by E G Manetti
Her eyes blink hard. “Certain of what, milord?”
An unselfish man would let her sleep. Lucius is not that man. It does not take her long to come to full awareness under his insistent kiss.
Milord’s kiss. Milord’s bed.
Sleep-fogged senses clear as Lilian rouses to milord’s pleasure. She recalls both her dream and his call. The passage from the servitor’s chamber to milord’s bed is clouded. As milord’s hands begin to explore her form, she dismisses her confusion in favor of the pleasure of his touch. Nor does she fail to exploit the opportunity to explore all that it is in reach of her hands, legs, lips, and tongue. It is a gentle pleasure, deliberate and unhurried. A quiet cove compared to milord’s tempestuous passion of the night gone. Relaxed, replete, Lilian burrows into the luxury of soft thick pillows, heavy bedcovers, and milord’s warm, rich scent.
Milord’s breath tickles along one ear, his weight pressing against her back. “What do you dream?”
Dream? Birds. He cannot mean that. “Milord, I regret, the question is not clear.”
Milord’s hands tighten on her shoulders, pulling her with him as turns onto his back. Gathering her against him, he asks, “Does the thorn fail you? Are you beset with night terrors?”
After the last voyage to Fortuna, milord knows that Lilian’s blade is a talisman against evil dreams. Tucked into her satchel to avoid a stricture violation, she sleeps with it under her pillow. “There is naught of evil dreams. There is something about stellar transit that disturbs my slumber. It gets worse as the days pass. I do not wake easily, and my dreams are vivid. This morning, there was a large cavern with birds flying about a distant roof. It has been the same since we exited Metricelli Prime.”
Milord leans over her, pushing her hair back. “A cavern could be a Crevasse.”
“Or a dream rendering of the courtyard at Katleen’s house,” she replies. “Pigeons like to roost in the eaves during the green season.”
Milord nods, his lids hooding his eyes. “If the dreams disturb your slumber, you must voice it.”
What concerns him? She has not suffered evil dreams since the battle. The battle. Milord fears Despoilers haunt her slumber. Temptation rises, dark and beguiling. If she pretends she is beset by evil dreams, milord will extend her bells in his bed. I am the sum of my ancestors. “It is but transit malaise. It will pass when we are on Fortuna.”
»◊«
Lilian’s first view of the dark purple rock of Fortuna left her disquieted. It appeared ominous and alien after her experience with the blue-and-green worlds that dominate the Twelve Systems. This day, it is a welcoming, joyous bauble set in an intimidating void. At milord’s insistence, they slumbered another bell before rising for the landing.
At the planet-entry alert, milord shrugged into his scarlet robe and wrapped her in a quilt. While they were abed the phantom servitors provided a light meal of rolls, fruit, juice, and tea. Snatching what they could, she and milord strapped into their seats for the descent. Knowing swallowing would be impossible once they entered the g-force pressure of landing, they bolted their meal, washing it down as the hum of descent began to rise. As soon as the release chimes sounded, they dashed for their freshening closets.
The day gone, Lilian packed all but what she needed for the day. A quick shower and the working of her warrior’s queue was accomplished in a quarter bell.
Returning to the salon, she gazes out the window at the stellar transit center and the hills beyond. Half the size of Crevasse City’s stellar transit center, it has but one launch platform capable of serving a vessel the size of the Shimmering Horizon. At the far edge, construction towers indicate that like Crevasse City, Fort Rimon is expanding. From the Leonardo reports, so is the center near the construction fields that serves the industrial transports. Milord’s new home will be a sound investment.
At the sound of milord’s chamber door, Lilian turns. Milord strides into the salon, fastening a pearl-gray, ankle-length duster designed to withstand rain or snow. He is beyond stunning in a style that was worn by Socraide and Jonathan. “George is on his way. The transports are ready.”
Lackwit. Pay attention. Milord is ready to depart. Lilian’s outerwear is also in an old-fashioned style. The heavy length of black wool wraps around her shoulders and falls to the edge of her skirt, providing warmth while revealing the length of her legs, by milord’s grace, encased in black thigh-high hose to protect against the chill. Lilian was not certain milord’s hem-length order extended to outerwear, but coupled with warm ankle boots, the wrap will protect her from damp and chill while honoring milord’s will. The generous folds are sufficient that she can pull the back drape over her head if needed. Hanging her slate satchel across her body, she reaches into the outside pocket for her gloves.
