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Kuen fixed his comm as he walked down towards the practice room. As expected, it started going off. He put it in his ear. “This is Kuen,” he said.

“I was wondering whose comm unit she used to call me,” Lady Lachesis Kakoric said acerbically. “Tell me, where is she?”

“The last I saw of the Blue Butterfly, Lady Kakoric, she was swearing in several different languages whilst making her way to her room to change her clothes. The two of us are going to spar so she can get some of her aggression out before she has to appear in polite society later today.”

“Were you the one who forced her to talk to me in the manner she just did?” Lady Kakoric demanded.

“No. I would say the entirety of the conversation you had with Fiera was your own doing. As I was not privy to what went on in it, other than what I heard her say, I cannot even hope to say what triggered her rage. However, she is very angry right now.”

“I see. I suppose I will just have to arrange a chance to speak to her when she gets back. I trust you have honorable intentions towards Fiera, Lord Nakano?” Lady Kakoric asked.

“My intentions are just as honorable as hers. Now, if you will excuse me, my mother is calling.” He ended one call and answered the second one that was coming in. “This is Kuen.”

“Why did your comm go off the grid again this morning?” Michi asked.

“I was asked by my courtesan companion if she could use it to make a private phone call,” Kuen said. “As it violates the legal contract with her to have her conversation recorded, I opted to pull the wire that allowed you to record the conversations. Once she was finished with my comm unit you will notice I did in fact reconnect it to the grid.”

There was a moment’s silence. “Ah, I see. You are not trying to avoid your duties even though I have graciously granted you the freedom you requested?”

“Of course not, Mother. I am aware you only granted me that freedom because it put me in a more useful position. How can I be useful if I am off the grid?” Kuen shook his head. “I know my place and I have not forgotten what I owe you and Lakshmi.”

“Speaking of Lakshmi, did anyone among the Benoit household say anything about Eshana? She is most concerned to learn the fate of her sister,” Michi said.

“I have heard nothing, but I only saw Gaspare for a few minutes this morning. He was called away to speak to his father before we had even finished our breakfast. You know the High Admiral has little respect for anyone, even his own son,” Kuen said.

Michi snorted in his ear. “That is true enough. See what you can find out please, Kuen. Call me this evening after the party, no matter the hour. I must know – if only to put Lakshmi’s mind at ease.”

“Of course, Mother. I will see what I can learn,” Kuen said. Michi murmured her approval and then ended the call.

Kuen found Fiera waiting for him in the practice area. She was dressed in tight pants, a top designed to bind her chest in place, and socks. Her braids were twisted into a knot on top of her head. “I read through the rules. No shoes allowed on the mats,” she said, her accent coming a bit thicker. “You’ll have to pardon my accent, Lord Kuen. I’m angry enough it’s going to be a little stronger than I’d like right now.”

“I can still understand you, so it’s not a problem.” Kuen stripped out of his shirt, jacket, and shoes. He slipped his comm unit into his jacket pocket and pulled his long hair into a ponytail before joining her on the mats.

She was fast, faster even than Gaspare. She ducked, twisted, bent, and moved in such a way until she had him on his back. She sat on his hips, pinning him down with her hands on his shoulders.

“I believe I’ve won this round,” she said with a triumphant laugh.

“You two do realize that this looks rather awkward,” Gaspare said from the door.

“When you are a good half meter shorter than your opponent you take advantage of whatever opportunity you can find,” Fiera said as she rolled off Kuen. She held out her hand.

“Starfire, Gaspare. She’s faster than you.” Kuen took the proffered help and let her haul him to his feet.

“You’re a featherweight. Of course I’m faster.” Fiera walked over and grabbed two towels, tossing one over to him. “What did the High Admiral say?”

“He really wants to know if you’re Eire Rezouac’s daughter. He did promise me he would refrain from going after the children. He has to. It seems there’s a growing sense among the High Command that war is inevitable, and things are going to get a whole lot worse if the Assembly doesn’t cool certain heads down fast,” Gaspare said.

Fiera scrubbed the sweat from her face. “I am Eire Rezouac’s oldest daughter. Councilor Kakoric’s wife is my contact on Bouarus, apparently. I was subjected to DiME therapy. I am beyond angry at my father, none too happy with Lady Kakoric, and I know ma wouldn’t have had much to do with my disposition. I can’t imagine she’s too pleased with da right now either.”

Gaspare raised an eyebrow. “Kuen?”

“I watched her conversation with Lady Kakoric. It was truly spectacular,” Kuen said with a grin. “The lady in question called back shortly after Fiera ended their call.”

Fiera groaned. “She didn’t.”

“She did, and I think she blames me for your sudden rebellious attitude. She plans on speaking to you when you get back to Bouarus,” Kuen said.

Fiera walked over to the house intercom and tapped the one for her room. “Lil?”

