FLETCHER

The Shimmering Horizon is renowned for the most luxurious travel in the Thirteen Systems. The observatory promenade provides a breathtaking view of the stellar expanse, and an exceptional selection of cafés and boutiques. In addition to the observatory promenade, each of the six passenger levels holds a smaller observatory and lounge with convenient boutiques and cafés.

The entertainment and commerce levels offer three spas, branches of the Thirteen Systems’ finest merchants, three opulent indulgences, and capacious commerce archives and training facilities. Meals are available in venues from simple cafés to the finest restaurants.

The three levels of prestige accommodations offer a selection of single, double, or adjoining chambers with private freshening closets and respite consoles. The prestige-excellence and prestige-elite levels hold a mix of single-chamber, single-bedchamber, and two-bedchamber suites. The preeminence level contains four two-bedchamber suites with private salons and expanded freshening closets.

Available to prestige-elite and preeminence passengers, Warrior’s Horizon rivals the finest warrior clubs in the Third System. ~ excerpt from Shimmering Horizon, a passenger’s guide

Fletcher examined his wardrobe hanging neatly in the Shimmering Horizon closet. He had been correct—Mr. Clyde was not adept with a steamer. “These will not do. No one will believe you are a competent personal servitor, and none will believe I would tolerate an incompetent one.”

Fletcher shook one. “This one has buckling on the left cuff.” He shook the second. “The collar is curled on the right edge.”

“Another warrior, for certain.” Fletcher returned the suits to the closet. “A flawless appearance is the mark of a warrior.”

Five Warriors’ grace. Fletcher expected Trevelyan’s operatives to be better trained. “Did not believe the fussy little man. Not didn’t. A warrior’s personal servitor would know better than to use vulgar contractions.”

From the man’s expression, Fletcher expected an explosion of profanity. To Clyde’s credit, he turned in silence and stalked into the freshening closet where the steamer station was located.

Reaching past the suits, Fletcher selected a casual royal blue silk tunic, and black trousers. The Warrior’s Horizon was not as formal as a Crevasse City warrior club, and he would not need a jacket. With a flick of his finger, the closet door slid closed, revealing a mural of a tropical cove.

The Shimmering Horizon’s accommodations were as fine as any Fletcher had experienced. The preeminence level was extraordinary, with Fletcher’s two-bedchamber suite one of four surrounding an exclusive grand salon. Although he would have been content with a one-bedchamber unit on the prestige-elite level, this secluded section was more easily secured and could be restricted to Serengeti. Seigneur Marco and Rigel had two other suites, with the fourth and final being used as a secure laboratory for the pairing devices.

Although the despoilers had been defeated, Trevelyan did not forget that Fortuna had been a hub of despoiler activity. According to the spymaster’s operatives, it was becoming a major hub for black-commerce technologistics. The pairing devices would be a powerful temptation to the black-commerce raiders.

Any questions Fletcher had about the level of security were answered when Mr. Clyde found and eliminated two stealth devices in his suite, two more in the technologistics suite, and one in the grand salon. On the morrow, Chrys and Verity could join Fletcher on the preeminence level to work on configuring the pairing devices confident in its security.

Fastening his tunic, Fletcher gazed past the king-sized bed to the floor-to-ceiling window where the beaconed expanse streaked by in an ever-changing pattern of light. Many found it disconcerting and would lower a reviewer screen to present visuals of planets and nebulas being passed at sub-light speeds.

Fletcher relished it and looked forward to visiting the bridge and navigational control. This was not his first voyage on the Shimmering Horizon, and Captain Gehrig was a friend to both Serengeti and Bright Star. Of course, it helped that Blooded Dagger was an investor in the transport line and this transport had been fitted with advanced mercium technology that enabled the large windows to hold their integrity while transiting the beaconed expanse. Technology developed by Bright Star for the Nightingale.