Milord’s eyes glide over her attire and one side of his mouth curves in approval. “Very nice.” At the sight of her gloves, the half smile widens. “Crimson?”
“A gift from Lord Apollo,” she replies, secure in the knowledge that the Serengeti dress code for apprentices allows nonblack for gloves, scarfs, and other minor apparel used for special weather.
Milord nods. “Clever of him. He marks you in Adelaide’s colors and reminds all that you are the Warleader’s thorn.”
The door chimes, and Mr. George enters with Mr. Stefan and two militia guards with a baggage cart. In short order they are guided through the vessel to the cavalcade of sleek transports guarded by a dozen Serengeti Militia guards. Half are focused on the surroundings while the others supervise the servitors loading travel bags into the storage compartments. A few hundred yards away, the Shimmering Horizon guards hold a swarm of media at the barrier. Their cries are as sharp as the sea birds that populate the nearby bay. Milord raises a hand in acknowledgement but does not stop as the cries become frenzied. Following milord into the lead vehicle, Lilian sees Nickolas follow Marco and Blythe into the next one. Chrys is briefly visible by the third and then disappears within. A sharp wind snaps at her legs, driving her into the transport and next to milord.
»◊«
Fort Rimon, Fortuna’s prime city, climbs the hills surrounding a deep purple bay that empties into the great ocean. Perched on a promontory jutting into the bay are the remnants of the original fort and settlement, now the governor’s estate. In two months, when the climate warms, it will meet a pale copper sky at the horizon. In the last weeks of the cold season, the sky is dull green with light cloud cover. A watery pink sun slips in and out of view.
Although it is as chill as Mulan’s Temple in the harvest season, the faded, misty colors have naught in common with the sharp, bright blue sky and browning hills of the university. Although many of the Twelve Systems’ worlds resemble Metricelli Prime and Artesia with blue to gray skies and blue to green oceans, a few have developed along other lines, like Fortuna.
The pale gray and white stone that is the common construction material in the city does much to mitigate the disorienting color scheme. While the local vegetation tends toward blues rather than greens, in the nine hundred years since Fortuna was discovered, many of the flora and some of the fauna from the first Three Systems have been transplanted and crossbred. As a result, greens predominate in the plants even though the forms have evolved along different lines. At the end of the chill season, some of the plants are barren, the foliage awaiting renewal with the warming weather. On her last visit, the warming season was well enough along that the new foliage had sprouted, and she had not realized that it was juvenile.
The Serenity Guesthouse is the most elegant in Fort Rimon. Located on a hill with a view of the bay and distant ocean, it has two penthouse suites. It is to the finest of these that the housemaster shepherds Lucius and his apprentice. The prior year, there had been intense rank intrigue between Lucius and Horatio Margovian, preeminence of the Matahorn Alliance and Broken Blade Cartouche, as to who would be given this suite. Lucius won. Rather than take second place this year, Monsignor Horatio has taken the best accommo
dations in the newer but less prestigious Endeavor Guesthouse. It is but two blocks from the Serenity. Intrigue has not ceased; it has chosen a new venue.
Entering the suite behind milord and the housemaster, Lilian’s gaze is drawn to the panoramic view of the bay revealed by the two-storey windows that cover the right wall beyond the entryway. Beyond the windows is a gracefully furnished balcony. The pale wood, chrome, and pastel décor creates a soothing palette that is a perfect foil for the view.
To the left, plants and statuary delineate the reviewer area and create the suggestion of a corridor without enclosing the space. On the other side of the implied corridor, the wall adjoining the great windows flows with water over bronze iridescent tile. The indoor water art is commonplace on Fortuna, where the minerals in the water are considered to promote health and well-being. She was so entranced by the art form on her last visit that she expended three Settlement Days’ worth of discretionary funds on the small piece that gurgles in the otherwise barren fountain in the courtyard of Katleen’s house.
