own way. Among warriors, however, it is the practice to support foster children until they complete advanced studies, usually at twenty-five or twenty-six. Nor were Helena’s cousins without resources. They could have borrowed against what is now Katleen’s house rather than contract with Gariten. Lucius says naught of his thoughts, waiting for Lilian to finish.

  “My mother sealed the contract six bells after reaching her majority. Nineteen bells later, the trustee arrived with the trust documents. Exactly one period before the strictures would have held the trustee at fault.” Lilian’s voice has grown increasingly cold. At the mention of a trustee, Lucius suspects he knows how the tale ends. He is not mistaken. Lilian’s fingers on his waist flex as the hand in Lilian’s lap forms a fist. “All my mother’s expenses had been covered by the trust. Katleen’s house would have funded the remainder of my mother’s education with ample to spare. No honor debt was owed. I know not what bribe the trustee received from Gariten. I do know that our cousins live well for all the empty emerald mines, and will do so for another two generations.”