by E G Manetti
For half a period, the two women spar, Lilian’s longer reach compensating for her shorter blade. The quicksilver movements of Adelaide’s Discipline are a powerful counter to the savage grace of Sinead’s Discipline. Lilian is younger and has used her thorn to defend against assault four times in the past year and a half. Helena is a master of Sinead’s Discipline. At the sound of the chimes, the women break off, neither able to claim victory. Lilian has several new bruises from the blunted blade of the training sword, while blood seeps from a thorn scratch on Helena’s wrist.
“Your speed and strength continue to improve.” Helena rubs at the welling blood. “A year gone, you could not blood me.”
“Here, Maman.” Lilian pulls a healing cloth from the weapons cabinet after storing her mask. The battered cabinet is the only furniture in the courtyard and the entire first storey of sealed and shuttered chambers. After her sire’s execution, Lilian and her family returned to Crevasse City to discover that their home in the Garden Center District had been vandalized. The warrior elite who reside in the district were not satisfied with theft. What they did not steal, they fouled or destroyed. It was the labor of a sevenday to cleanse and secure the house, compelling Lilian to sacrifice precious bells needed to prepare for her indenture. What little of value remained, Lilian sold to keep the ruined women from starvation until Lilian’s bond executed.
Lilian does not fault her neighbors for their hatred of Remus Gariten and his foul crimes. It is a sentiment she shares. That does not mean she will forgive or forget how the ruin of their home terrified Katleen and pushed Helena’s deranged mind to the brink of full madness. Refusing to dwell on an unpleasant past she cannot change, Lilian focuses on Helena’s improved stability and the promise of the impending Bright Star summit. To have a role in the first stellar exploration venture in two centuries was beyond her wildest hopes two years gone. Reaching into the fountain for the breakfast tray, Lilian says, “I must hasten to ready for the Cartel. Do you wish the tray here or in your chamber?”
»◊«
A prickle of awareness ruffles the fine hair on the back of Lilian’s neck and sends her hand to the hilt of the thorn concealed by her suit jacket. Ever since the shrine beggar’s assault a year gone, Lilian is constantly alert to her surroundings. Using her peripheral vision and the reflections in the window, Lilian systematically scans the crowd on the public transport. Naught. All appear indifferent or unaware. Nonetheless, Lilian does not relax her surreptitious grip on her blade until she reaches the sidewalk.
Serengeti Headquarters gleams brightly in the temperate green-season morning. Rising thirty-five storeys, the tower encompasses an entire city block. Over the next period, five thousand Serengeti associates and retainers will converge on the structure. With quick steps, Lilian passes the Grey Spear Cartouche entrance and turns the corner, heading for the Blooded Dagger doors. The uneasy sense of being watched has not faded. As eager as she is to get within the shelter of Serengeti, Lilian will not use the Grey Spear entrance. Monsignor Lucius’ apprentice could never consider offering such a slight to his Cartouche. Nor can Lilian imagine willingly passing beneath the Grey Spear Cartouche emblem after all the abuse she suffered at the hands of its former preeminence Sebastian Mehta and his protégé, Martin.
Crossing the lobby to the Blooded Dagger riser banks, Lilian follows a handful of associates into a carriage. The black suit of a Blooded Dagger apprentice helps her fade into the shadows at the back of the riser, the other occupants fully visible and before her. This day, the precaution proves unnecessary. None of the associates deigns to acknowledge her, but neither are they interested in using the confined space to express their disdain with sly pinching and jostling. Nor are they interested in tormenting Lilian by delaying her with additional stops, a practice that has often sent her to the stairs. In a matter of minutes, the carriage whisks to the twenty-fourth storey, the first level of the Blooded Dagger section. Two more stops and Lilian is alone for the last few levels to the thirty-fifth storey and milord’s commerce suite.
