FLETCHER

The Third System follows the Thirteen Systems’ standard calendar of ten months, consisting of five sevendays each. Every tenth Sixth Day is a settlement day where accounts are settled. The major commerce interests adhere to the custom of providing a half day of liberty in each of the five annual commerce days. ~ excerpt from A Social History of the Thirteen Systems, an instructional text

Adjusting the high collar of his formal jacket, Fletcher used the mirror to double-check the placement of his cartouche insignia. The slender gold setting marked him as signet heir, the cartouche symbol etched in amethysts. Shrugging his shoulders, he watched the short jacket settle above the amethyst sash at his waist. The color was bright against the dark indigo and bisected by the belt holding his warrior dagger, heir’s medallion, and Katleen’s phoenix ornament.

Brianne’s slender hands appeared in the mirror, slender fingers tweaking the jacket’s shoulders. “Are you not glad I insisted you visit the tailor?”

He yet lacked a stone of his former weight and both jacket and trousers had hung loose. Turning from the mirror, he said, “Yes, I am glad. You were right.”

In her heels, his twin was almost his height and elegant in shimmering silver. Pearls and emeralds were scattered in her hair, mirroring the jewels at her ears, throat, and wrist. “Stunning as always. Grandmaman’s emeralds suit you.”

She smiled. “Only my finest for Katleen Faesetili’s cotillion.”

“And, perhaps to impress a certain scholar with your wealth?”

“He is not a lackwit. I am certain he has researched my background as we have his.” Her attention dropped to his shoulders and then waist, scanning for any wrinkle. “You really should have insisted Mr. Clyde begin his duties in time for the cotillion.”

There were some benefits to Mr. Clyde’s lack of training; he was unlikely to attempt the more intimate duties of a personal servitor. Hopefully, he could manage to pack Fletcher’s wardrobe without crushing everything. “The man needed a few days to put his affairs in order. We will be gone for months.”

Eyes narrowed, she replied with a soft hum, before shrugging. “Even without assistance, you are every inch a warrior of Iron Hammer and Serengeti.” Her eyes settled at his waist. “Katleen will be pleased you wear her gift.”

“She meant it well, and it does complement the formal wear.”

He could tell Brianne was not satisfied with his response, but before she could voice anything further, a chime sounded.

Her expression bright, Brianne turned to the sound. “That will be my escort.” Grabbing Fletcher’s hand, she pulled him toward the door. “Be charming. I like this one.”

The reception line leading up the stairs to Katleen, Monsignor Lucius, and Lilian was almost half a period. Added to the half period in the transport, Fletcher had sufficient opportunity to evaluate Brianne’s suitor and conclude the man’s interest was as much personal attraction as dynastic obligation. If he had thought about it beforehand, Fletcher might not have been surprised that the scholar was known to Lilian. Lilian’s mastery studies in Adelaide and Five Warriors lore had required scholarship in the last centuries of the ancients’ civilization and, as Lucius’ consort, she was a patron of the Crevasse City Art Museum.

More interesting was the grace with which Katleen greeted her guests. The frightened eleven-year-old he protected at a festival brawl five years gone had grown into a lovely and poised young woman. Her red-gold curls were arranged in a topknot, while a lavender gown flattered her milk-white complexion and displayed her slender, athletic build. For her benefit, he struggled to portray the charming moon-racer persona that thrilled to flirt with any female past the age of consent.

Her black eyes flashed with delight at his effusive compliments, her elfin smile emerging. “Master Fletcher, it is good to see you. And you are wearing my gift!”

At her obvious pleasure, he was glad he had kept the thing. “I carry it always.”

“Even when you train?”

“Well perhaps not then. I would not wish it damaged.” His smile felt less forced in her bright presence. “Although, it might serve as an excellent distraction.” Waving his hands as if a bird’s wings, he said, “Nothing like a flaming bird to startle an opponent.”

His antics were rewarded with her bright trill followed by Lilian’s rare laughter and a chuckle from Monsignor. In better humor than he had held in sevendays, Fletcher followed his sister and her scholar into the house.

Clarice knew it was vanity, but she took pleasure in Hercules’ open admiration. The one-shoulder jade silk gown hugged her form, the scattering of gold brilliants highlighting her narrow waist and outlining her firm breasts. She could tell from how his gaze lingered on her ornaments that he was pleased she wore his gift of emeralds and sapphires.