Nodding at the militia guard who fell in when Fletcher left the suite, Fletcher hastened his step. He would not miss the opportunity to seek out Seigneur Marco. The support of Serengeti’s Bright Star seigneur would do much to convince Captain Raleigh to allow Fletcher a flyer.

Clarice pivoted before the full-length mirror. The form-fitting blue frock had a modest V-neck that was perfect for the chain of amethysts and diamonds Seigneur Herman had given to her in recognition of her valor at the maze melee. Not as elaborate as Hercules’ gifts, she favored it because she had earned it. Rebecca had been correct: a topknot and three-inch heels offered an illusion of height.

At a soft chime, she abandoned the bedchamber. Chrys and Verity had promised to stop for her on the way to the Warrior’s Horizon.

Verity smiled, her expression admiring. “I love the topknot. Very chic.” Her eyes scanned the chamber. “This is lovely. The décor is very similar to our suite, but ours is cerulean and silver rather than amber and gold.” She inclined her head toward Chrys. “He tells me that even the single chambers are lavish.”

A year ago, Chrys had traveled on the Shimmering Horizon with the Blooded Dagger contingent to attend the Nightingale’s flight.

“It is luxurious,” Clarice glanced around the opulent chamber. “Much finer than the transport Seigneur Herman and I used for that voyage.”

No single transport could have carried all the Serengeti seigneurs attending the Nightingale’s flight. Nor would it have been wise. At the time, Clarice had found the arrangement fortuitous, placing her on the same transport as Monsignor Hercules. Overcome by sudden wistfulness, Clarice reached for her satchel. “I am eager to visit Warrior’s Horizon. Is it as splendid as the rest of the transport?”

Seigneurs Marco and Trevelyan were adamant. There would be one militia guard for each member of the group to provide coverage when they were changing locations. Otherwise, the militia worked in shifts, and once on Fortuna, they would be supplemented by the local Serengeti Militia.

In the corridor, the guard assigned to Chrys and Verity’s suite waited. After the events on Genji, it made sense that the guard in their suite had Chrys as his priority. Verity’s guard was in one of the servitor chambers scattered among the suites. The other three occupied the preeminence level with Seigneur Marco, Rigel, and Fletcher.

Fletcher should not have been surprised that Seigneur Marco and Rigel were well known at Warrior’s Horizon. As Serengeti’s Bright Star seigneur, Marco made regular voyages to Fortuna accompanied by his protégé. While other stellar transports served the route, Serengeti would favor the line with Blooded Dagger investment, and its flagship most of all.

With a smile, Marco echoed the toast, followed by Rigel. After taking a sip, Marco asked Fletcher, “Are you available to spar on the morrow?”

Although the seigneur was several inches shorter than Fletcher, he was heavily muscled. When he landed a blow, it left a mark. In their last contest, Fletcher relied on his reach and quick reflexes and still ended up needing bruise sealant in two places. That was almost two years gone during one of Marco’s visits to Fortuna while Fletcher was training with the Nightingale command crew. So much had changed since then. “I regret, I must decline.”

The seigneur’s eyebrows rose. If they were of equal rank, no further explanation would be required. But Marco was a seigneur. One whose good opinion Fletcher needed and might well forfeit with the truth. Realizing he had tightened his grip on the delicate glass, Fletcher set it on the table. “My control of the prosthetics is . . . imprecise. Seigneur Thorvald has restricted me to matching discipline masters.”

As much as Fletcher would have liked to agree, in honor, he must voice truth. “The other day, I lost control and injured Mistress Clarice.”

“It was naught,” Clarice said from behind Fletcher. “I beg pardon, Seigneur. I could not help but overhear. Master Fletcher put too much force into a handspring and left the boundaries of his square. He corrected his error with a twist of extraordinary skill. If I had not been so dazzled by the display, I could have avoided contact.”

Turning in his chair, Fletcher found sincerity and admiration in the woman’s expression. He knew that Clarice, along with the rest of the Thornscore cadre, excelled at dissembling. None would voice a falsehood to a Serengeti seigneur.

