by E G Manetti
“We must order coffee,” Pippa says. “It is the best in town. I recommend the house special: sugar, whipped cream, and a bit of spice. I thrive on it. Do not consider poultry or fish, it is not well here. Meat or vegetables and they do lovely bread and pastry. Why are you in commerce attire? Are you not at liberty?”
“We are at liberty,” Lilian replies. “But we have only a few bells before we must return and change for the reception. There was no value in soiling our liberty wear.”
“Oh.” Confusion flits across Pippa’s face and is replaced by enthusiasm. “If you are at liberty, you may have wine if you wish. If so, take the pink; the purple is dismal. Lilian, you bear the thorn. You did not the year gone. Oh, we are not at Leonardo, Monsignor Lucius is not near. It is well. You are never truly comfortable without it.”
Pippa pauses for breath and the hovering servitor leaps forward for their order. As Blythe and Chrys consider the coffee, Lilian warns, “Try the smallest serving available. It has a pleasing taste and the energizing effect is desirable after a short night. At this bell, you may find yourselves overenergized for the reception.”
As the servitor departs, Pippa says, “I do not suppose you will offer a hint about the name?”
Confused, Lilian asks, “Name of what?”
Pippa leans in, glancing around the table. In a conspiratorial whisper she says, “The name of the SEV1?”
Stefan stifles a laugh at Lilian’s stunned expression. Half the Twelve Systems wishes the answer to that question.
Lilian shakes her head. “You know I cannot.”
“You need not voice the entire name,” Pippa says. “A hint. I tried anagrams of Matahorn, Leonardo, and Serengeti but they all came out too long.”
“I imagine they did” Lilian’s eyes sparkle with humor.
Not dissuaded, Pippa continues, “So not an anagram. It must be something clever. Is it something bold like, Bright Star Warrior? Or historical like, The Protocol? Some think it might be Monsignor Lucius’ sire, Tiberius— Oh, that one is mine.” Pippa reaches for a tall glass of coffee with a creamy pink hue.
Sniffing his darker brew, Stefan recalls the pink version is some version of mint. He selected the mocha in the belief that chocolate can make anything palatable.
Having given up on teasing the SEV1 name from Lilian, her friend moves on to a discussion of the entertainments offered in Fort Rimon. Listening with half an ear, he scans the café. Naught has changed. The group of mechanics by the door is becoming noisy, having chosen wine over coffee. The couple at the next table are oblivious to all but each other. The family by the far wall is sharing three sweets among five and debating the merits of each. The mocha is not bad, but oversweet. In the future he will stick to tea.
“The tenor was so enamored that when she appeared at his latest performance, he watched not his step and fell off the stage—”
Pippa halts midsentence, frowning at the muted reviewer on the far wall. On it, a man in Rimon’s vestments holds forth in the center of the Third Hill Warrior Ring. The crowd around him hangs on every word. Newton has not improved in the month since they first learned of the man. He is soft and out of shape. Stefan could level him with a blow. Reading the commentary, he is more than prepared to do so. “Rimon’s interdiction must stand. Serengeti must discard the scarlet whore of anarchy or she will lead them to doom. Bright Star is a black hole. Rimon will smite them all. Socraide’s Shade is misled. Darkness comes with this venture.”
“Lilian, I am so sorry,” Pippa says. “The man is mad.”
“How is it the local media treats this lunatic with such respect?” Lilian replies. “He and his mad attachment to a ridiculous fable are a matter of much jest in the Third System.”
“It is the Celadon Group. They are trying to get Euphrates’ exclusive license for the Fortuna Sea minerals loosened.”
“The Euphrates Alliance has held that license since Fort Rimon was established,” Lilian says. “It is why they are the pharmaceutical cartel in the Twelve Systems. What possesses Celadon?”
“In the past decade Celadon has expanded from plant-based medications to minerals. Euphrates does not want them to develop into a serious rival, so they have rationed their mineral shipments and doubled the fees.”
Such practices are common. Stefan leans forward as Chrys asks, “How does Newton figure into this?”