As was proper, Douglas and she waited quietly while Hercules exchanged pleasantries with Monsignor Lucius and paid Katleen the proper compliments. After acknowledging Monsignor Hercules with perfect manners, Katleen turned to grin at Douglas and Clarice.
“You both look splendid.”

Taking his cue, Douglas bowed. “You are the loveliest lady present. Will you honor me with a dance later?”

“Of course,” she spun her skirts. Turning to Clarice, her expression turned mischievous. “I am to dance with Fletcher.” She leaned in, and lowered her voice, “Those silver sparks are now broad bands twined with the royal blue and scarlet that were always there. The drums have increased in strength, but still miss an occasional beat. The pipes are stronger and more powerful.”

Katleen’s shade-touched perception was in full force. From her words, Fletcher was well recovered from his ordeal. “Those missing beats, are they serious?”

“Not really. He is still recovering. Tease him on the voyage to Fortuna. It will do him good.”

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “What secrets are you two sharing?”

Katleen flashed a smile. “Do not forget, dark of night.”

Setting her fingers on Douglas’ wrist, Clarice confirmed, “Dark of night.”

At that moment, between this day and the next, Thornscore would gather to toast Katleen’s advancement to the age of consent. The hour was chosen by Katleen. The end of her cotillion day was a symbolic end to all the dark days of disdain she had endured before being restored to warrior status.

Up ahead, Hercules was engaged with Governor Moira and Lord Gilead. A month ago, Clarice would have been included in that conversation. Keeping her expression pleasing, she turned back to Douglas. “This is not my first visit, but I have not seen the mansion with all the reception chambers opened. Monsignor treats Katleen as if a daughter.”

Crisp linen, sparkling lights, and drifts of flowers bedecked the chamber designed to seat the three hundred guests. Another half dozen chambers and salons opened to one another providing ample area for dancing, games of chance, and mingling. Several antechambers held culinary stations permitting guests to dine when it pleased, their assigned respite tables a location to gather throughout the evening.

Leading her further into the salons, Douglas nodded. “I imagine it was much the same for Elysia’s cotillion.”

Clarice was an apprentice when Lucius’ daughter had her cotillion. With her Thornscore friends, she had watched the media streams of the elite entering the mansion and wondered what was within. “The menu, musicians, and entertainments will be different.”

Douglas agreed. “Monsignor Lucius would never be so vulgar as to repeat an event.”

Weaving through the crowded reception salons, Clarice was grateful to have Douglas at her side. While not a secret, his affair with Seigneur Aristides was not as public as hers with Monsignor Hercules. A cotillion of this importance was as much about commerce as celebration. Hercules and Aristides would be focused on more than food, wine, and dancing. Few would notice her absence from Hercule’s side as they would have if she were without an escort. While she did not regret the end of her relationship with Hercules, she could not deny the pang at her lost access to the Third System elite.

Touching her shoulder, Douglas directed her attention to a table by the terrace where Tabitha was waving. The Thornscore principals had been given a prime table only two away from Monsignor Lucius’ respite table. “Monsignor’s reception for Lilian and Dean Joseph pales by comparison.”

“That was a casual reception,” Clarice replied. “And this is more than a simple cotillion. Lilian and Monsignor are making a statement about Katleen’s warrior status.”

After half a decade stripped of rank and despised as the offspring of one of the Thirteen Systems’ most heinous criminals, it was a major achievement for Lilian to get Katleen reinstated in warrior ranks.

“With all the high-ranking despoilers discovered in the past year, it would take a bold warrior to challenge Katleen’s status.” Douglas steered them to two empty places at the table. “That Katleen’s unknown sire was a commoner is not even worth a raised eyebrow.”

Catching Douglas’ last remark, Rebecca nodded. “Gariten is old news at this point. That helps, too.”

Waving over a waiter, Tabitha said, “Let us speak of something other than vile criminals and heretics. Has anyone seen Chrys and Verity?”

Grinning, Rebecca accepted wine from the waiter. “They will be along, soon.”

Clarice knew that expression. “What do you know?”

“I will not spoil the surprise.”