Following milord and the housemaster past the water art down the short corridor to the first in a series of doors, they enter milord’s chamber, where the two-storey glass wall offers a different angle on the panoramic view of the bay. A large, raised bed faces the windows, and a seating area contains swivel chairs that can face either reviewer or windows and porch. To the right side of the chamber is the entrance to the freshening closet, to the left a door to an adjoining chamber. At milord’s nod, the housemaster recesses the door to reveal Lilian’s travel bags.
The chamber is not quite the size of milord’s, but it is equally well appointed. The freshening closet boasts both a shower and a commodious tub. The balcony is less than half the size of milord’s but equally inviting. The wall reviewer is a luxury Lilian has not had in her chamber since they were ruined.
Dismissing the housemaster, milord shrugs out of the duster and tosses it on a chair. His eyes are dark and heavy lidded as they skim her form. Should she disrobe? Milord rubs his jaw and shakes his head. “It is Settlement Day. You are at liberty until fifth bell.”
Disappointment and relief war within Lilian as she exits the suite. She has commerce to conduct and did milord wish passion, the bells would pass quickly, leaving her little time to conclude her commerce. Fifth bell? The Serengeti reception is to be held but moments from the guesthouse. It will not require two periods for milord and Lilian to don their attire. Anticipation quickens her step as Mr. Stefan follows her into the riser.
»◊«
Stepping around a puddle, Rebecca pulls the collar of her jacket close, the chill breeze holding no hint of the green-season warmth that is a month distant. The heels of her new half boots sound against the stone pathway of the Garden Center Warriors’ Ring, giving her the warm glow that accompanies new garb of any sort. It is vain and frivolous, but she cares naught, it brings her joy. Bypassing Rimon’s Shrine with a mental promise to visit on the morrow, she quickens her step. Although Katleen and the seer might overlook a late arrival, Seigneur Trevelyan would be displeased. Or worse, disappointed.
Using the side entrance closest to Lady Helena’s contemplation chamber, Rebecca enters Sinead’s Shrine ten minutes before sixth bell. The shrine is quiet, empty but for an acolyte attending the sacred flame and another on the bench by the seer’s chamber. Rising at Rebecca’s approach, the acolyte strikes a small chime, warning those within the chamber of her arrival.
As she reaches the doorway, Katleen rushes forth, wrapping Rebecca in an exuberant hug. “I am so glad you join us.”
Startled, Rebecca returns the embrace before realizing she errs. Dropping her hands from Katleen, she tries to pull free.
“Peace.” Trevelyan emerges from the chamber. “It is my will. There is no ill in embracing one you regard as a young sister.”
To a degree, family is exempt from the stricture prohibiting apprentice contact, but Rebecca has none. Except for an occasional grapple with a training partner, Rebecca has been without human contact since Trevelyan took her as apprentice. When her lord realized how she suffered for the lack, he promised to discover a means. Allowing her to treat Katleen as family was not what she anticipated, but she is beyond grateful.
Indulging in the affectionate contact, she holds Katleen for another moment before stepping free to greet Lady Helena, only to find she is once again embraced. “Sinead’s grace, Rebecca.”
The seer’s blessing is as surprising as the embrace. “But I am of Rimon’s sect.”
The seer drops a kiss on the top of Rebecca’s head. “Sinead and Rimon are ever allies.” Stepping back, Helena shakes out her vestments. Turning to Trevelyan she says, “The sky is clear for a change. What think you of a restaurant overlooking the river where we may enjoy the sunset?”
He raises the seer’s hands to his lips. “If it will please you.”
Invited to join Trevelyan and Lilian’s family for the evening meal, Rebecca had assumed it would be Hidaka’s Café. An elegant river establishment is an unexpected treat. Taking the rear-facing seat in Trevelyan’s luxurious transport, she is joined by Katleen, who slips an arm around her waist. “I adore your boots. The turquoise cuff is marvelous. I would love a pair with a purple cuff. I wonder what Lilian is doing right now.”
On the opposite seat, Trevelyan wraps one arm around Helena. “It is but midday in Fort Rimon. I imagine she is seeking a settlement center.”
»◊«
Following Lilian into the guesthouse lobby, Stefan scans the area. In addition to the guesthouse guards, there are half a dozen Serengeti Militia guards watching their charges and several others with the insignia of other guests. While he waited for Lilian, Stefan memorized the markings of every cartouche with guests in the Serenity.