“Yes Fiera?” The voice of one of her stylists was soft and musical as it floated through the room.

“Please send a message to Master Iacchus that I no longer want any assignations from Lady Kakoric, no matter how much she offers. She is on my instant refusal list as of yesterday. Please also tell him I mean it when I say she goes on the list as of yesterday.”

“He’ll charge you a fee, Fiera,” Liliana said.

“I’m aware of that, Lil. I simply don’t want him setting up a meeting with her prior to our return because then he’d just guilt me into taking it if I don’t insist on this right now,” Fiera said.

“All right. Is there anything else?” Liliana asked.

“Not at the moment, though when I get back, I’ll need a long, hot soak and a nap before getting ready for this evening.” Fiera rubbed the back of her neck.

“Of course, Fiera.” The comm clicked.

“Problem hopefully resolved. I do not want her trying to silence my thoughts again,” Fiera said, stretching. “I rather like having my memories.”

“So why are you on Bouarus?” Gaspare asked.

“I was sent to spy on the Core, so I could warn the Colonies about any kind of upcoming violence. Lady Kakoric used my trigger phrase to get me to tell her what I learned at the parties, which infuriates me because it pushes the edge of my agreements that I will not speak of anything I learn,” Fiera said through gritted teeth.

“You didn’t do it willingly, so I wouldn’t take it to heart,” Gaspare said.

“Didn’t I? My memories are fuzzy enough that I don’t know whether I was a willing volunteer for this job or not,” Fiera said. “I am sure that piece of space trash father of mine murdered far too many people getting me here, and I never once agreed to seeing that many people die just to place me here in the Core.”

“You weren’t aware he was planning on using suicide bombers to destroy the Lusitania?” Gaspare asked.

“No, I wasn’t. If I had been, I’d have insisted he find some other way of sending me off,” Fiera said. “Or I’d have asked for some other method to be found.”

“Would he have done it though?” Gaspare asked. “Would he have looked for another way to insert you?”

Fiera was silent for several moments before sighing. “No. My father is as firm in his hatred of the Core as you are in your hatred of the Colonies, Kuen. I just, I wish I understood why. His hatred comes from something more than what the CWA did when they annexed our homeworlds. I just don’t know what.”

“Fiera, you said – before your mind cleared of the DiME programming – that your father only came in with the name Eire when he arrived on Sorus. Do you know if that was his original name?” Gaspare asked.

Fiera shook her head. “I know I came across something with a different name on it years ago, as a child.” She leaned against the wall. “It was something Gaiteran, I think.” She tapped her fingers against the plascrete. “Vasiliou was the family name.”

“Leonidas Vasiliou?” Kuen asked, eyes widening. He felt his heart skip a beat and a cold pit form at the bottom of his stomach.

“You know the name?” Gaspare asked.

“That’s the man my mother accused of murdering her parents, though it later came out he was innocent of it,” Kuen said. “They were engaged, Leonidas and my mother, but instead of going through with the wedding he broke off the engagement and disappeared. He gave no reason for his actions. He vanished after the end of one of their dates and for a time my mother thought he’d been abducted. It was only later, through a mutual friend, that mother found out that Leonidas broke off the engagement and fled to the Colonies.”

“Sounds like something da would do. He’s none too courageous when he has to confront someone face to face. He’d rather do it through someone else,” Fiera said.

“I wonder though what Lady Kakoric’s ties to him are,” Kuen mused.

“Were you aware of the Gaiteran habit of having females change their name when they get married?” Gaspare wanted to know. Kuen and Fiera shook their heads. “I didn’t know that either until my father told me. I did some checking, one of my earliest intel seeking jobs, on Lady Kakoric.”

“You would make a novel out of a two-line poem, Gaspare,” Kuen growled.

Gaspare grinned. “I would, but that’s part of my charm.”

“What is her pre-marriage name, Lord Gaspare?” Fiera asked.

“Angeliki Vasiliou. And Fiera, given the situation, you do not have to call me Lord Gaspare unless we’re around others who share my rank.”

“You can also dispense with the title with me while we’re in private,” Kuen said.

“Thank you both.” Fiera reached up and pulled her hair loose. The braids fell down and slithered across her skin. She giggled. “In the Colonies, hair like this is seen as a liability. Here it’s almost required and feeling the ends brush against my skin is still an odd feeling even after five years.”

“How short was your hair before they grew it?” Gaspare ran his fingers through his curls.

“Shorter than yours. Military crew cut would be the best example of how short I’d wear it. It would keep it out of the way of the farm equipment.” Fiera shrugged. “You don’t want long hair getting caught in a reaper or a thresher, let me tell you.”

“How do those machines work?” Kuen asked. “I’ve heard of them but never actually seen one.”

