FLETCHER

Located at the bay’s southern edge, within a mile of the governor’s palace, the Land’s End shrine ring is set back from the cliffs on windswept bluffs. The foundations of the Warrior Ring date from the mid-third century, making it one of the oldest rings in the Thirteen Systems. In the intervening centuries, the original structures were expanded as the city grew. The only remnants of the original ring are the basin of the sacred pool in Mulan’s shrine and the lower half of Sinead’s southwestern wall. ~ excerpt from Fort Rimon, a visitor’s guide

It was not the first time Fletcher woke in bed with a lovely woman, but it was the first time in a long time that he woke so contented. Not simply physically sated, but truly contented. Although, ‘sated’ was also true. Clarice surprised him. Beneath her cool, practical exterior lurked a playful and, he suspected, romantic nature. He regretted being so involved with Grayse that he missed her defeating the obnoxious Willemina.

“Fletcher?” Clarice’s voice was husky with slumber, or perhaps from crying out his name the night gone. She made a little huffing sound. “You went from smug to frowning.”

He turned to meet her heavy-lidded gaze. “Did I? I was thinking that I regret missing your combat with that Euphrates woman.”

“That explains the frown.” She searched his expression. “Smug because you were reliving trouncing Grayse?”

He was not about to admit his true thoughts. “If Pippa was correct, visuals of the brawl will be in the media.”

He rose from the bed to collect his slate satchel. When he turned back, he caught a glimpse of Clarice’s delectable backside disappearing into the freshening closet.

When she returned, he was smiling over his second viewing of Clarice’s brief skirmish. Rushing to assist Verity, Clarice made sure her friend was well before spinning into a kick that sent Wilhelmina staggering onto the grass. The nasty woman was average size, but it gave her several inches and at least a stone on Clarice. An advantage she pressed by a right hook that Clarice dodged with quicksilver ease, coming up low to slam her hand into Wilhemina’s nose. With a cry, the woman stumbled back, cupping her wound. “You did not exaggerate. You could have broken her nose.”

Wrapped in a cream silk robe, Clarice joined him on the bed, propping pillows to curl up against the headboard. “I might have, had she continued the brawl. As you can see, she had no heart for it.”

Rising, he handed her the slate. “That is one of the media streams Serengeti favors. I have not reviewed the others.”

The freshening closet was as opulent as the one in Fletcher’s chamber at Mercio House, and as was customary, contained a plush courtesy robe with the Serengeti House emblem. Returning to the bedchamber, he found Clarice bent over her slate, his own propped on the bedside table.

She looked up with a wry expression. “The brawl made the societal media in Crevasse City bells gone. Lilian saw it with her morning meal.”

He settled next to her. “Is it ill?”

“Not for the most part, although Douglas did not care for being awoken before dawn. The Fortuna media master was quite thorough, selecting a media management contact at headquarters who is of Bright Star as well as Thornscore.”

“Was that necessary? To contact Serengeti Headquarters?”

She arched her brows. “Two protégés and the hero of the Thirteenth System in a drunken brawl at the botanical gardens?”

“That is clear in the Serengeti friendly media.” Her lips regained their wry twist. “In those less friendly, it is a bit muddy.”

He reached for his slate. “Seigneur Kemeha will have sent an alert.”

Clarice said, “As expected, Serengeti and Thornscore are focusing on our valiant defense of cartouche and cartel. They are adding veracity with images of your valor at the festival brawl.”

In addition to alerts from Lilian and Douglas, four alerts had priority marks: Seigneur Kemeha, Seigneur Marco, Seigneur Thorvald, and Serengeti’s media management seigneur, Aristides. “I wonder how Seigneur Aristides escaped defamation for having a commoner protégé?”

“I am sure Douglas was next, but Chrys intervened.”

Fletcher scanned his alerts. “Seigneur Kemeha applauds my recovery and instructs me to execute whatever plays Seigneur Aristides designed. Seigneur Thorvald holds me to the sparring prohibitions but confirms I may brawl as circumstances warrant.”

