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“Lord Benoit –.”

“Fiera, please, you can use my name,” Gaspare said.

“Lord Gaspare, I’ll keep to the contract, but next time? I’m asking for triple the price.” Fiera gritted her teeth as the two walked into a garden alive with both flowers and butterflies of every shade, shape, and hue.

“I do not blame you, Fiera,” Gaspare said. “He is being even more of an ass than usual. I wish you could have known him before his mother got her claws into him. He has changed so much from the young man who I used to spar and banter with at the Academy, and not in a good way either.”

“Michi Nakano changes people,” Fiera agreed. “And it’s never good. You’re usually lucky to survive physically intact.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.” Gaspare paused by a rose bush. The spicy sweet scent coming off from it was attracting some sapphire winged butterflies.

“Not my own personal experiences. There was a courtesan in my House, a young man named Orrin. He was a sweet boy with a voice like an angel. Michi Nakano wanted him. After a single contract with her, he put her on his instant refusal list. He never told anyone why, but whatever happened frightened him.” Fiera winced at the memory.

“What did she do to him?” There was no question that she did something, only a need to know what happened.

“She had someone slit his throat. He survived the attack, yet even with the regenerators the scarring was bad enough he lost his ability to sing. He can talk, but his voice is low and rasping now.” Fiera moved over to a bush full of clusters of dark purple flowers. Tiny white butterflies erupted from the bush in a cloud. “His voice was his main draw. He isn’t particularly striking and needed the help to draw in clients. Once he lost that, he lost most of his regulars. Master Iacchus ended up selling him off to another House who didn’t mind the fact Orrin wasn’t as pretty as other courtesans. The last I saw of him he was little better than an overpriced whore – something no Pleasure Seeker wants to be seen as.”

“I noticed in the contract you stipulated there would be no sexual contact between you and Kuen,” Gaspare said.

Fiera nodded. “I got very tired of being used for parties and sex. The parties were tolerable. At least I still had my dignity. The sex was demeaning and many of my partners liked holding the fact I couldn’t say no over my head. Since I can set the terms of my own contract now, the ‘no sex unless I say so’ is going to stay in there.”

“You didn’t enjoy the parties?” Gaspare seemed genuinely curious about her answer.

Fiera turned to face him. “Lord Gaspare, I am in the unenviable position of being neither a servant nor a member of the wealthy elite. I see and hear things I shouldn’t, and I have to keep silent about them. The things I’ve got locked away up here-” and Fiera tapped her right temple with two fingers “-could probably ruin a lot of people. The thing is, I’ll never use it for that purpose. I don’t have much, but I still have my honor and my integrity. I’ll hold to the letter of my contracts no matter what.”

“You are an odd woman, Fiera. I have to watch what I say around Aoi because, sweet though she is, she is a gossip.” Gaspare grinned. “Not that I mind. I do learn a lot about the other elite from her. I just do not wish my business spread around like theirs.”

Fiera smiled. “Aoi’s no idiot, Lord Gaspare. She knows who her real patrons are compared to the casual clients. She’s never once mentioned anything you’ve said or done. It’s the same with the rest of her favored patrons. Those clients she talks about? They’re the casual ones, the ones who don’t buy her services more than once or twice because their personalities don’t mesh.”

“You know a lot about Aoi.” Gaspare pulled a pale blue flower and carefully tucked it in Fiera’s hair. “I don’t want your stylists getting upset at me. But I think this will suit you.”

“Aoi and I were on the Lusitania together. We survived the explosion, which you say might be the work of Colony saboteurs. If it was, they were idiots.”

“What do you mean?” Gaspare asked.

“Most of the Colonists who survived the explosion ended up working the mines to pay off their debt.” Fiera hoped her expression told Gaspare how grim a fate that was. “If they’re still alive they’ve got more stamina than I do, and I’m a heavyworlder accustomed to hard physical labor.”

“Mine safety is of paramount importance to companies licensed by the CWA,” Gaspare pointed out mildly.

“If you are a CWA citizen working for them it is. If you’re an indentured from the Colonies? You’ll be lucky to be given a half-broken respirator and a dim glow lamp. Starfire, you’ll be lucky to be allowed out of the mines. You eat, sleep, defecate, and die in the star-cursed things.” She turned away, eyes pricking with tears. That was the fear she had for Phelix, though she hadn’t shared it with anyone.