“Well enough,” Marco said. “While I cannot overrule Thorvald in terms of your other match partners, I am master of my own fate. I will risk entering the match square with you.”

Chrys guided Clarice and Verity into the two empty seats, and then grabbed a third from another table, wedging it between Verity and Rigel. Fletcher thought he caught a note of tension between Chrys and the other protégé, but he was too pleased by Clarice’s defense and having her at his side to give it much attention.

In such a public venue, they could not discuss commerce, and the conversation turned to opportunities for entertainment on the Shimmering Horizon and Fortuna.

Sipping tea, Fletcher considered Chrys’ proposal. He had invited Chrys to join him for a morning meal to discuss Thornscore’s proposal to Farstar. It was an intriguing offer. “I expect Nickolas will be open to leasing labor from Thornscore, but what of Farstar labor? As part of Raleigh’s cooperative, we must give the cooperative first refusal on our excess capacity.”

With the pleasant coolness that marked his commerce dealings, Chrys replied, “That is acceptable as long as what labor Farstar can offer Thornscore is at the same rate and terms as the cooperative.”

It was a reasonable request and there were advantages in having commerce arrangements with both the cooperative and Thornscore. The cooperative commanded greater resources, but Blooded Dagger would always favor Lilian’s enterprise. “Farstar agrees to Thornscore’s terms. I will alert Nickolas and our legalistics agent. Clarice will act for Thornscore?”

Chrys half smiled. “The arrangement was her notion. At one point she feared Farstar would be compelled to choose between the cooperative and the vistrite continent. I believe she spent half of Seventh Day developing this alternative.”

Stunned, Fletcher stared at the other man. Although Thornscore would benefit from their arrangement, there was no question if matters had gone differently, access to Thornscore labor could have meant the difference between success and failure for Farstar. “She claimed no special credit when I spoke with her First Day.”

A door chime was followed by Verity’s entrance. “How was the discussion? Are Farstar and Thornscore in commerce together?”

Fletcher hammered the heavy bag, watching the lights flash and pressure readings spike. Thorvald was proven right. Pushing full force with his left arm was a strange sensation. The movement skewed his balance and slowed his ability to shift back to the right. The training lights shifted, and Fletcher kicked out with his right leg. A blow from his left foot swung the bag eight inches.

Fireballs. He had never witnessed the bag move more than two inches. He shifted right, stumbling and then righting, his next kick off the mark. The lights flickered, indicating the end of the session. Stepping away he mopped his torso, his muscles warmed and relaxed but far from exhausted. After months of rehab, he had become used to the muscles on the left having more endurance due the untiring support of alloy bones and fiber tendons. He had not realized that some of benefit of the increased left-side endurance was leaching to the right.

With a chuckle, Marco clapped him on the shoulder. “If you meant that display to intimidate, it did. But not enough to cancel our match.”

Shocked at the suggestion, Fletcher hastened to reply, “Seigneur, that was not my intention. Only to warm my muscles.”

“Well said.” Marco pushed Fletcher’s shoulder in the direction of a match square. “I hope you warmed to the point of fatigue. It will give me better odds.”

Winding through the crowd around the match square, Clarice rose to her toes, seeking a glimpse of Fletcher and Seigneur Marco. A hard thump rocked her back on her heels. The man who had collided with her garbled an apology as he hastened past. It was another reminder of how her fortunes had risen. Two years gone, instead of an apology, her apprentice self would have been castigated for not getting out of the way. Ignoring the twinge in her shoulder, she squeezed between Chrys and Verity.

Fletcher had always been quick, but his movements lacked the fluidity of old. When he had been pummeling the training bag, it was almost a stutter. Was he holding back on the left?

He twisted from the seigneur, but not quite fast enough, the blow catching his shoulder. The snapping sound of a fist hitting flesh testified to the power of the strike. Across the match square, Rigel cheered for his mentor.