Clarice made a shocked sound. “I did not realize that Seigneur Thorvald had a sense of humor.”

“He keeps it well hidden.” Fletcher glanced at the next alert. “Seigneur Aristides wants a shrine visit. Preferably Land’s End Warrior Ring. Seigneur Marco wants us all to gather at Mercio House by tenth bell. He will join the shrine observance.”

Fletcher stood. “It nears ninth bell. I will call for my driver if you will alert Chrys and Verity.”

“Done. I will order a meal. Do wish the first shower?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest a joint shower, but he realized it was ill-advised. “Have you finished your alerts?” At her nod, he said, “take the shower first. I have a half dozen to review.”

At the center of Land’s End Warrior Wing, the fountain’s lilac waters shimmered with gold sparkled from the sun. With the sun midway to its zenith, half the facades of the warrior shrines were brightly lit, the other half in shadow. All shrine rings followed the same order. Socraide’s shrine in the north, and then, in a clockwise progression, Mulan’s, Rimon’s, Sinead’s, and Jonathan’s with its Adelaide Alcove facing Socraide’s shrine.

There was no set starting place or direction for a ring walk. At the media management seigneur’s direction, they began with Socraide’s shrine and moved counterclockwise to end with Mulan’s. Seigneur Marco, as with most Mercios, followed The First Warrior, and Monsignor Lucius was Lord Patron of Socraide’s sect. No one could miss the reminder that The First Warrior favored Blooded Dagger and Serengeti. Ending the walk with Mulan meant that Fletcher, the hero of the Thirteenth System, performed the final observance. Clarice did not need excellence in media management to appreciate the impact of the visuals.

Instead of an acolyte, Mulan’s Shrine Keeper met them at the entrance and guided the group through the circular structure of gray stone and white marble. Tall, narrow windows circled the gallery. In the period since they started the walk, the sun had moved to pour light through the eastern and northern windows, striking the sacred pool, and setting a glow over the statue at its center. Seven feet high, the white marble image of Mulan Tsao had her hair bound in a tight coronet, a scholar’s satchel in one hand, a dagger in the other, and a long sword down her back.

In the final days of the anarchy, Artesia’s principal archivist turned into a warrior, and converted a half-billion scholars and farmers into citizen-warriors who would die before yielding the planet and last vestiges of the ancients’ knowledge. A formidable enough force that the other four warriors chose treaty over conquest to access the precious archives.

Clarice often wondered if her life would have taken a different path if her academic apprenticeship had been purchased by someone other than Mulan’s Canon Master. Given the path she had taken, Clarice could not deny that her deity had a hand in her fate.

At the shrine keeper’s invitation, Fletcher and Clarice stepped forward. Three paces before reaching the altar facing the statue, they halted, Clarice handing her gold coin to Fletcher. Fletcher closed the distance to the altar alone.

Adding his coin to hers, he laid both on the altar. Drawing his dagger, he made a shallow slice in his thumb, anointing the coins with his blood. After cleaning his hand and dagger with a small linen square, the keeper consigned the cloth to the sacred flame.

Fletcher stepped back a pace and bowed. He held the position for two breaths and then exploded into motion. With breathtaking speed, he flashed through the motions of Mulan’s discipline, the slight stutter she had observed on the Shimmering Horizon so faint, she doubted an untutored eye could note it. Fletcher was giving his all in a riveting physical expression of devotion. With the same abruptness as when he started, Fletcher ended, holding his bow for another two breaths.

When he straightened, the keeper smiled and raised one hand in benediction. “One of the finest spiritual observances I have ever seen. Mulan favors you, Master Fletcher.”

Although shrine rites could not be recorded, the record of the keeper’s benediction would be entered into the shrine’s archives, and there was no question the keeper and the acolytes who had observed Fletcher would report it to their friends and any media who asked. And Serengeti would assure that the media asked.

Fletcher took more satisfaction in Clarice’s admiration than the keeper’s benediction. With their duty to Serengeti completed, he was eager to spend the balance of their liberty day in pleasant amusements. Perhaps even entice her back to bed.