“How about we go find something else to eat, maybe some more coffee, and she can tell us all of this?” Gaspare asked. “I know I could use another cup this morning.”

“More coffee sounds lovely,” Fiera said, her accent fading back to what it had been before the DiME programming broke.

“We’ll have it on my private veranda, so you don’t have to go change again, Fiera,” Gaspare said. “Unless it’s an emergency I’m generally left alone if I’m dining there.”

The three walked back and Fiera had no problem falling in easy step with the two young men. Kuen noticed a subtle shift in the way she moved. She was still very much the Blue Butterfly, but there was something more predatory in her grace. She stood straighter and those bright blue eyes didn’t seem to stop moving as she surveyed her surroundings.

They settled on the shady veranda and a servant brought them more food and coffee. ‘Now, tell us about those farm machines,” Kuen said.

Fiera explained how the two most common farm machines worked. She went on to talk about how a normal day on a farm played out on Sorus. Gaspare asked about crops and farming in general. Fiera gave them a basic rundown on how a farmer ran their parcels.

“Do all farmers work that way? Or was that something your father did on his own?” Gaspare asked.

“Oh, that was practically law on Sorus. You rotate crops, leave parcels fallow to let them recover, and pay attention to what the weather was doing because that’s what would dictate what grew that year.” Fiera nibbled on a scone with cream and honey. “You’d be surprised at just how different our springs are from year to year.”

“What do you mean?” Kuen leaned forward. “I have never seen a world with much variability in its weather.”

“There’s not much variability, but a bad storm or a few degrees off in temperature can ruin a farmer who doesn’t pay attention.” Fiera saw she had their attention. “Look here, if you plant a frost sensitive plant without checking to see if you’ve got the potential for several more nights where a heavy frost is possible, no matter how warm your days are you’re going to lose those crops. I’ve seen farmers lose whole fields because they didn’t check the weather. They just knew they were right.”

“You said we caused the famine on Sorus. Why?” Kuen seemed uneasy but was also desperate for the answer to that question in particular.

Fiera took a deep breath. “You won’t like the answer.”

“He needs to hear what happened.” Gaspare leaned back. “I want to see it from your point of view.”

“We were enjoying our Himostava celebration when we got word there’d been a terrorist strike on a Core outpost up on Sorus Station,” Fiera said. She wrapped her arms around her chest and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “A big one. We were all worried about Keoni, my older brother, because he was still up there. His wife was living at home with us. Da swore to ma that he had nothing to do with this one and went off to find some information.”

“Was your father responsible for a lot of terrorist activity?” Gaspare asked.

Fiera shrugged. “Often enough the question was a foregone conclusion any time there was violence, I guess. I never saw much of it, but I wouldn’t have. They kept us out of the line of fire as much as possible.”

“What happened after you heard about the attack?” Kuen asked.

“The CAF came down on us like a fifty-ton nuclear detonation, but they did it in a very calculated way. They waited until spring planting and targeted our fields. They wiped out eighty percent of our yield with three massive barrages. What was left had to be sold to meet our contractual obligations.”

“How did you survive without food? I assume you didn’t import it. That would have been prohibitively expensive,” Gaspare said.

Fiera shook her head. “We had food stored – every planet in the Colonies has a stockpile – and we were able to ration that out, but whatever was used on our fields cut out usual yields down to a quarter.”

“Did a lot of people die?” Kuen asked.

“In the terrorist attack? No. The death toll was three, and all of those were Colonists who got caught in the blast. On Sorus? We lost seventeen percent of our population due to the famine and malnutrition related diseases.” Fiera swallowed hard. Kuen saw the ghost of the old pain in her face. “Then we were penalized for a lack of production because families were too busy dealing with their dead children to tend to their farms.”

The bitterness was there for both men to see. “Did you lose any siblings or children of your own?” Gaspare asked.

“Morrigan and Morgana, my sisters. They were twins younger than Herry. They were only two when the death toll from the famine was at its worst. We also almost lost Herry and Callie too, but ma was able to keep them alive.”

“Do twins run in your family?” Gaspare asked.

Fiera nodded. “There’s me and Phelix, Muirne and Teigue, Joana and Siobhan, and then we had Morrigan and Morgana. Da’s a twin, ma’s a twin. Whole family got cursed. Keo and his wife were expecting twin boys when I left.” She paused and grew still. “That was five years ago. I wonder how many kids he and Thea have now?”

“Do you want to go home?” Kuen asked with real curiosity.

Fiera shook her head. “Food’s still scarce, there’s more kids running underfoot than I want to deal with, and it’s louder on the farm than in the city if you can imagine. I’ll continue being the Blue Butterfly.” She smiled shyly. “Besides, I’m good at this. I enjoy talking to people, I have all my memories so I have all my training, and I think I can maintain my courtesan lifestyle quite happily.”