“How do you know that?” She felt more than saw Gaspare’s sharp gaze on her.

“Pillow talk,” Fiera said shortly. “From someone I did not want to deal with as he wasn’t my client, but I was sleeping with him at my client’s request. This was the reason I was initially reluctant to take your contract, Lord Gaspare. Every time I take a third-party assignment, things don’t go well for me.”

“With Kuen acting the way he is I fear this assignment may not be entirely pleasant for you. I will see to it that a large bonus is forwarded to you, Fiera. You should not have to put up with his bad attitude without some kind of benefit,” Gaspare said.

Fiera’s lips crooked up on one side. “The bonus will be much appreciated, Lord Gaspare.”

“Gaspare, here you are,” Lady Esmerie Benoit said as she entered the garden. Fiera turned and got her first good look at Gapare’s mother. “I was looking everywhere for you.”

“Mother, I hope the preparations for Honore’s birthday party are going well.” Gaspare smiled and slipped into place between the formidable matriarch and Fiera.

“They are going as expected. Can you tell me why Kuen has locked himself in his room? Also why are the servants claiming that brown-haired girl you invited is dead?” Lady Benoit asked.

“What?” Fiera pushed past Gaspare and ran for Aoi’s room. She got through the press of people in the doorway to find her stylists standing there, wringing their hands and weeping. “What in the name of the twin suns happened?”

“We don’t know, Mistress Fiera,” one of them wailed. “She had a headache and went to lay down. We tried to rouse her for a snack and she – she was…”

Emele Benoit, Gapare’s sister and the chief medical officer for most of the High Command, came over to Fiera. “Are you two family?” she asked.

“Closest thing she has since we were indentured at the same time. Aoi didn’t have anyone left in her life but me and her House Master,” Fiera said.

“Your friend had an aneurysm. Her headache was probably the onset of it and when she laid down and went to sleep it killed her while she dozed. Not the most painless way to go, but on the whole one we would not have been able to stop unless she came to us right at the start of the pain.” Emele put her hand on Fiera’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Fiera turned away from the body bag. Gaspare was in the hall. “Lord Gaspare, would you mind terribly if I sat out tonight’s festivities?”

“I have no problem with you taking the night off. I will not even penalize you since these are some rather extreme circumstances,” Gaspare said, his own voice cracking a little.

“A pity Mother won’t let you out of going to the party,” Emele murmured to Gaspare as Fiera slipped past them.

She returned to her room, which was just across the hall. Liliana and Devorah were waiting for her. “Mistress Fiera, what happened out there?” Devorah asked. “We heard some screaming and then a lot of yelling. Now I can hear Naara crying.”

“Aoi passed away in her sleep. A brain aneurysm that the only sign of was the headache that sent her down for her nap in the first place,” Fiera said. “I am not attending the first night of parties – I already cleared that with Lord Gaspare – and I do not wish to be disturbed for the rest of the evening. If the two of you want to go comfort Aoi’s stylists, you may.”

“Thank you, Mistress Fiera,” Liliana said.

“Please,” Fiera said. “Just use my name. You two aren’t required a title with me.”

“Thank you,” Devorah said. She took Liliana’s hand and the two women headed out of the room. Fiera walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. There she buried her face in her hands and let loose the torrent of tears she’d held back until that moment.

Fiera cried herself to sleep. When she woke her pillow was soaking wet with tears she’d cried while dreaming. The flower Gaspare had put in her hair was broken and petals scattered across the bed. Fiera dragged herself out of bed. She glanced at the chronometer. It was evening and the party would be in full swing. It should be good enough cover to escape to the water garden Aoi had shown her that morning, before her head started hurting.

Fiera changed into one of her simplest outfits and washed the now ruined makeup off her face. She slipped from shadow to shadow until she was free under the moonlight. There she made her way to one of the smaller ponds with a lot of tiny water features and wind chimes. She sat down on a bench and let her mind wander as the night washed over her.

“I would have thought to find you surrounded by your ardent admirers, Butterfly,” a scornful male voice said, startling her out of her reverie. It took a moment for her to slot the voice into the proper category. When she did, her temper flared.

“Why would I be in there right now, after my closest – my only friend passed away?” she spat. “You have a strange concept of reality, Lord Nakano. Do you truly believe we are less than human? That we don’t have feelings?”