“Newton is the governor’s kinsman. His behavior is becoming an embarrassment and will continue until the governor revokes or modifies the Euphrates’ license to suit Celadon.”
“Clever,” Lilian murmurs. “The governor is in a box. He will not wish the anger of Bright Star or the monsignor’s, but it is his kinsman. The Celadon may succeed.” Reaching for her slate, she taps rapidly.
Pippa cranes her neck, attempting to view the slate. “What do you?”
“Alerting Serengeti’s media management seigneur,” Lilian says. “He is beyond clever and will turn this to Bright Star’s advantage. I owe you a boon for this.”
Pippa claps. “A boon? How wonderful.” Her eyes bright, the tips of her hair dance with her in excitement. “My wagers on you have earned me over one hundred thousand. How shall I invest it?”
One hundred thousand? Stefan knew the warrior woman came from wealth, but so much?
Rolling her tea mug in her hands, Lilian asks, “One hundred thousand? How much did you wager?”
“I had almost three when you sealed your bond and I borrowed another three against my allowance. I could not get more. I had to live on university rations for three Settlement Days until the first wager paid. Truly, those rations keep one alive, but they barely meet the definition of food. I laid five hundred you would survive through the rains on Metricelli Prime. It paid out ten to one and I went to dinner at Mulan’s Stronghold. I received twenty to one when you survived the first year. Less the original six, I have collected one hundred and seven, including today’s settlement. I will have that much again on the First Settlement Day in the coming year. I was able to lay a thousand at seventy to one; the two additional wagers will not bring so much. I—”
Lilian puts down her tea. “You placed a wager chain? Where did you learn that?”
Jonathan’s justice. The little warrior is not as empty-headed as she would have people believe. With George’s advice, Stefan has built a small wager on Lilian’s survival to nine hundred. He has bet half of that on her proving her bond at five to one.
Pippa laughs. “From you. It was the same as when you worked the commodity exchanges. You were always balancing short-term payout against the longer-term returns. It seemed so sensible. I thought I could reinvest some of the early winnings for the bigger payouts later. I did not comprehend that the odds would shift. They shortened rapidly after the festival brawl. Of course, it may not pay at all if the odds managers are in the trouble you say.”
Pushing aside her mug, Lilian says, “When the time comes, go early and hold out for a fifty percent payout. They are like to start at thirty.”
“Lilian.” Chrys nods at the door. The bells have sped by; the Ravens are due at the guesthouse.
Nodding at Chrys, Lilian asks, “How much of the one hundred seven do you retain?”
“Almost eighty. I spent a goodly amount to establish my own quarters. I could not live in Maman’s house while defying her by taking a position with Leonardo. Nor could I face the family histrionics should I attempt to set up residence in the Leonardo Associates’ Quarters. Although, they are very pleasant, I should have enjoyed—”
“I cannot provide investment advice until after my bond proves. I am only permitted to evaluate the markets in the service of Serengeti. Otherwise, it is too close to odds management.” Lilian pulls a commerce token. “For now, have your brother find an insured fund for you. The returns will be minor, but in four months, we may discuss this again.”
Placing her hand between Lilian’s token and the payment panel, Pippa shakes her head. “My party, my token.”
With an a
ffectionate smile, Lilian closes her hand on the token. “Thank you. Try to hold on to your funds.”
Silliness dropping away like an abandoned cloak, Pippa returns Lilian’s smile. “I love Maman, but I will not be ruled by her. Those funds are my independence.”
Deceptive little warrior; no wonder Lilian has her as a friend. After three seasons, Stefan has found naught of warrior haughtiness in his charge. She does favor those who are clever and fierce.
Wrapping the heavy black wool about her, Lilian steps free of the table, Stefan at her side.
Jumping to her feet, Pippa says, “Lilian, we have not yet spoken of Katleen or the seer. Oh, I am not to embrace you. I almost forgot—”
“Peace, Pippa, peace. I will meet you at the concert.” With Lilian’s words damming the torrent, the Serengeti make their escape.