Her lips curled into a smile. Had she read his intent in his expression?

Exiting the shrine, Seigneur Marco halted the group by the central fountain. “Well done. Aristides will be pleased. As it nears midday, we will take the midday meal at Mercio House and review the remainder of your media management instructions.”

It was not an unreasonable demand, but Fletcher regretted it would be later in the day before he could claim Clarice’s attention for himself. Nor was he delighted by the protocol that put him in the transport with Seigneur Marco and Rigel while Clarice went with Verity and Chrys.

Although, as it transpired, Marco had reason for the arrangement. “Fletcher, whatever comes of the Bright Star grants, you must be focused on the pairing devices. We need you in a flyer executing the first tests by midday on the morrow.”

It was not the seigneur’s habit to review plans already decided, so it was not the tasks he needed to accomplish, but his focus that was in question. “We will know naught further on the Bright Star grants for another sevenday. Is there a concern?”

“Not as such.” Marco’s lips thinned. “But some of the less favorable media has suggested your alliance with Thornscore weakens your commitment to Bright Star.”

“That is ridiculous. It is also illogical. Bright Star’s success is paramount if Farstar and Thornscore are to have success. If anything, it increases my motivation.”

“Since when is the media logical?”

The media thrived on controversy and gossip. Emotion and visuals were what kept the viewers riveted on the streams. “I understand, but does Seigneur truly doubt my focus?”

“No, but I wanted you to understand why you are to entrust your slate to the militia before entering the flyer. Then, there can be no question of your focus.”

Fletcher was shocked to his toes. In eight years of service to Iron Hammer and Serengeti he had never relinquished his slate during commerce bells except to a safekeeper when training. When left in the transport, the slate was locked away. To lose his slate was to lose his honor. Such a request was out of keeping with the small scandal of the brawl. “Seigneur, is there something more?”

Marco and Rigel exchanged glances. “You know all that is pertinent.”

The seigneur was not discussing the brawl. Was this something to do with the saboteur? Fletcher thought about the recent bidding and the limited tracts available on Deuce. Nothing had been offered in the western hemisphere. “How far behind schedule is the Nightingale?”

Marco’s lips tightened. “Did anyone else notice?”

“Thornscore voiced naught, but that does not mean it was not noticed. How bad is it?”

“Not as bad as it was. Since the saboteur was caught, they have been able to improve progress, but there is a chance that large sections of Deuce will not have more than topographical mapping by the new year.”

The topographical scans taken from the flyers were the first of three levels of increasingly detailed surveys. Bright Star would not release a section for bid without full surveys. “Not ideal, but with the vistrite, limited access to Deuce will be expected.”

The cost of opening a new system was astronomical. The cost of defending it from the despoilers, even more so. Bright Star needed to maximize its investor pool. “To some degree, the brawl is a useful distraction.”

“It will be if we can keep the focus on the insults to Serengeti and not the envy of the early honor bidding. Which brings us back to demonstrating Serengeti’s full commitment to Bright Star.”

His slate. “Seigneur, I intend no offense, but without Seigneur Kemeha’s instruction, I cannot release my slate, even into the safekeeping of the militia.”

“It will be in your alerts. Your guard on the morrow will be of Iron Hammer.” Marco rubbed his jaw. “Understand this—none of Bright Star or Serengeti doubt you, but we are concerned by the implications of that brawl. Overindulgence in strong drink does not explain the Euphrates behavior. We fear there is a deeper play we have yet to uncover.”

“Clarice and I have a suspicion about that,” Fletcher replied. “It may be part of an intrigue against Seigneur Thule.”

When he completed his summary of their suspicions, Marco nodded. “Possible. Rigel, you are the best acquainted with them. Could that be the case?”

To his credit, Rigel considered before answering. “Anvyl’s mentor might have been a contender for medicates seigneur. Now that I know the background of Seigneur Thule’s advancement, I should revisit what I know of Anvyl and his mentor.”