Stepping into the empty riser bay, Lilian slips her thorn into her slate satchel. By milord’s grace, Lilian has permission to carry her blade within the Cartel except when with milord. Stricture observed, Lilian moves swiftly down the corridor, past the closed offices of Blooded Dagger’s most highly ranked retainers, and through the gleaming cherrywood worksites of highly placed associates. In moments, she reaches the double ebony doors to milord’s commerce suite and passes beneath the massive gold emblem of the Blooded Dagger Cartouche.
»◊«
Leaning back in the scarlet leather desk chair, Lucius gazes out at the capital of the Third System. Crevasse City straddles the origin of the Great Crevasse, the largest Vistrite mine in the Twelve Systems. The city and Great Crevasse were the foundation of the Fourth Warrior’s kingdom and now form the center of Lucius’ modern empire. It has only been a sevenday since Sebastian Mehta was banished from the Cartel, taking his ill temper and ceaseless intrigues with him. Lucius can look forward to attending the Bright Star summit without needing to worry that in his absence, Sebastian will create new problems.
As the sound of eighth bell chimes, the scarlet door recesses and Lilian steps lightly into the chamber, the lithe grace of her slender form highlighted by the stark black suit of a Blooded Dagger apprentice. Pulled tightly to her head and constrained in a warrior’s queue, Lilian’s dark red hair appears nearly as black as the suit. The severe hairstyle displays her fine bone structure, creamy complexion, and, most importantly to Lucius, gray eyes unclouded by weariness or anxiety.
Their late-night passion has not left her weary. If anything, she appears better for it. The evidence of Lilian’s remarkable resiliency is pleasing, but Lucius does not trust it. Lilian endured terrible abuse at the hands of Sebastian Mehta and his protégé, Martin. For all her apparent well-being, Lucius remains concerned that the violent assaults of the past two years have pushed her to the verge of collapse. If she were another, Lucius would give her several sevendays respite to fully recover. It will not serve. The terms of her Trial by Ordeal forbid it, and her involvement in both Bright Star and Mercium makes such measures impractical. As it is, Lucius intends to keep her assignment load in check throughout the Bright Star summit on Fortuna nearly two months hence. The stellar voyage and the summit will allow Lucius to provide her with increased respite without it becoming visible. For the moment, all he can do is watch her and continue with commerce as usual.
Lucius smiles as Lilian comes to attention on the far side of his expansive ebony desk. “What have you for me?”
“The most recent Bright Star financials,” Lilian replies, pulling forth her slate. With a quick glance at her notes, Lilian launches into her status report. There is naught new in the routine report, but that is not its purpose. It is an exercise in commerce discipline. It also offers Lucius the opportunity to relax and enjoy the sight of Lilian’s long legs, revealed by the skirt hemmed four inches above her knee as he requires.
“Well done,” Lucius approves as Lilian completes her recitation. “Have you checked the rankings?”
“Yes, milord.” Lilian’s eyes brighten. “Serengeti continues to hold the place of third among the Cartels. If I may know—” Lilian hesitates, uncertainty entering her tone.
“What would you know?” Lucius encourages, almost certain he knows.
“What say the odds managers?” Lilian asks, the fingers of one hand flickering over her conservator’s seal.
Wagering is a favored pastime in the Twelve Systems but one apprentices are forbidden. Lilian’s extraordinary analytical abilities compelled Lucius to extend the prohibition to any discussion of odds management. The malicious could exploit the slightest hint of a stricture violation to indict her and void her Trial by Ordeal, sending her to the Final Draught. It took exceptional discipline for Lilian to obey his command and not check the published odds on Serengeti’s advancement to third among the cartels.
Repressin
g a smile at Lilian’s nervous tell, Lucius indulges her curiosity. “Four to one in favor of Serengeti’s confirmation as third among the cartels by new year.”
Lilian rewards Lucius’ indulgence with a rare full smile. To ascend a rank, the Cartel must exceed the current position holder’s wealth by at least four percent and for no fewer than six months. For the last three months, Serengeti has edged out the Orion League, the former’s wealth expanding rapidly with the increasing demand for Mercium and the escalating value of Bright Star. The success of both ventures has been due in no small part to the woman before him, whose smile has already faded into her customary reserve. A woman Lucius fears may be reaching the limit of her endurance. Expression softening, Lucius adds, “You need not attend me this midday.”