»◊«
Entering the suite at fifteen minutes past the fourth bell, Lilian hurries to her chamber. The air is chill, but not so much so that she cannot use her patio balcony to work the forms of Adelaide’s Discipline. As she crosses the threshold, milord appears in the adjoining door attired in training garb. With a determined will, Lilian forces her gaze from milord’s chest to milord’s face.
Milord smiles. “Do you train?’
“Does milord please, I would use the patio balcony.”
Speculation enters milord’s eyes. “A duet would please me more. There is sufficient space by the windows. Join me there. You will not require training garb.”
A proper Festival Duet lasts between one and two periods, but the basic forms can be executed in thirty minutes. As the Socraide, Lucius begins with an attack on the Lilian as the Adelaide. Lilian avoids and then attacks. The stylized reenactment of the legendary first encounter between the First Warrior and Adelaide Warleader is a precise set of movements. Attack, feint, close, break, and close again. At each closing skin against skin arouses, hinting at closer contact. At each break, a tease. As the minutes pass each contact becomes as much torment as pleasure. Desire is forced back by discipline until each brush of skin sends stabbing desire. The final movements are attack and avoidance as the Adelaide slips free, leaving the Socraide holding empty air. His only choice, to chase across Three Systems to reencounter the woman he desires.
In the confines of milord’s chamber, Lilian turns into his embrace rather than fleeing. As she suspected, the area rug is even softer than it appears.
»◊«
With her head pillowed on milord’s abdomen, Lilian enjoys the view of the long length of leg that converges at the now-quiet mound of his sex. She is not quite certain when they moved from the rug to the bed, but it is not important.
Milord’s voice rumbles under her ear. “Did you learn aught of note?”
That I should pay more attention to the inside of milord’s wrists. Do not. Do not. “The lunatic Newton is a kinsman of the Fourth System’s governor that Celadon plays to their advantage.”
The hand that has been stroking through her hair ceases, then tightens, but it does not tug. Milord is annoyed, but not with her.
“I sent an alert to Seigneur Aristides as soon as I learned of it.”
»◊«
Chrys strokes the silky skin of Seigneur Rachelle’s ass in the manner he knows she enjoys. Resting between his thighs, she traces light patterns on his chest. “A bodyguard, are you certain?”
“Yes, milady. The wrist sheathes and small sword were discernable did one pay close attention. It is likely the acolyte chose the table and only yielded her command of the chamber to Mr. Stefan in deference to his greater arms and proven battle experience. Mistress Pippa may be at odds with her family over her service to Leonardo, but they have a care for her.”
“Not as silly as reported, either,” milady says. “I would have done well to place larger wagers earlier.”
»◊«
Marco rises to one arm to regard his apprentice, who is sprawled next to him. The lovely expanse of pale, freckled skin is still suffused with the blush of passion. “Commerce intrigue? Truly?”
“Yes, milord. Mistress Pippa was quite certain that the Celadon Group was encouraging media coverage to further their play against the governor.” Blythe’s brow furrows as it does when she struggles with a new thought.
For all her brilliance, the woman remains provincial in a manner he finds charming. “What think you?”
“It seems odd to find that one as powerful as a governor owns awkward kinsmen,” Blythe replies, the blue eyes wide with revelation. “I suppose it should not surprise. Family is family no matter how high the rank.”
She has no notion. His spouse is beyond difficult and rearing his daughter is proving far more perilous than hunting Despoilers. There is naught he can do about either in the Fourth System. He will enjoy these indulgent few days with his apprentice. Dropping a kiss on one bountiful breast, Marco rises. It is time to prepare for the reception. Lucius is the host, it will not do to be late for the event.
»◊«
It is fortunate for Lilian that gold has remained a popular hue in the Third System. With the warbelt limiting selections, the gown for the governor’s gala and the frock for the Bright Star reception exhausted Katleen’s resources. Mistress Marieth directed them to the merchant who provided the silk and velvet frock she is carefully working under her belt. The elegant fabric of the form-fitting bodice is soft and thin enough to pass between skin and warbelt. Careful handling prevents snagging. At her hips, the skirt flares into heavy panels, creating a frothy swing of velvet above her knees four inches shorter than when it was purchased.