Clarice nibbled a bite of fruit tart, savoring the sweet spiciness. The Mercio House pastry chef was outstanding. Lilian would adore this pastry. Her absence made everything about the meal on the terrace seem a bit off. She could tell that Verity and Chrys felt the same strangeness.

Fletcher was shaking his head as he said, “The Bright Star Museum is too blunt a play.”

“Agreed,” Marco said. “It is unfortunate the cutter races have not begun. They would be ideal.”

As much as Clarice would prefer a few quiet bells, the media management instructions were to be seen publicly engaged in respectable activities.

Chrys set down his fork. “Verity and I had plans to visit the Water Art Garden. Is there any reason to change them?”

Marco replied, “That would be excellent. A light meal at the Cascade Café to finish the visit would play well.”

Before it contained a café, the two-story circular fall of water encircled the ballroom for the gala that preceded the Nightingale’s flight. Excellent visuals without being heavy-handed.

Fletcher smiled at her. “What think you of a museum visit?”

“I should call on Mistress Koralia at the medical enclave. She has emerged from gray space, and while not yet able to rise from bed, awake and cogent.”

Marco frowned. “An appropriate activity, but not public enough.”

Clarice nodded. “We can visit the art museum afterward. They are not far apart.”

“Good,” Marco said. “Rigel, that leaves you.”

“Sinjin Kailani is participating in a sharpshooting event at the governor’s palace. I had promised to attend.”

“That will suffice. Shows our solidarity with the Kailanis and our support for the Fourth System governor.”

The section of the healing enclave tending Mistress Koralia was all too familiar to Fletcher, the scent of herbs and astringent reminders of the dark days after he woke from gray space half a warrior. The potted flowers in his left hand were similar to those that once adorned his chamber.

Clarice’s fingers fluttered against his. “I am sorry. I did not think. If you would prefer to go ahead to the museum, I will understand.”

The sincerity of her concern banished his dark mood. Those days were gone. In the present he had this remarkable woman at his side and would soon return to flight and the Thirteenth System. Pausing, he lifted her hand to his lips. “Peace. I am well, and as soon as we have attended to duty, we can enjoy the remainder of our liberty day.”

She offered him an uncertain smile and nodded. “She is on the fourth level.”

He led the way to the risers. “Do you know what occurred with the transport accident?”

“The governor’s militia reported she was well over the maximum allowed velocity on the Land’s End transitway when she turned a corner and crossed into the oncoming corridor. She swerved to avoid a hauler, lost control, and sent her transport into a ravine, rolling it twice.”

“Five Warriors’ mercy. Why was she in such haste?”

Clarice sighed. “It was first bell after dark of night, and it seems she had a habit of racing her transport at times when the transitways are lightly used. Since she was the only injured party, the militia declined to indict.”

“She sounds rather ungoverned for a legalistics master. You will forgive me, but Seigneur Herman has a reputation for being somewhat . . . stodgy.”

The riser opened on the fourth level, not far from a medic’s station. Exiting with him, Clarice explained, “When the last Fortuna legalistics master retired, his chosen successor chose to join Bright Star. Mistress Koralia had the most seniority of the other associates and Seigneur Okoth preferred someone native to Fortuna rather than an outsider.”

Fletcher understood the reasoning. “Even now, Fort Rimon can be somewhat insular.”

She nodded. “And the routine legalistics are not complicated. Anything significant, like the Leonardo Society contracts, is sent to Seigneur Herman.”

The woman tending the medic’s station directed them down a corridor. “Mistress Koralia was awake a half period gone. If she has returned to slumber, do not wake her.”

The sole occupant of the chamber had her head encased in a healing frame, her jaw and nose marked with pale pink scars that indicated severe injuries recently emerged from healing sealant. Pale brown eyes sat in sunken sockets, her cap of dark brown hair limp and lifeless.

Fletcher guessed her age near fifty; the loose flesh under her jaw suggested that before the accident she had been plump. While Clarice introduced them, he set the potted flowers on the windowsill. The brown eyes widened as they moved from Clarice to Fletcher. Her voice was thready when she said, “I am honored to be visited by the hero of the Thirteenth System. What brings you back to Fortuna?”