“But can the daughter of Eire Rezouac contain herself even when people say unfavorable things about the Colonies?” Gaspare asked.

“I’ve managed it so far, though I am notorious for not knowing my own strength and breaking glasses,” Fiera said with a short, barked laugh.

“How do you manage not to hurt yourself?” Gaspare asked.

“I do hurt myself.” Fiera showed him her scarred left palm. “I have damaged my hand enough times that my House Master bought me reinforced gloves to keep me from injuring myself further. It’s a matter of pride for me when I manage to get through a night without needing to use my gloves for their actual purpose of protection.”

Kuen took her hand after a quick look for permission, running his fingers across the jagged marks in her flesh. “These aren’t all from broken glass.”

“No.” Fiera tugged her hand back. She closed her fingers over her palm. “Some are from what my da did, some are from farm work. My House Master didn’t get rid of all the old scars.”

“Why?” Kuen asked. A bitterness welled up in him. “Perfection seems to be a requisite for dealing with my social caste.”

“Perhaps if you’re part of the caste, then yes. But for courtesans? Scars make us alluring. It shows we’re popular, which raises our prices.” Fiera shrugged. “He thought my scars showed I’d already been in a few fights to protect myself on the way back to Bouarus and it worked in his – and my – favor.”

“How did it work in your favor?” Gaspare asked.

Kuen gave his best friend a hard look. “She bought herself free of debt in five years. That is a remarkable feat. I would imagine the boost to her reputation helped with that.”

“My looks didn’t hurt either.” Fiera played with one of her braids. “I am dark, with red hair and blue eyes. Not a common color combination even here in the Core. For some reason those with my skin tone don’t bother dyeing their hair this shade of red. Then again, unless you’re doing something obnoxious, natural colors seem to be all the rage for hair styles.”

“The holo images I’ve seen of Eire Rezouac show him as a white-haired man. Yet both of you claim his hair is as red as Fiera’s.” Gaspare looked from Kuen to Fiera.

“Oh, da’s hair was this red when he was younger. Think about it, Gaspare. He’s been living in fear for a good five, maybe six, decades, working hard labor mostly outside. His hair’s going to bleach from the stress and the constant exposure to the sun.” Fiera tugged her own hair. “Mine would have started going silver in another year or two with how often I forgot my stars-cursed hat.”

Both men laughed at the disgusted expression on her face. “I take it you used to get teased for forgetting it?” Gaspare asked.

Fiera gave an exasperated sigh. “No. Ma would nag me to take it with me, I’d put it on, but then I’d take it off to wipe my forehead and set it down. Someone would say something, and I’d leave it in the fields as I went off to do whatever needed doing. Next thing I knew it was chewed up by a thresher or one of the other farmhands picked it up and took it off as their own. I probably spent a good five or six hundred credits on hats in a season.”

“Isn’t that a bit expensive?” Kuen asked.

“It would be if not for the fact that those are handmade specialty hats. Broad brim, natural materials, plus a sun shield. They’re extremely durable – if you remember to keep them on your head – and will last for years when taken care of properly.” Fiera grimaced. “I was never good at taking care of them. Neither was da. Ma used to get on us all the time for that.”

“Are all farmers that particular about their gear?” Gaspare asked. Kuen sipped his coffee and waited for Feira’s response.

“Any sensible farmer is extremely picky about their equipment, their clothes, everything,” Fiera said. Kuen hid his smile as she buried her nose in her coffee cup again. Gaspare’s face showed his interest in what she was saying but his eyes reflected he shared Kuen’s amusement.

“I’m going to assume that this is an obvious answer,” Kuen said. “But why?”

“It’s only obvious if you grow up around it,” Fiera said. “A farmer’s life and livelihood depend on being properly geared. That can be as simple as a sturdy set of boots or a durable hat. Or as complex as an intricate machine and the knowledge on how it works, or at least enough knowledge to keep safe and keep it working.” She shrugged one shoulder. “A lot of people seem to think farming is a simple life. Maybe if you’re playing at it. If you’re trying to make a living at it? It’s a fairly hard job.”

“It must be rewarding though, or people wouldn’t do it willingly,” Gaspare mused.

“Oh, it was rewarding enough before the Core invaded the Colonies,” Fiera said. “Now it’s a burden being a farmer. My family routinely saw our fields stripped bare by the demands of the Collectors, leaving nothing for us or our homeworld. If not for the fact that almost every family on Sorus kept a small, personal garden we’d all have starved even before the bombardment. Not to mention the bureaucrats in charge of Sorus don’t want to listen to the farmers and are killing the planet.”

“What do you mean by that?” Kuen asked, putting his cup down. Gaspare leaned forward, his own cup forgotten.