“I always thought courtesans were in constant competition with each other,” Kuen said, moving around to lean against a tree that doubled as a lamp post. “Or is that just another lie your kind tell?”

“We are in competition with those in our Houses, or with those who seek to take our favored patrons. I never wanted Aoi’s patrons, and she never went after mine since the two of us have vastly differing tastes. We stayed friends.” Fiera wiped her eyes. “She was more like my little sister, and I took care of her as best as I could. I even sent clients to her that I wasn’t compatible with.”

“You really felt she was that close to you?” Kuen’s face was unreadable in the shadows, but his voice seemed to carry a hint of bitterness.

“I did. She felt the same towards me, or so she said.” Fiera shrugged. “Whether that was the truth or not I don’t think I want to know. I prefer my ignorance in this one situation.”

“Do Colonials not prefer ignorance in all situations?” Kuen shoved away from the tree and loomed closer to her.

Fiera kicked off her shoes and stood up on the bench. Doing so put her eye to eye with the arrogant man. He took a step back. “Let me explain something to you, Core Worlder. If the words I use are too big let me know and I’ll choose different ones for you. Those born and raised in the Colonies were, up until the annexation by the CWA, well-educated for what we need to be. I personally hold the equivalent of a level two certificate in botany and political science, though my knowledge comes from reading or attending workshops. I cannot claim a level two certification in either subject because I am not a Core Worlder.”

“What does being from the Central Worlds have to do with it? If you have the money and the knowledge, then go to the university and get validation for your certifications.” Kuen turned away from her.

Fiera reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He whirled around, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t get it do you? We can’t attend any university except for those in the Colonies. Central Worlds universities bar entry to all who are not members of the CWA. The CWA doesn’t recognize certifications earned at a Colony university. We have no choice to live with the derisive commentary about our intellect when in reality most of us are far more educated than the majority of the Assembly members who serve their planets in representing the interests of those whose fiscal demands outweigh the safety and prosperity of the general population of their worlds.”

“You do not touch me without permission, Colonial,” Kuen growled.

“Is that all you took away from this? That I touched you without your permission? You do not see the injustice in treating a significant portion of the population as less than human simply because of a disagreement about how life should be lived?” Fiera was appalled. “By all the stars, you are precisely the kind of despicable drek the Colonies want out of the Duyelia sector.”

“How can you not want to live with the benefit of technology?” It was Kuen’s turn to be appalled. “You cannot even hope to do a quarter of what we do without it.”

“Did it ever occur to Your Highness that we don’t want to do what you do?” Fiera began pacing along the seat of the bench. Frowning, she stepped up onto the back and started balancing along the thinner edge. Kuen raised an eyebrow. “We left the Aureliya sector in order to live how we wanted – with minimal tech, fewer of what you’d see as necessities, and a much simpler way of doing things. You tech bloods can’t get it through your titanium skulls that we don’t want to live like you do.”

“Yet you are still here. So you are not entirely immune to the lure of our way of life,” Kuen sneered.

“I would go home in a heartbeat if I could. I will go back to Sorus one day. But I’m not an idiot. I refuse to indenture myself again just to go home. I need the funds for the ticket, the money to buy a farm, and enough financial security to keep the farm running for at least three years without much profit from a crop. Then I’ll go back to my preferred life back home where I’m more comfortable.”

“Comfortable? How can being on a backwater world like Sorus be comfortable?” Kuen snorted.

“I won’t have the luxuries I have here, true, but I’d be free to live my life as I wanted,” Fiera said. “To me, that is a far more comfortable life than the one I lead now.”

“Perhaps I should tell your House Master to take away all your luxuries and let you live as a Colonial. Then perhaps you would be more appreciative of your patrons,” Kuen snapped.

It took every ounce of her self-control not to strike that smug look off his face. “If you want to slap him, I will not penalize you for it and I will keep him from doing the same,” Gaspare said, startling them both.

“I am a professional, Lord Gaspare. While I admit that yes, slapping that smirk off his face would be satisfying, it does nothing for my reputation,” Fiera said.

“I made sure I was the only one in the area. Besides, if he is digging at you, I assume he made some comment about Aoi to begin with so please feel free to hit him. You are likely to be nicer than me,” Gaspare said through gritted teeth.