Fletcher went low, his left arm sweeping the other man’s ankle and tumbling him to the mat. Marco rolled and found his feet, shifting his stance for the next attack.

It was true. While Fletcher was not flashing his charismatic grin, his expression held excitement, not a scowl.

Marco landed another blow to the sound of Rigel’s cheers. Fletcher feinted and then spun into a kick that knocked the seigneur back but did not topple him.

At side glances from Verity and Chrys, Clarice shrugged. “Rigel cheers for his seigneur and Fletcher is of Iron Hammer. It is only fair.”

Chrys shook his head. “Fletcher aided me when I was an apprentice, but the seigneur is Blooded Dagger. I will not take sides.”

Fletcher found the match exhilarating. Live foes were so much more challenging than devices. Without the imperative to maximize the strength of his left side, Fletcher’s movements were more assured. He had yet to regain the fluidity he once enjoyed, allowing Marco to land a blow more often than in the past. But Fletcher had succeeded in tossing the heavier man to the mats. He was trying for another throw when the match timer sounded.

Winded but satisfied, Fletcher had finished thanking the seigneur for the match when Captain Gehrig joined them. A stocky man of average height and some sixty years, his sandy hair receded from a high forehead, beneath which were deep-set gray-green eyes in a rugged face. As a young ensign, the captain had been on one of the few voyages that survived being lost in the beaconless expanse. His insights had been invaluable to the Nightingale navigational training.

“Master Fletcher, it is a pleasure to have you aboard once again. On behalf of myself and the crew, we are delighted that you have recovered from your injuries.”

The captain’s sincerity was unmistakable. His expression held no hint of pity or prurient fascination. Inclining his head, Fletcher replied, “I am delighted to be on the Shimmering Horizon, once again. Would it be possible to visit the bridge? I understand the most recent navigational upgrades are the finest in the fleet.”

“Of course.” Gehrig looked at Marco. “Seigneur is always welcome, as well. And any of Bright Star.” His expression sobered. “If I may, the crew and I were saddened at the loss of Mistress Blythe. She was a valiant woman.”

Marco’s apprentice, Blythe, was slain by despoilers when she attempted to defend Lilian from kidnapping. Fletcher had been shocked and saddened when he learned. Along with Lilian, Blythe had worked tirelessly to develop the Nightingale training simulations.

Fletcher thought the captain would say something further, but with a shallow bow he turned away. Silently, the seigneur collected his towel and strode off.

“But you did. Explain. What about my performance did you find disgraceful?”

With a sigh, Rigel shook his head. “It is the seigneur. His apprentice has been dead six months. It is one matter to regret the loss of a loyal retainer, but to mourn his apprentice?”

Fletcher clenched his jaw against sudden fury. “You dare criticize your mentor? As for Mistress Blythe, she was slain in defense of cartouche and cartel. Without those training simulations, the Nightingale might not have reached the Thirteenth System. What life-threatening battles have you fought? What contribution did you make to the success of Bright Star?”

Fletcher turned to the sound of Clarice’s voice to find all three Thornscore principals, their expressions hard. Chrys’ arms were crossed in a manner only a lackwit would fail to find menacing.

Rigel shifted his eyes from Fletcher to Thornscore, and back again. Jaw working, he collected a water vial and left.

Clarice’s nose quivered and then she joined the laughter. “You should have hit him harder.”

The trio’s laughter increased until all three were rocking with amusement. Since his injury, Fletcher had often felt like an outsider, but never more so than when faced with the camaraderie of this group of former apprentices.

Clarice glanced his way, and her amusement softened. “Forgive us. We find Rigel pompous. And he was so dismissive of Blythe.”

“I cannot argue with pompous.” Fletcher was beginning to regret accepting Rigel’s investment in Farstar. “What is this about hitting him?”