Glancing around the table she caught a knowing sparkle in Master Simon’s eyes. With a large nose and protuberant brown eyes, the master technologist was not a handsome man, but his brilliance and integrity were such that Clarice well understood how he captured Tabitha’s heart. He was also a mentor to Chrys, and like Rebecca, seemed to be holding a secret. Turning to Douglas, she asked, “You share quarters with Chrys. What do you know?”

“I know he was looking forward to escorting Verity this evening.”

“That was an evasion of worthy of Seigneur Aristides.” Glancing around the table she found nothing but mild interest in Malcon’s expression, and Tabitha was regarding Simon with suspicion. “Tell me.”

Rebecca half rose to wave. “Ask them yourself. Here they come.”

Fletcher clasped Katleen’s hand and swung her into the dance. A lithe armful, she was graceful and yielding to his lead. Close to her sister’s height, she only had to tilt her chin to meet his gaze.

Her black eyes danced. “This is beyond grand. So much more fun than having you rescue me from those drunken louts.”

Dodging an encroaching couple, he felt his heart lift at her admiration “As I recall, your sister rescued you. With aid from Clarice, Chrys, and Rebecca.”

Her darks eyes flashed with her smile. “I remember that Clarice and Rebecca were a sword swirl from death when you swept one assailant’s knees and slammed the other with your dagger hilt.”

“How did you witness that? Did not Lilian tell you to flee?”

“I did. Out of strike range.” Planting a heel, she pivoted into the next movement. “I had a tent stake in my hand when you and Nickolas intervened.”

“Five Warriors’ grace! You were eleven. They had blades!”

Her nose wrinkled. “I planned to stab the nearest in the back, but then you took him out at the knees.”

“You are as fierce as your sister.”

“Of course. Maman trained us both.” Her expression turned teasing. “Although, I think I am the better dancer.”

She was enchanting. “You need not lure compliments. You are graceful as well as fierce. The young men of Crevasse City will be beyond beguiled.”

“You are the best of warriors!”

At her delighted laugh, he felt a smile strain his cheeks.

Using the movement of the dance, she rose on her toes and feathered a kiss on his chin. “You will fly again.”

Heart lurching, he sucked a hard breath.

Katleen’s eyes narrowed. “General Thorvald does not control Captain Raleigh.”

“The general grieves for all those lost. All those from a decade ago in the pirate actions, and a month ago in the Thirteenth System. He wishes to grieve no more lost warriors.” Her hand drifted from his left shoulder to his left bicep. “You are not lost. You will fly.”

Wedlock. Clarice could not quite believe it. In their early thirties, Chrys and Verity were at an age where wedlock became common, but she had not expected it so soon in their relationship. Any hope that Verity might eventually take Rebecca’s place in their shared quarters evaporated. Which was completely selfish. Gathering her emotions, Clarice joined the others in offering well-wishes and toasts.

“Chrys. Verity.” A whirlwind in lavender silk rushed over. “Why did you not tell me?”

Chrys clasped Katleen’s hands. “We did not wish to distract from your cotillion.”

“Do not be a lackwit. It could not be more wonderful that you chose to celebrate with me by making a wedlock contract.”

“Proposal,” he replied. “A contract will require legalistics.”

She turned to Clarice. “What will you do? Can you represent them both?”

Surprised at the turn in the conversation, Clarice looked at Verity and Chrys. “It is not possible to represent both . . .” Choosing between them had her heart squeezing with anxiety.

Verity’s chin lifted. “Chrys of course. You are already his agent for his son Roland’s estate.”

Her heart loosened. Verity had provided an escape. “But you are his second on the estate. It is a conflict to represent either of you.”

Rebecca snorted. “Just as well. We are all Thornscore, and it could be messy.” She looked at Simon. “You must have an agent you can recommend.”

“I do. And I can ask some of the other master associates for recommendations.” He picked up his glass. “But this is a time for celebration, not negotiations. May the Five Warriors and Adelaide favor Chrys and Verity.”

Glad to escape the sensitive topic, Clarice raised her glass. It was well she was going to spend the next few months on Fortuna.

Since Fletcher’s dance with Katleen, his evening had deteriorated. As much as he enjoyed dancing, his next partners were no better than those at the indulgences: either smitten with the ‘hero flyer’ or fascinated with the ‘half-machine warrior.’ When his latest partner ran her fingers along his left arm, it had naught of Katleen’s gentle acceptance and much of vulgar curiosity. With the final chord, he fled, not even bothering to mumble an excuse.