“Dirt needs nutrients just like people do. Certain plants suck up different nutrients faster than others. When a growing season for those plants is over you need to leave those fields fallow, with a nutrient producing ground cover to keep it from eroding away, while you grow in other fields. It’s why larger farms actually do better- we have more room to cycle crops.” Fiera played with one of her braids. “I’m certain you’ve heard the complaints that food production in the Colonies is dropping, and how they’re blaming the rebels for that fact.”

Gaspare nodded. “You’re saying they’re not?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt there’s some sabotage going on. It’s the nature of those who work with my father to create as much trouble as possible.” Fiera sighed and shifted her position. She linked her fingers and rested her chin on them. “The truth though is much worse than that. The demands of the Core cannot be met by the Colonies if the farmers aren’t allowed to do things their way. In truth, with the rampant abuse that’s been going on, we may never see a full recovery of the planets and a return to the kind of crop production we’re all used to.”

“Do you think, if the Colonies won back their freedom, you would see a drastic improvement in the lives of your people?” Gaspare asked.

“Not right away. There’s too much that needs to be repaired. But in a generation, maybe two, the Colonies would be back to what they were before I was born.” Fiera smiled. “Or so minds far greater than mine, and not so volatile as my da, have said – on both sides. The key is to avoid war at all costs. The kind of scars the conflict would leave might never be healed.

Kuen nodded. “War is to be avoided at all costs.  The Colonies are not equipped to defend against the kinds of horrors the CAF could unleash on them.”

“At least we agree on something.” Fiera sighed. “I suppose I should go back to rooms and get ready for tonight. As simple as this party is, it’s going to take me several hours because of my stylists. They’re going to fuss over me until things are perfect by their standards even if I’m happy.” She paused. “And I do need that nap if I’m going to be civil enough to be in polite company.”

Gaspare chuckled as she stood up, drained her cup, and wandered away. “She is a remarkable woman.”

“She is a broken woman, though she hides it well. She feels as betrayed by her father as I do by my mother.” Kuen played with a muffin, not really seeing it as he picked the breakfast confection to pieces.

Gaspare shook his head. “You’re getting crumbs everywhere, Kuen. You know my mother hates a mess.”

Kuen set the mangled remains of the blueberry muffin down. “Sorry. She gave me something to think about.”

“I hope she gave you a lot to think about. However, we need to let what she said rest and plan ahead for you staying with me in my townhouse.” Gaspare grinned. “How are we going to hide our wild, flagrant, bachelor ways from our mothers?” Kuen laughed and the two began to discuss tentative plans for the future.

Kuen let his servant fuss over him until everything was in order before joining the other partygoers. Gaspare left him leaning against the wall, his muscular frame half hidden in shadow. He spoke with those who came to him, but it was obvious he wasn’t meant to circulate.

Kuen appreciated Gaspare’s forethought in that. This wasn’t a politically motivated gathering, more a celebration of life of a young woman who was out of bounds as far as marriage was concerned. Michi would never allow her son to join the Benoit family officially – more because of their military connection than any real dislike of the family as a whole.

A sudden change in the flow of the crowd caught his attention. He smiled as Fiera glided over to his side, slipping her arm into his. “You look lovely this evening.” The fingers of his free hand went to the phoenix brooch where it rested just above her heart. “I’m surprised you found a way to make this work.”

“I didn’t.” Fiera smiled at him. “My stylists did.”

Kuen tilted his head to one side. “Is that something any in that profession can do?”

Fiera shook her head. Her scent was slightly different, more ginger than cinnamon. “It’s the sign of a truly extraordinary team that they can take whatever idea I come up with and make it work. My previous team was just as good.” She bit her lip. “In a way, our stylists become our family – the good ones do at least – because they are the closest people to us. Or so Xenon told me. He said the best courtesans all considered their stylists friends at least and as close as siblings at best.” Her smile was soft and warm. “Xenon and Calixtra certainly were that to me. I think these two will get to that point eventually.”

“The world of the courtesan is far more complex than I ever thought it was.” Kuen regarded her with some thoughtfulness. He caught sight of the silver-haired matron of the Benoit family moving towards them. “Here comes Lady Benoit.”

“Kuen, I hear you have decided to take Gaspare up on his offer of becoming his roommate at his townhouse,” Lady Benoit said as she reached them.

“Yes,” Kuen said with a chuckle. “He finally convinced me.”

“I was hoping you could help me persuade him to move home with me and his sisters,” Lady Benoit said. “I need his help in finding them husbands and he does not seem to take my requests seriously.”

“Is that not something you should turn to the High Admiral for instead of your son, who has his own matters to attend to?” Kuen asked, a sense of dread surfacing. Would he lose his freedom now, just when he’d finally gotten a glimpse of hope?

“My husband is often away, and I cannot depend on his judgment when it comes to the fitness of the young men I would prefer as husbands for my daughters,” Lady Benoit said with a sniff. “He expects me to marry them off to military officers.”