She stepped toward him. “I was not present, but according to Verity, Chrys was paired with Rigel in an advanced training session. Rigel was convinced his warrior superiority would defeat a former apprentice.” Her lips twitched. “He was on his ass before he knew what hit him.”

Chrys shrugged. “It was rather like when Fletcher defended me when I was an apprentice. Except I had not the opportunity to put Rigel in his place while Blythe lived.”

When Clarice and Verity echoed Chrys’ words, Fletcher realized they were including him with the valiant. These exceptional commoners, who had overcome so much, admired Fletcher. As he admired them. “I know we have commerce to attend, but Captain Gehrig has offered a tour of the bridge. You are all welcome.”

Clarice had no true interest in navigational controls or transport systems, and a long list of tasks awaiting her attention, but the lure of time in Fletcher’s company proved irresistible. Although she had teased Fletcher about being the object of her fantasies, there was an element of truth in her words. Before Seigneur Herman claimed her apprentice contract, she often imagined Fletcher’s face when attending a seigneur who left her cold.

It was not something she had practiced in recent years, but since Katleen’s cotillion, she had begun to recall why she once found Fletcher so fascinating. His unexpected defense of Blythe reminded her that he held true to the warrior code, performing deeds of valor that would gain him naught.

The excitement in his expression as he interrogated the navigator, filled her with the same delight as watching Verity and Chrys exclaim over the efficiency levels of the propulsion system.

“No, Captain, it is only that I have no understanding of technologistics.” She gestured at the main reviewer. “The display of our route is intriguing, but the navigational systems guiding us along the beacon path may as well be magic for all the sense they make to me.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, the captain nodded. “Some days it does seem like magic. Traveling the immense distances between stars. Knowing that the Thirteen Systems are but a handful of sand in the greater cosmos.”

Clarice looked back at the display where glowing white lines zigzagged among the stars, showing their path through the beaconed expanse and to Fortuna. “That is a daunting thought.”

His lips curved. “I find it exhilarating. We have discovered a new stellar system, but it is only the beginning. No matter what we accomplish, there will remain challenges and adventures for our descendants.”

“Well said,” Gehrig replied. “And I hope that one day soon, the Shimmering Horizon will be the first passenger transport to visit the Thirteenth System.”

“I look forward to that day,” Fletcher said. “This vessel is far more comfortable than the freighter that will carry me there in another sevenday.”

Clarice agreed. Thornscore had done all they could to prepare. She had parsed the bid requirements and award terms to the finest degree. “The templates are ready. All we require is the release of the tract coordinates to make our selections.”

Verity followed Chrys to the small respite console. Their suite was the mirror image of Clarice’s, although she found the cerulean and silver less pleasing than the amber and gold in her suite.

It neared eighth bell. Both Serengeti and Thornscore commerce were done for the day. “Half of a glass. I skipped a midday meal to make up the period spent on the bridge.”

Chrys set the dish on the small dining table they had been using for their conference. “Fletcher had a meal brought to the suite. We divided the leftovers.”

“According to Douglas, a delight.” Chrys offered the plate to Verity before taking a tidbit. “According to Drake, he alternates pouting with acting out. I tend to believe Drake.”

“Rebecca and Tabitha have a plan,” Verity said. “If Roland behaves as he should, they will take him to the River Quarter pavilions on Seventh Day.”

Clarice always enjoyed the annual green-season event that lined the river with temporary cafés and shops. Like every other resident of Crevasse City, she was eager to be outdoors after the dismal rainy season. As an apprentice, she lacked the funds to waste on the questionable games and even more questionable entertainments provided by the carnival.

“That will get Roland through the coming Seventh Day. Do you think it will work twice? Rebecca and Tabitha need not participate. Drake is more than capable.”

Clarice shook her head to decline further tidbits. “Do you have a notion for dinner? I thought to try someplace other than Warrior’s Horizon.”

Of course, the newly engaged couple wanted some time alone. Clarice could send for a meal, but she was feeling restless. “I understand, but I spent much of the day in the commerce center and the morrow will be more of the same. I thought to explore a bit. Mayhap take a light meal on the observation promenade.”