“Commerce. I return to the Thirteenth System in a sevenday.”

“May the Five Warriors favor your transit.”

She turned her gaze to Clarice, “If you require aught of legalistics, speak with Senior Associate Zora. Forgive me, but I am weary.”

Fletcher could not be more pleased to depart. If he could, he would avoid healing enclaves for the rest of his life. On the pavement, Mrs. Tasha waited with the transport, her gaze roving the quiet walkway.

On their arrival, she went to the transport door. “Naught.”

“What say you?” Fletcher asked.

Clarice slid into the transport. “I thought we were followed yesterday. I am almost certain I saw the same woman in the old quarter and again before we entered the botanical gardens.”

Fletcher looked out the window, scanning for the telltales of a stealth operative and finding none. “I agree with Mrs. Tasha. Could you be mistaken?”

Clarice appeared uncertain. “Mayhap, but Malcon trained me.”

Mrs. Tasha set the transport in motion. “Master Chrys and Mistress Verity are more likely targets. We were with them on both occasions. I did alert the militia to the possibility.”

Clarice nodded. “Their knowledge of the pairing devices and other Nightingale systems make them more attractive targets. My ability to parse legalistics is not so unique.”

The logic was sound, and Fletcher could not argue it, but he would have a word with Clyde.

Soaked from her swim, Clarice stretched out on the lounger and enjoyed the spectacle of Fletcher slicing through the pale lavender water of the Serengeti House pool. Located at the base of the guesthouse and overlooking the bay, it was sizable enough to host swimming competitions, or—as she and Fletcher chose to use it—augment the training chambers.

The Fortuna sun was pleasantly warm without being hot. With the Crevasse City rainy season only a few sevendays past, she relished both the warmth and the light. She considered reaching for her slate and checking alerts, but watching Fletcher was far more enjoyable. He had been wonderfully attentive at the art museum, even suggesting visiting the ancients’ artifacts. Apparently, his sister was considering a master scholar of ancients’ art for a wedlock contract.

Her mind and heart stumbled as one. She could not ignore that if Flecher’s twin was seeking wedlock, it would not be much longer before Fletcher followed that path. Shadow consort to Hercules might have forwarded her ambition. The notion of shadow consort to Fletcher while he wedlocked with another filled her with dismay.

With a shower of water, Fletcher surged from the pool, swamping her concern with the thrill of his appearance. He moved as he had always done. With assurance and joy in his physical strength.

Shedding water, he grabbed a towel and settled on the lounger next to her. He chuckled as he toweled his hair. “You are clever to the point of devious.”

“Often. To what in specific do you refer?”

“That the art museum is but ten minutes’ transit from Serengeti House. A short visit with Mistress Koralia followed by a period complying with media management requirements, and then we have the rest of the day to do as we please.”

“We are in plain view and physical training is a respectable activity.”

“Serengeti House is hardly a public venue.”

She gestured at the surrounding bay. “We are in the open.”

“Clever to the point of devious.” He set aside the towel and stretched out. “The sun feels good, but we should not remain out too long. It is stronger than it feels or looks.”

“A few moments longer.” She let her gaze wander over his solid torso and strong legs. He was truly magnificent. “You were wondrous in this morning’s devotion. The keeper’s benediction was heartfelt. If Seigneur Thorvald had witnessed it, he might have lifted his prohibitions.”

“I followed his instruction. I have ceased attempting to limit my left to the strength of my right. My left side will never be quite as smooth or fast as the right, but the added strength can be an advantage.”

“Your movements are much smoother. When you sparred with Seigneur Marco, there was a slight stutter. This morning, it was almost imperceptible.”

He turned to her with a pleased expression. “You watched me that closely?”

Was she blushing? She scrambled for a change in topic. “Tell me of this scholar your sister is considering.”

“I will take that abrupt change in topic as an admission of your admiration.” He lay back on the lounger. “He is what I would wish for her. Intelligent, honorable, accomplished, and well-connected.” He folded his hands behind his head. “Most importantly, he is enamored of her.”