“I would expect the same thing, Mother,” Gaspare said as he joined them. “Stop trying to go behind my back and force something to happen that I do not wish. Father warned you what would happen if you tried that again.”

Lady Benoit stiffened before sweeping off, leaving behind the faint scent of decaying flowers. “Lord Gaspare, is your mother ill?” Fiera murmured.

“Perhaps in the head,” Gaspare muttered.

“No, Fiera has a good point,” Kuen said, realizing why the scent bothered him. “Your mother reeks of sickness. She wears perfume to hide it but no scent I know of is made of decaying flowers.”

“Oh, there are several that come across like that if your body chemistry isn’t right,” Fiera said. “That’s how you can generally tell a lady is unwell – the scent of their favorite perfume is altered in some way even though they’ve been wearing it for years.”

“You think that is what has happened with my mother?” Gaspare asked.

“I have met your mother more than once at parties, Lord Gaspare. Usually when she was trying to marry off your sisters. She has worn the same perfume every time. It’s a floral derivative, leaning heavily towards the sweet rose from Rumar. I know that one really well since I’ve worn it a time or two in order to please a picky patron,” Fiera said.

“My mother wears that when she wants to give the impression of innocence and youth.” Kuen grimaced. It was one of the perfumes she wore that he hated the most. “I know it does not usually smell like decaying flower petals.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Fiera agreed. “Yet that’s what I just caught a whiff of when she was talking to us.”

“She has been wearing the same perfume for as long as I can remember.” Gaspare frowned as he watched his mother. “I think I will have a word with Emele. See if she can talk mother into getting a physical. I doubt my mother will deny her like she does everyone else.”

“Oh, she’ll probably try to, but your daughter can use the ‘but I’m your daughter and I’m worried about you’ card. That should get her to do something.” Kuen glanced down at his companion. She was grinning mischievously. “It’s an effective tactic against obstreperous parents who don’t want to listen. I had to use it a time or two on my own mother until my younger siblings stepped in and took over that job for me.”

“Fiera, one of these days, I would like to see your homeworld,” Kuen said, startling the other two. He surprised himself by realizing he meant it. “You paint such a vivid picture of it, and yes I realize I would be very out of place on a high grav world out at the far end of the Colonies, but I want to see it.”

“Why?” Fiera asked, her eyes narrowed.

“While getting dressed I was listening to some music and a line stuck out to me.” Kuen rubbed the back of his neck. “‘Til your blinded eyes can see your own lies.’ How much of what I know about the Colonies is lies spread by the propaganda machine in the Assembly? How much of what the CAF teaches the cadets is true and how much is what the government wants us to believe?”

Gaspare’s expression told Kuen – much to his amusement – that this was not what he’d expected to hear. “This is a departure from how you have been lately,” the blond man said.

Kuen nodded. “You hit the target earlier when you told me I had changed beyond recognition from who I used to be. I despise the man I have let myself become in order to survive.”

“I have only what I know from my experiences on Bouarus to compare you to, so I’m not sure I trust this change of heart,” Fiera said.

“Shall we walk in the garden, Fiera?” Kuen asked. “I find the heat of the room is stifling.”

“Let me snag one of my sisters so I look like I am doing something useful, and I will join you,” Gaspare said. He strode over to a knot of equally as blond young women.

Kuen waited for Fiera’s nod of assent before he took her out into the garden. Though it looked like they were wandering, he was leading her to the one area on the vacation estate he knew they couldn’t be overheard or spied on – the water gardens. Gaspare and one of his sisters still in the CAF – a rather plain young woman named Dorielle – caught up with them as they settled down on a bench in front of a very elaborate series of back lit cascades.

“Fiera, this is Commander Dorielle Benoit,” Kuen said, introducing the two women. “Dorielle, this is Fiera Molohaney.”

“The Blue Butterfly,” Dorielle said flatly. “Gaspare, why do you think I’ll be interested in anything a brainless pretty like her has to say?”

“Gaspare, aren’t your sisters supposed to be at least as intelligent as you?” Fiera asked. Gaspare snorted. “Huh. I’d have at least thought your father wouldn’t allow anyone without a modicum of a brain into the CAF in a position of command.”

“He didn’t have a choice in Dori getting her rank. She was promoted by another High Admiral.” Gaspare tossed a closed flask to Fiera.

Fiera opened the lid, took a pull, and passed the flask to Kuen. Kuen grinned. He knew the liquor swirling inside well. It stung his nose even as it burned all the way down to his toes when he took his own swallow.

“Well, she must be good at something if she’s been able to keep her position as commander. Let’s hope it’s not reliant on her looks or her brains.” Fiera leaned against Kuen. The mixed scents of the liquor, the Himostava cookie spices, and that indefinable smell that Kuen was coming to identify as simply “Fiera” filled his nose. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she smiled up at him.