Chrys placed cheese on a slice of brown bread. “Tabitha and Rebecca favored a small café that serves light fare in the style of Sinead’s World. It tends to be crowded at midday, less so at this bell. And the open design provides all tables with a view of the expanse.”

The café was all Chrys had promised, and while the cuisine was from the Third System, the sparkling purple wine from Fortuna was one of Clarice’s favorites. Beyond the café boundary marked by an ornamental rail, the expanse streamed by in an ever-changing pattern of streaking lights. It was riveting and yet disquieting. She could not imagine being on the Nightingale and seeing naught else for sevendays at a time.

It was not the first occasion she had only her slate for company, and she was pleased to clear away a series of minor tasks. It was gratifying to realize that half the alerts for the Fortuna legalistics master associate came directly to her queue, rather than being forwarded. It was becoming common knowledge that Clarice was Serengeti’s acting Fortuna legalistics master.

Clarice pushed aside her empty plate and picked up her glass to enjoy the last few sips. The café had grown quiet, only a few others enjoying a meal. The cafés and restaurants nearby were also winding down, while farther along the promenade, light spilled in patches accompanied by the muffled sounds of voices and music.

In a well-crafted design, the observation windows ran the full circle of this level, the cafés, boutiques, and indulgences set in the interior. A steady walk would traverse the promenade in a half a period. There were a dozen entrance points flanked by the largest and flashiest enterprises, the more modest farther away. The arrangement guaranteed steady traffic past all the vendors.

The closest access to Clarice’s suite was two entrances away, but she wanted to explore the promenade, and it was not yet tenth bell. Rising, she gestured to the militia woman sipping tea at the bar. “I hope you are up for a stroll.”

The burgundy ankle boots had low heels and complimented the loose-knit dress that fell to mid-calf. She was fashionable and comfortable. She passed a shop with slates, and another café before lingering at the windows of a boutique offering jewelry carved from a variety of semiprecious stones. The one after that offered an intriguing array of sculptures. She doubted she would find aught that could not be purchased at a better price on Fortuna or Metricelli Prime, but it did no harm to look.

Fletcher had erred. It seemed innocuous enough to join Rigel for a drink after dinner. It would not serve Fletcher’s purposes to be at odds with Seigneur Marco’s protégé or a Farstar investor. After the morning’s confrontation, a casual drink seemed a small price for maintaining a cordial relationship. If he had given it more thought, he would have realized that an observation promenade indulgence would lack the refinement and restraint of the prestige-elite-level establishments.

The Shimmering Delight had far more in common with the Explorer’s Delight in Crevasse City than it did with Warrior’s Horizon. Unlike the night of his ill-fated visit to the Crevasse City indulgence, Fletcher had not left off his warrior insignia or dagger. Not that it would have mattered with Rigel having both dagger and insignia prominently displayed.

Nor were they able to find a quiet corner. From the host’s greeting, they were expected, and a central location reserved. Somehow, in an evening and day, Rigel had built acquaintance with a half dozen low-rank warriors and high-rank, second-level elite. Men and women who were quick to bring forward their acquaintances, until Fletcher was surrounded by an inebriated crowd that became more intrusive with each passing moment.

If one more would-be flyer pilot claimed ‘superb reflexes,' Fletcher might become violent. And those were not as offensive as the ones who wanted to hear battle details including the number of despoilers Fletcher killed. It had been more than a quarter period since he spoke with Rigel, the younger man preening for a well-endowed redhead.

Courtesy warred with inclination and inclination won. Fletcher set down his drink and prepared to slip away without a word to Rigel. It was not to be. The redhead detached from Rigel to call out, “Fletcher, you cannot leave yet. I have not introduced Muriel.”