The Serengeti cobalt-blue markings on his sand uniform coat are well known in the Twelve Systems, the Blooded Dagger badge adding the status of cartouche honor. In his wildest imagination, he never expected his assignment as Lilian’s driver to lead him to advancement, battle, and now, the Fourth System.
Chrys and Blythe materialize from a corner, the black of their Raven attire making it easy to disappear into the shadows. Neither would be so bold to as to make use of the comfortable seating while there are warriors about. In liberty attire, they might risk it, but not when so recognizable as apprentices.
Bypassing the guesthouse settlement center operated by a Matahorn franchise, Lilian and her friends turn for the exit. Unlike the warrior elite, they will forego the convenience of the Serenity House settlement center to avoid the rates that are double the standard. The chill wind snaps at Stefan’s coat, making him glad that the heavy fire-pistol belt keeps it snug to his frame. He feels a twinge of sympathy for the women, with legs protected by naught but hose. The streets are crowded, but his uniform and sidearm gain them easy passage for the three blocks to the settlement center Lilian located.
In a few moments, the transfers are sealed, and Stefan pockets his gray commerce tokens along with the Ravens. Within a block they reach the artisan district. Like Crevasse City’s River Quarter, it is an old part of the city, the streets narrower and many of the buildings dating to the first century after Fort Rimon was settled. Turning a corner, Lilian guides them into a local café where her friend Pippa is holding a table.
Crossing the threshold, Stefan scans the area, noting no other windows but those at the front, a door behind the service counter, and a dim corridor that most likely leads to the freshening closet.
“Lilian!” A petite woman with a narrow frame bursts from a corner table. Her pale brown hair is cropped short and streaked with bright red highlights, and her large amber eyes sparkle with delight. A pert nose wrinkles over a broad smile that lights up the delicate face, an excited blush suffusing cinnamon-hued cheeks. This must be Pippa.
Dancing forward, her cherry-red skirt swinging about her ankles, Pippa holds out her hands. “You are here. These are your friends Chrys and Blythe. I am Pippa. Of course you kno
w that. Oh, of course. You may not touch me.” Her hands settle on her hips, the posture pulling the cherry-red V-neck top tight to her small but pert breasts. She is well formed for all she is tiny thing. The glowing amber eyes turn to him. “This must be Mr. Stefan. Well met, Mr. Stefan. You all must come meet Karin.”
At a corner table, a woman in the vestments of Mulan’s acolytes rises. Although open-air cafés are not unheard of in Fort Rimon, they are not common. Only in the warmest of seasons is it pleasant outdoors after dark. In this contained space, Lilian must have a chaperone, and a prelate in training is all but unimpeachable.
“Mr. Stefan, is the table sufficient? It is sheltered and holds the corner. Oh, Karin, you should shift a seat. That is the best position to survey the chamber. Was the transport marvelous? It is the flagship of the line. Lilian, are you to be next to Mr. Stefan?”
“Pippa, peace.” Lilian interrupts the energetic flow as the smiling Karin moves from her place. “Allow Mr. Stefan the ordering of this, it will be well.”
To Stefan’s surprise, Lilian’s lunatic friend stands down and allows him to arrange matters. Blythe is to his right, followed by Chrys and then the acolyte, the crazed woman, and then Lilian to his left. Chrys’ large build is far enough to Stefan’s right that it will not block the view and the Raven is well able to drag Blythe to safety. The acolyte is not only chaperone but a bodyguard for Pippa. Stefan did not miss the daggers in wrist sheaths or the small sword secured to her back.
Pippa’s small stature makes it easy enough to survey the chamber over her head. Seating Lilian at his left keeps his charge out of his line of fire. She will be able to draw thorn readily does she require it and not hamper his own right-handed draw of the fire-pistol.
Later, when released from duty, Stefan will acknowledge to George that Karin is winsome. Medium of height and sturdy of frame, her golden skin suggests velvet, and the short, dark hair frames an angular face imprinted with intelligence, humor, and ferocity. Lustrous brown eyes with heavy lids lead a man to thoughts of bed.