A purchase the merchant tried to refuse when she explained the alterations. Lilian had been horrified when Katleen had tapped out an alert to milord’s executive servitor when the merchant proved difficult.
“Worry not, Lilian,” Katleen assured her sister. “Mistress Marieth is aware the merchant can be unruly. I was instructed to send an alert if there was difficulty.”
Moments later, the merchant glanced at his slate and paled. The gown was Lilian’s without additional charge for the alterations.
»◊«
Enjoying the developing nightscape, Lucius has left the salon lights dim. Fortuna’s three moons have risen over the bay, misty daubs of rose, amethyst, and red behind the cloud cover.
At a light footfall, he turns and watches Lilian move through the shadows. The soft, dull gold dress swirls above her knees. Vistrite and Mercium brilliants are looped around her throat and drape in the strapless expanse of her décolletage. The sparkle is echoed by the brilliants and rubies in the warbelt settled on her hips. Her dark hair is pulled up and to the back.
A stab of lust tightens his loins as he motions for Lilian to pivot.
A half knot graces the back of her head. The ends trail against her nape, mingling with the ends of the brilliants chain that teases her shoulder blades and the shooting-star scar from the battle of Serengeti.
He closes with her as she completes her pivot, sliding his hands to her shoulders, his thumbs skimming her collarbone and setting the brilliants chain twinkling. Lilian’s breath quickens. She leans forward, her eyes darkening. Pleased at her response, he drops his hands to her waist to pull her closer. His hands do not discover pliable flesh beneath velvet, but a more unyielding surface.
Milord steps out of the shadows, the charcoal-gray silk jacket and trousers paired with a scarlet tunic. The cut emphasizes milord’s height, the colors bringing the commanding features into sharp relief. Lilian tightens in places low and inside her, as if she had been days without his touch rather than a single period. At his gesture, she pivots for inspection.
Milord’s eyes are dark, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His hands caress her shoulders and back, the gentle touch and his tangy sea scent pulling her into his thrall. His hands reach her waist and stop. The smile is replaced by questioning regard.
“The dress will not remain in place on its own,” Lilian offers, wary eyes on milord’s face. “It
requires the structure.” That milord may be displeased by the lingerie is a lingering concern. The constricting bustier that serves as a bra descends to her waist. It conceals a great deal more flesh than milord prefers in her lingerie. There is no help for it. Lilian required the gown and the gown will not stay in place unless affixed to the structured garment.
Milord’s eyes hood. “When we return, you will show me how you donned this beneath the warbelt.”
Adelaide’s grace. It is another game. Milord is aware of the challenges the warbelt creates for formal attire.
Milord’s hands slide lower, below the edge of the bustier, finding the twin mounds of her buttocks. The heat and weight of his hands combined with the sensuous slide of velvet are blissful. He raises his hand to her hips and then her waist, where the hard shell hinders sensation. Milord’s smile returns as he discerns the shape and nature of lingerie. “Gold?”
“Rose, milord,” she replies. “The lingerie designed for the frock was all of a piece.”
Milord’s fingers skim her thighs. “Well done.”
Milord sets lips and then teeth against one shoulder. “When we return, I will discover if your lingerie is as I imagine.”
»◊«
The Serengeti reception is held at the most elite of the warrior clubs in Fort Rimon, a blue stone, tile, and glass structure built into the side of the First Hill nearest the bay. It hovers over the inky waters that meet the clear night sky. The three moons scatter reflected rose, amethyst, and crimson along the surface. A cavalcade of transports winds up the access way, passing another gathering of media held at bay behind rope barriers.
Following milord into the club, Lilian is mindful of Seigneur Aristides’ instructions. The media want pageantry and are as interested in fashion as they are in commerce. Reaching the entrance, she shrugs out of her wrap, revealing the strapless gown, her jeweled belt, and the brilliants chain. She pauses a moment to allow the media to capture visuals and then enters behind milord, the security detail at her back. This eve Mrs. Zdenka has relieved Mr. Stefan, although Mr. George remains on duty.