She turned to face him. “In love with her? Is that truly a requirement?”

“Wedlock is for life. Without affection it can be miserable.” He rolled to his side to meet her gaze. “Watching Seigneur Marco suffer that strife-ridden alliance with his former wife was sufficient to convince me that wealth and genetics alone are insufficient.”

Divorce was almost impossible among the warrior class, but Marco’s former spouse had betrayed Blooded Dagger and been severed from the cartouche. All her contracts with the cartouche were void, including wedlock. Clarice had been as pleased as those of Blooded Dagger that the seigneur was free to seek a more congenial alliance. But she was surprised to hear Fletcher voice such sentiments. “Is not an heir of appropriate genetics the primary goal of warrior wedlock alliances?”

“For a preeminent line, perhaps, but for truth, there are more than sufficient candidates of acceptable warrior lineage that Brianne need not settle for an arrangement that lacks affection.” His lips curved in a smile. “Even if our mother is eager for the next generation to cement our claim on the signet.”

Confused, she asked, “But you are the signet heir. How does that impact your sister?”

“I will not be rushed into wedlock to please my uncle.” He half shrugged. “Brianne is as capable of wielding a signet as I am. If my uncle transfers the heir designation to her, it will not trouble me. Within a decade I will have the funds to purchase a signet license. In some ways that will be preferable. We will not be dependent on my uncle’s goodwill. Now, my cousins’ children are too young, but there is naught halting him from making one of them heir in another decade.”

Stunned by the revelations of the last few minutes, Verity’s words returned to her. Fletcher is not Monsignor. He is heir to a cadet signet, not a preeminence. By Fletcher’s words, being master of his destiny meant more to him than inheriting signet. She could not imagine many warriors who would be of the same mind. He was truly magnificent, and far more complex than she had credited.

His expression warmed. “You are back to admiring me.” Bolting up, he held out his hand. “Enough sun. We should shower away the pool. Together.”

Indescribable. Rebecca had not erred. Clarice had the strength of butter. Delicate muscles deep within her ached in the most delicious manner. Floating on the cloud of bliss, her mind wandered. Katleen’s cotillion. Golden sprite. Such a rare and strange blossom. Unique to Fortuna. Like those odd provisions in those two contracts.

Warm lips traced her shoulder. “What think you?”

She turned, meeting Fletcher’s smile with her own. “Stray thoughts. A bit of the morrow’s commerce.”

His eyes widened in shock. “For truth? You were thinking of commerce?” He shook his head. “I need to make a better effort at romance.”

“Yes, woman. Romance.” His lips found that special spot on her neck. “The art of making you adore me.”

“You want me to adore you?” A chill passed down her spine that had nothing to do with the luscious tingles of passion. “Why?”

His lips teased her collarbone. “Because I would hate to be in love alone.”

Fletcher lifted his head. “I felt you flinch. Do you find my affections displeasing?”

“Displeasing? No.” Confused, she examined his expression, finding her confusion mirrored along with a hint of distress. “I . . . That is . . . Are you in love with me?”

“You say that like it is beyond understanding.”

“I have never been in love. If I had not witnessed it with Rebecca and Lilian, I would think it a fable.”

His expression turned solemn. “You do not share my affections? This is but a pastime for you?”

“What? No. That is, this is more than a pastime.” She stared at the ceiling thinking about the joy she felt a few moments gone. “I do not know what I feel. It is powerful. Indescribable.”

His face appeared over her. The concern was gone from his expression, replaced by something she could not name. “Indescribably good?”

She could not crush that expression, and in truth there was no reason to do so. “Very good. Confusing, but good.”

His lips curved. “That is a beginning. I will need to contrive a grand romantic gesture to breach the last of your defenses.”

She bit her lip against a smile. “That would be entertaining.”

With exaggerated sorrow, he placed a hand on his heart. “You wound me.”

A giggle broke loose, and she pressed her lips to his nearest shoulder. “Let me kiss it better.”

His expression turned to one of dark anticipation that set her tingling. “For now, let us discover if I can elevate indescribably good to indescribably exceptional.”