“She is incredibly efficient, if a bit dull,” Gaspare said as Kuen tossed the flask back to him.

“You could have been a commander yourself by now if you’d just stayed in, Gaspare,” Dorielle snapped.

“All right, enough bickering. You wanted Dori to hear what I had to say, so I’m going to say it. Fiera, you didn’t know me when Gaspare and I were at the Academy together. I was a decent soldier and a very good officer because I questioned everything. I never took anything at face value, demanded answers, and refused to do what I was told if I thought the risk was too high for those under my command.”

“It used to get him into serious trouble too,” Gaspare said. “At least with those members of the High Command who wanted blind obedience. Men like my father and women like High Admiral Mercado adored him because of that same attitude.”

Kuen half shrugged. “If they did, I never heard of it. I was good at my job, and I loved being in the CWA CAF. My whole life’s goal was to become a member of the High Command.”

“What made you choose to leave it then?” Dorielle asked.

“The High Command decided not to argue with my mother and forced me out. I’ve been reacting to her ever since.  For five years I let myself be turned into her perfect puppet.” Kuen grimaced and felt his muscles tighten. Fiera shifted and he tried to relax.

She moved away only to kneel behind him. She began rubbing his shoulders, her strong hands making short work of the knots in his muscles. He bowed his head, giving her more access to his neck.

“That’s a very vulnerable position, Kuen,” Gaspare said.

“I trust her.”

Those three words, hard fought, hard won. He did trust this vivacious woman from the Colonies. She was nothing like what his mother said, what the media painted Colonists to be like. If she was different, were others different as well?

“Such a vulnerable position will make it easy to kill you, foolish boy,” a lightly accented voice that sounded very similar to Lakshmi’s said.

“Ah, another one of the Devas,” Kuen said without bothering to look up.

“I am.”

“Which one?” Kuen asked. “Just so I know when Lakshmi inevitably pesters me about your disappearance as well.”

“I am Chanda, and you will die. I cannot have you interfering in my mission,” the woman said.

“I know you,” Dorielle said. “You’re my mother’s servant. You were hired by her about a year ago.”

“Another assassin?” Fiera asked, her hands stilling on Kuen’s shoulders.

“Apparently,” Gaspare said. “It also seems she’s trying to kill my mother.”

“Probably on my mother’s orders,” Kuen said.

“I would not betray my employer,” Chanda said haughtily.

“I didn’t think you would. I’m simply thinking out loud,” Kuen said.

“Questioning her is pointless then?” Fiera leaned up against Kuen, almost as if she were shielding him.

“Yes,” Kuen said.

Fiera moved like a cat. She used Kuen to launch herself at the assassin the young man had yet to set eyes on. He let her use him as a springboard before getting to his feet to serve as her backup.

Her high heeled shoes were still on the ground where they’d been sitting. Her hands darted faster even than when they’d been sparring. Her fingers brushed her braids and a moment later a long, thin blade emerged.

Chanda’s eyes widened. She tried to get out of the way, but the slim stiletto found its way into the surprised woman’s left eye. A blow to her throat silenced the scream that started and a third blow with a second blade finished her off.

“Well, at least this time there’s no blood on my dress,” Fiera said, shoving her hair back over her shoulder. “Blood is such a pain to get out of silk.”

“Wait,” Dorielle said, her face a mask of horror. “You came into the party fully armed?”

“I never attend a party unarmed. That’s a death sentence for the unwary courtesan. I will admit I’m probably one of the most well-trained courtesans when it comes to combat that you’ll ever meet though.” Fiera winced. “I think I twisted something.” She glanced down. “Well, I guess there will be a need to wash blood out of this dress after all.” Her legs buckled.

Kuen caught her just as he also saw the blade sticking out of her side. “Gaspare, get Emele.”

“Dori, go let security know that there’s another body to clean up.” Gaspare was already moving even as he shouted orders back at his sister.

Dorielle didn’t move for a few moments before scrambling to her feet and following her brother. “You do realize that dying isn’t going to get you out of showing me Sorus.” Kuen brushed a few strands of her hair out of pain filled eyes. Her lips twitched in spite of the wound. “I’ll be the one to take you home and I do not relish the idea of explaining to your family why I let you get killed.”

“My…father…isn’t…nice,” Fiera gasped.

“Don’t talk. You’ve probably got blood filling that lung,” Kuen cautioned.

“Feels…like…glass…”

Kuen went cold. If Chanda was using the same style of blade he’d once seen Lakshmi use it was quite possible there was something similar to crystal shards now streaking through her body. He needed to keep her calm, to prevent her heart from racing any faster than it already was.

“You are one tough young woman, Fiera. You probably saved my life tonight. I wasn’t in a position where I could have moved quickly enough to evade her. I owe you.”