“She could do nothing more than perhaps tickle me slightly. She is a weak ornament, as I told you,” Kuen said haughtily.

Something inside Fiera broke. Rage filled her. Putting all her strength behind the blow, she delivered her firmest open-handed slap to Kuen Nakano’s flawless face. Kuen staggered back several steps.

A dark figure launched itself from the shadows. A blade flashed in the moonlight, heading for Fiera’s face. A whisper, a phrase of poetry from a book her father used to love, filled her mind and before the two men could react, Fiera was off the bench and going after the plasma blade.

Fiera danced beautifully and now that grace was utilized in a more deadly manner. Skirt flaring out around her, she spun lightly on the balls of her feet. One hand caught the wrist of the assassin and the other drove into the woman’s face – for her attacker was a dusky skinned woman.

The woman ducked beneath Fiera’s blow. She attempted to free her wrist. Fiera tightened her grip. She felt and heard the bones break. A second blade appeared and slashed towards her throat.

Her free hand came up and the blade bounced off her bracelet. The ornate wristband fell to the ground and a hot stream of blood trickled down her arm. “I think not,” Fiera said. Her hand caught the second wrist and, not caring about a lack of finesse, dragged the woman down and headbutted the assassin.

The woman staggered back, stunned, her nose broken as well. Fiera kicked out, taking out her opponent’s kneecap with one foot and drove her injured hand into the side of her attacker’s head. The woman hit the ground like a sack of rocks. Fiera kicked the plasma blades to the two men.

“Fiera, you’re bleeding,” Gaspare said.

“I noticed.” She pulled the scarf tying her curls back off and wrapped it around the shallow slice. “I’ll live.”

Kuen looked at the woman and started swearing under his breath. “She is one of the Devas. I think this is Eshana.”

“Does Lakshmi usually contract her sisters to keep an eye on you?” Gaspare asked.

“Not usually. I suppose because I am never away from home without it being on one of my mother’s errands for more than a day, they decided that this time I needed a keeper,” Kuen said. He looked at Fiera. “You were able to take down one of the Devas. Is that something they taught you to do while you were training to be a courtesan?”

“No.” Fiera tied off the scarf. “I learned to fight almost as soon as I could walk and keep my balance for more than a few steps. That’s something the Colonies always teach their littles. We’re a rough group of people, Your Highness. We watch out for each other in every way possible – physically and emotionally. I suppose that’s not something you’d understand.”

“Both of you, enough.” Gaspare stared down at the woman on the ground. “Kuen, what should we do with her?”

Kuen stared at the unconscious woman. “She will run back to my mother. I would not put a single credit on you surviving very long if that were to happen, Butterfly.”

“Then kill her and be done with it,” Fiera said. “As the High Command always says, ‘Never keep a prisoner when a corpse will do.’”

“Where did you hear that one?” Kuen glared at her.

“I heard it six months ago, at High Admiral Seaton’s birthday party. In fact, it was High Admiral Seaton herself who said it when she and my client were discussing the ongoing conflicts with the Colony rebels on the border. My client was curious if the High Admiral was taking prisoners. The High Admiral looked directly at me and said that.”

“That sounds like High Admiral Seaton. What did you say to her?” Gaspare pulled a small gun out of his pocket. Two silenced shots later and the woman was dead.

“I simply smiled at her and said I agreed completely with the sentiment behind the statement. She did not appreciate that and attempted to make another joke at my expense.” Fiera’s bitter smile wavered as she tried not to give in to the urge to vomit. “My client was forced to remove me from the party after I continued to spar with the High Admiral.”

“Fiera, let us handle the body from here. The party will be letting out soon. If you hurry, you can get back to your room before the rest of the guests descend on the world.” Gaspare put his arm around her shoulders.

Fiera leaned into his chest, leeching warmth from him while she mentally ordered her stomach to behave itself. A ghost of the old, scorched metal and bile rose up and she almost lost control. A moment later she took a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you, Lord Gaspare. I think I will make my escape. Good evening.” She left the two men behind and made her way back to her room. Her stylists fussed over her and put her to bed.

Fiera cried herself to sleep. Deep within her mind, the part of her that broke during the fight continued fracturing. Her dreams were a confused morass of faces, names, and events that could not be and yet she knew they were as real as her life now.