She swept out an arm, half pushing a sultry blonde in Fletcher’s direction. The woman was dressed to entice in clinging lace with a few strategically placed satin patches in compliance with the indulgence’s apparel protocols. Rolling her hips, she tottered on her heels, a high-pitched giggle coming from parted lips. “Mystical. My name is Mystical.”

Mystical? Fletcher scanned her arms, surprised not to find a courtesan’s armband. Mistaking his examination, she rolled her shoulders setting the patches hiding her nipples swaying. “Anything for the hero of the Thirteenth System.”

Flaming fireballs. Drunk and probably not much past twenty. He backed up a step, bumping into someone behind him. Had the crowd increased? “I must be on my way.”

Slender fingers settled on his wrist. Clarice’s cool tones held a hint of amusement. “There you are. I thought I would never find you in this crowd.”

“Clarice Serengeti. Protégé to Serengeti’s Legalistics Seigneur Herman. And Fletcher’s traveling companion.”

With Clarice’s guard in front and Fletcher’s at the back, they were able to escape the overcrowded indulgence. As soon as they were clear, Fletcher stopped and gripped her hand. “Traveling companion?”

I will not blush. “It seemed expedient.”

“It was. Thank you for the rescue.” Setting her hand on his wrist, Fletcher turned in the direction of the accessway. “How did you find me?”

“It was Mrs. Tasha. She saw you as we were passing and thought your guards were too far away in that crowd. She insisted on speaking with them.” An inch over six feet tall, the guard had no difficulty seeing into the crowded area. “I saw your attempt to slip away and thought to intervene.”

“I am pleased you did.” Fletcher’s expression darkened. “I had no desire to wound that child, but even less to remain another moment.”

He ran his free hand through his hair. “It has not been that long since I was a new protégé, giddy with success and adult freedom. Rigel’s revels are naught that I have not done.”

How could he compare himself to Rigel? “You were never like Rigel. You always valued the women you chose, no matter how brief the liaison.”

Rather than admit her fascination, she prevaricated with a portion of the truth. “After the Festival Brawl, we watched you. The apprentices who are now Thornscore. None of us were of Iron Hammer, then. You had no cause to aid us.”

Does he have no notion of how truly rare that is? “And that is why you were never like Rigel. You were never that heedless of others.”

“You think not?” His smile was rueful. “There was a time when Nickolas and I were familiar with every indulgence in Crevasse City. Somehow, it seems decades gone.”

She could understand that. The guards cleared the riser and motioned them within. As it rose, she said, “You fought a war.”

“I was at the siege of Serengeti. That was three-and-a-half years ago.” As it often did, her heart ached for her friends who died that day.” We did not know it before then, but we had been battling the despoilers from the first.”

She had forgotten how that had stung him. She hastened after him, catching his tunic sleeve. “You were engaged in the stealth war immediately after. Along with Nickolas. How many bells did you spend learning stealth? Seeking evidence of despoilers. Playing a part meant to distract and confuse? You were at the maze melee. I have no doubt there were actions I know naught about.”

He raised his gaze to lights twinkling overhead in a facsimile of a starry night. “It was cat-and-mouse the entire time we were on Fortuna preparing for the Nightingale’s flight. Spreading misinformation designed by Trevelyan’s operatives. Shocked when it entrapped those who we thought honorable. Friends.”

It was as she suspected. “I was somewhat shielded. Rebecca, Tabitha, and Lilian—it was worse for them. They had to look upon the results of the atrocities we failed to circumvent.”

His gaze dropped to her face. He turned her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “We are all decades older than those who had not that experience.”

“I sometimes wish that it had not been my path to walk. But I am glad that my actions helped order a galaxy where Chrys’ son, and so many others, will not be threatened by such evil.”

He dropped her hand to cup her chin. She could have pulled away but did not wish to, and they were alone in the corridor but for the guards. His lips were warm and firm sliding across hers. He tasted of whiskey, valor, and something without name. Something that set her senses tingling in a manner beyond anything she had ever known.