Dodging one of his mother’s friends, he escaped to the terrace. The night was chill and clear, the light breeze cooling the warmth from his exertions and heat from his simmering anger.

Lilian’s voice drew his attention to a shadowed corner. “Fletcher, well met.”

He bowed. “Lady Lilian.”

Moving into the light, she shook her head. “Please abandon the courtesy title. It has dripped from too many hypocritical lips this evening. I remember now why I was pleased to avoid my own cotillion season.”

In the two bells since the reception line, Lilian’s color had paled, her expression as tight as it was during her apprentice years. It could be her pregnancy was draining, but it was not something he could ask. Instead, he admitted, “I too escaped from those who try my patience. I could not tolerate one more partner squeezing my left arm and commenting on how it feels ‘so real.’”

“Five Warriors take them. That is far worse than insincere congratulations on my consort alliance with Lucius.” Turning her back to the garden, she leaned against the stone rail. “Seek out those of Thornscore. Your battle companions will be glad for a chance at your company before you once again disappear into the Thirteenth System.”

Copying her stance, Fletcher said, “At this point, I would rather have the release of a sparring match. Although that is forbidden.”

He flexed his left hand. “Seigneur Thorvald has restricted my sparring to discipline masters until I have complete control of my increased strength.” As he spoke, a thought occurred. “As you are a master of Adelaide’s discipline, would it be possible to—”

Lilian held up a hand. “Nothing would please me more, but I am restricted as well.” Her hand cupped the small roundness in her middle. “Lucius fears the child could be harmed by an ill-judged blow, so my partners are limited to a handful he has approved.”

Disappointment swamped Fletcher’s brief optimism. But given his accident with Clarice, he could not argue with Monsignor Lucius’ caution.

Sharp footsteps announced another escaping to the terrace, the tall form of Monsignor backlit by the glow of the reception chambers. “Lilian, are you well?”

“I but needed a breath.” Lilian pushed off the rail. “Have you need of me?”

Reaching for her, his expression harsh, he said. “You have been remiss in your duty.”

“Whom must I charm now?”

His expression softened. “Me. You have danced with Chrys, Apollo, and a half score of others, but neglected me.”

Her expression warming, she slid her hands into his. “Allow me to correct that error.”

Silently, Fletcher faded from the terrace, not wanting to intrude further on the tender moment.

Pretending interest in the illusionist entertaining in a small alcove, Clarice scanned the gathering. Katleen was dancing with Douglas, sparkling with excitement. There was no question her cotillion was a triumph. Monsignor swept past—his tender expression fixed on Lilian’s animated countenance. For all Clarice scoffed at romantic nonsense, she could not avoid a stab of envy. Lucius Mercio would upend the galaxy for the woman he loved.

A warm voice rumbled in her ear. “Would you trust me with a dance?”

“Thank you, but my coordination is another matter. Are you well?”

His chagrined smile was a shadow of his former charisma, but it warmed Clarice in odd ways and places. She placed her fingers on his extended wrist. “Master Chin’s potions work miracles. I have not even a bruise. A dance with you would be a delight.”

At his lowered brow, she tapped his wrist. “What ails you? Where is the flirting? The jest. I have waited years for this.”

His eyes flared wide. “What say you?”

If asked later, she could not voice what possessed her, mayhap Katleen’s instruction that Clarice tease Fletcher, but at least he had lost that stern, stoic expression. “Fletcher Detrenti. Handsome, charming, and a savior of apprentices with more courage than wit. I have fantasized about dancing with you since that festival brawl.”

A spark of laughter lit his eyes, a shadow of the daring moon-racer echoed in his expression. His free hand closed over hers, trapping it against his wrist. “Then, by the Five Warriors, let us enjoy a fantasy.”

Fletcher spun Clarice through the movements of the dance, enjoying her pliant response. In her heels, she topped his shoulder to the perfect degree. If it were a year gone, he would sweep onto the nearest terrace, tilt her so her head rested on his shoulder, and capture a kiss.

In the here and now he delighted in her sharp wit. Courteous and contained, it was insightful without malice, acerbic without cruelty, and often delighted in the success of others. “Unchecked, Chrys will go on for bells about some technologistics challenge. Instead of snoring, Verity will likely point out his errors and then demand they take a respite.”