“Take…me…to…dinner.” Blood trickled from a corner of her mouth.

“The Breathworks?” Kuen asked. There was a faint nod. “I’ll set the reservation as soon as I get back to my room. Emele will get you back on your feet in no time and we’ll be able to have that dinner.”

Fiera’s smile faded. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she went limp. Kuen clenched his teeth. Losing yet another friend was not an option. He didn’t want that phoenix brooch he’d given her to be a curse.

“Kuen.” Gaspare was at his side. “Em’s here with her crew. Let them take her.”

“The assassin probably used a Xenospar blade. She mentioned something about feeling like she was breathing glass before losing consciousness.” Kuen looked to Gaspare’s older sister.

“No one makes blades out of Xenospar,” one of Emele’s assistants snapped.

“A very specialized group of assassins does. The woman who attempted to kill us – and was also trying to kill our mother – uses them,” Gaspare snapped back.

Emele grimaced. “The scanner is picking up the shards all through her body. This isn’t going to be easy, Gaspare.”

“I know, Em. But she’s a good friend of ours and I don’t want her dying over trying to protect Mother,” Gaspare said.

“I’ll do what I can.” Emele and her team put Fiera into a stasis field and carried her off.

Dorielle returned with High Admiral Benoit himself. Two of his personal guards claimed Chanda’s body and carried it away. He dismissed his daughter before looking at the two young men. “Gaspare, report,” he barked.

“Ask Kuen,” Gaspare said. “He knows more than I do.”

High Admiral Benoit looked at Kuen. “Report.”

Kuen gave a terse accounting of the evening, what he knew of the Devas when prompted, and of how he and Fiera both realized that Lady Benoit was being poisoned when not even her own children knew this fact. “Fiera lost consciousness moments before Emele and her team arrived to evac her to the med lab.”

“You’re certain this is the daughter of the Silver Fox, Gaspare?” High Admiral Benoit turned to his son.

“I’m certain of nothing, Father. She says her real name of Fiera Rezouac, and from the reports we have the Silver Fox of Sorus is Eire Rezouac. She’s free in speaking her mind and condemning her father for the loss of life onboard the Lusitania, and how much she despises him for what he did.” Gaspare shrugged. “I used every technique you taught me to see if I could tell if she was lying once the DiME programming was broken. I think she was being honest.”

“She is also very insistent on not being alone with Lady Kakoric again. Apparently, she was the key to reviving the old personality through the key phrase.” Kuen tried to ignore the blood on his hands as he met the High Admiral’s steely gaze. “Lady Kakoric is Eire Rezouac’s sister, and he used that familial bond as a means to enlist her aid.”

High Admiral Benoit regarded him with some skepticism. “How do you know this?”

“Fiera herself told us her father’s name – before he became Eire Rezouac – was Gaiteran in origin.” Gaspare took up the thread of the tale. “His name was Leonidas Vasiliou. Lady Lachesis Kakoric, prior to her wedding, was Angeliki Vasiliou – twin sister to Leonidas, his partner in kericopac, and was most likely the only person in the Core he still trusted.”

“After what my mother did to him it’s a wonder he trusted anyone in the CWA.” Kuen grimaced. “She is a horrible example of humanity and really needs to be taken down.”

“That isn’t what I expected to hear.” High Admiral Benoit’s expression was unreadable.

Kuen got to his feet and started pacing. “You expected to see the good little puppet, didn’t you, sir?” He snorted. “I despise who I became after you threw me out of the CAF. Some of this can be placed at the feet of the High Command though. You trained me to be the perfect soldier, to follow orders, and to avoid harm to the innocent if possible. My mother figured that out very quickly and used that to her advantage.”

“You blame us for your dismissal from the CAF?” High Admiral Benoit asked.

“Would I have been sent away from the Academy if not for a direct order from the High Command?” Kuen countered. “The Commandant was no one’s fool. He wouldn’t have jeopardized his position by giving into a civilian entity without express orders from the High Command.”

High Admiral Benoit sighed. “He received the order from a majority vote of the High Command. Not all of us wanted you released to civilian life.”

“Then you should have done more to prevent it.” Kuen paused. “Though I am, in a way, grateful to you for not actually succeeding in that.”

“What do you mean by that?” Admiral Benoit asked, his eyes narrowed.

“I’ve learned some interesting things in just the past two days. I wonder just how much of what we are taught to believe about the Colonies is the truth and how much is ingrained into us from a young age because of the Assembly’s propaganda machine.” Kuen smiled grimly at the High Admiral’s shocked look. “You should really look into what life is like in the Colonies for yourself, High Admiral. Instead of waiting for your masters in the Assembly to feed you the choicest tidbits from their table.” He turned away. “I’m going to take a shower and then go see how Fiera is doing.” He strode off, his long legs carrying him out of hearing range of the High Admiral before the man could respond.