“Her work is exceptional and an alliance with Chrys will only aid Iron Hammer. Monsignor Elenora will grant the petition with joy.”

Commoners did not require permission to wedlock outside their cartouche, but with Chrys a Blooded Dagger protégé, matters were different.

Clarice’s fingers teased his neck, the shiver of pleasure distracting him to the point he almost missed her reply.

“It is well. As much as Monsignor Lucius admires Monsignor Elenora, she would not enjoy the wrong side of his will.”

“Lilian would object to any who would hinder Verity’s union with Chrys.”

Mulan’s wisdom. Fletcher felt the fool. He had been so absorbed in his own challenges that he had lost touch with the basics of warrior commerce. Five years ago, half the Twelve Systems screamed for Lilian’s death. This day, half the Thirteen Systems revered her as Adelaide’s Thorn Bearer and Wraith. Consort to Lucius Mercio, she counted three system governors and three of the six sect prelates among her allies. He doubted even Horatio Margovian, first among warriors, would challenge her over anything less than a stellar system.

“The alliance is as good as done.” He dodged another couple. “Is there a date for the wedlock ceremony?”

“They have not begun the contracts.” She smiled at him. “For truth, I am pleased to be bound for the Fourth System. I do not wish to be consulted on the contracts. The conflict of interest would bring nothing but grief.”

“Fourth System?” Fletcher twirled, admiring her grace and the way the jade silk clung to her curves. “I had not heard.”

“It is recent. I will act for the local legalistics master while she heals from a transport accident. Seigneur Herman’s executive servitor managed to book a place on the Shimmering Horizon.”

“For truth? I will be on that transport.”

“I know. Along with Chrys and Verity. It should make for a pleasant voyage.” Verity. Now was her opportunity to speak of the coming settlement day. “Verity wishes the morning of settlement day at liberty but fears that Seigneur Kemeha will deny her if you do not also request liberty. Would you consider—?”

“Already done. I have personal commerce to attend that morning.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Land tracts in the Thirteenth System?”

With the last notes of music, he brought them to a stop near the terrace. “Nickolas and I are joining our points. He has kin with knowledge of vineyards, and my family has an interest in expanding our distilleries.”

“I would not have thought the type of land suitable for producing distillery crops would be the same as that for vineyards.”

Setting a hand on her hip, he guided them to the terrace. “They are not. But the vines can take years to mature. Grain for beer and whiskey takes but a season. Whiskey must age, but beer can be produced in a few sevendays. By creating the Farstar consortium, our plots are connected by commerce if not geography. We can achieve the requirement for fifty-percent production in five years. “

“What of the workers? Do the skills for grape and grain cultivation transfer?”

“No, but the grain workers can be sub-contracted to the cooperative when we have no need of them.”

Her eyes widened. “Captain Raleigh’s cooperative?”

Her teasing flirtatiousness disappeared. “And you exchange people as well as machinery?”

“Is something amiss?”

“Possibly. Possibly not. It depends on the tracts. Monsignor Lucius will not wish any but those tied to Blooded Dagger to have tracts close to the crevasse. He will allow some Iron Hammer and Grey Spear since both will have facilities in the refinery complex, but never anyone not of Serengeti.”

Lips tight, she nodded. “I must raise this with Seigneur Herman.”

“I do not understand. No such restrictions exist in Crevasse City. A quarter of the city surrounds the pinnacle of the Great Crevasse.”

“The fortifications and security surrounding the Great Crevasse and the other crevasse were built over centuries. It will be at least a decade, possibly two, before comparable barriers surround the length of the Bright Star Deuce Crevasse. Until then, physical isolation is imperative.”

Fletcher and Nickolas were expecting to exploit the ready-made market of crevasse workers for their beer and wine. The closer to the crevasse, the more tightly they could control the market. But if they could not use the cooperative’s labor pool, those plans became costly. Nor was Raleigh one to play at intrigue. “I cannot believe Captain Raleigh would have nefarious intentions.”

Clarice’s expression eased. “I doubt he does. Cooperatives are common in the free-trader systems. And, until Bright Star Deuce, vistrite crevasse existed on only three planets. It is unlikely he has any notion of the level of security Blooded Dagger and Serengeti employ to protect the vistrite.”