“Yes, milord.” Lilian’s dutiful response holds a flattering hint of regret.
Lucius regrets it as well. As much as he enjoys bending Lilian over his desk, he has a much less pleasant task this midday. Normally, a public caning would not be worth his time. In this instance, he has no choice. “I will be absent from the Cartel.”
At his words, Lilian’s face closes into shuttered, stoic lines. The slender fingers flutter along the scarlet conservator seal. Demon shit! Lilian is well aware of what takes Lucius from the Cartel this day. The reminder can be naught but distressing for her. Pushing back his chair, Lucius beckons. “Come here.”
Obediently, Lilian rounds the desk and steps between his spread thighs. Setting his hands on her waist, Lucius can feel her tension. Watching her face for the least sign of emotion, Lucius rubs his thumbs lightly—and, he hopes, reassuringly—across her taut midriff. “He cannot hurt you again. After this day, Martin Argon will be banished from the Third System.”
“Yes, milord,” Lilian agrees, her spine relaxing slightly. “I will be glad when it is done and he is gone.”
“I as well,” Lucius admits. Martin’s Cartel caning and banishment were but the start of his penalties for his assault on Lilian. Under the Governing Protocols, an assault on Lucius’ conservator is an assault on Lucius. The civil authorities have extracted additional fines on Lucius’ behalf and sentenced Martin to a public caning. Lucius does not ask again if Lilian wishes to witness the event, aware that her profound aversion to corporal punishment is due to Gariten’s abuse of her mother. Simply knowing about today’s public caning may well cause the return of evil memories.
When Lilian entered the Cartel, Sebastian Mehta was the preeminence of the Grey Spear Cartouche and a Cartel governor. For over a decade Sebastian thwarted Lucius’ ambitions and attempted to undermine his authority. One of Sebastian’s cruelest intrigues saw Lilian viciously scourged. Within a season, Martin assaulted her in the Archives, intent on rape and probably murder. As it is, Lilian is safe, the governor’s executor will soon cane Martin, and Lucius has swept Sebastian from the Cartel as Disordered in His Wits. The last is a victory Lucius achieved with significant aid from his rapidly paling apprentice. “Will it be well with you this day?”
“Yes, milord,” Lilian insists tightly. “I beg milord’s pardon. I did not mean to . . .”
With a helpless gesture, Lilian trails off, unable to find words for the emotions she is repressing.
Knowing there is naught else he can say to relieve Lilian’s distress, Lucius settles for pulling her into his lap for a prolonged kiss.
»◊«
The pleasant taste of milord’s kiss lingers on Lilian’s lips as the scarlet door closes behind her. Uncertain what prompted milord’s unexpected embrace, she is glad of it. Lilian has always enjoyed milord’s physical attentions. Of late, milord’s attentions seem somehow more. Lackwit. After a year and a half, milord is familiar, no longer so frightening. It is naught else. It can be naught else.
Pushing away from the door, Lilian glances about the reception area, finding it deserted but for Mistress Marieth. With her elegantly bound silver hair, patrician features, and stylish garb, milord’s executive servitor matches the polished splendor of the cherrywood worksite. At Lilian’s polite greeting, Marieth returns a small inclination of her head and then raises a disapproving eyebrow.
Lilian immediately sends a hand to her hair. It would not be the first occasion milord’s embrace left it in disarray. The heavy locks feel smooth and tight to her head, the nape ties snug. A quick trip to a freshening closet reveals lips swollen from milord’s kiss and that milord’s questing fingers left two buttons undone on her blouse. Shaking her head at milord’s mischief, and her own obliviousness, Lilian sets her attire to rights. With a light step, she makes her way from the thirty-fifth storey to the twenty-fifth and the sea of utilitarian, gray worksites used by the Blooded Dagger apprentices and junior associates.
Tucked into an isolated corner by the risers, Lilian’s worksite has a wall at its back and two discouraging associates in the front. Turning down the narrow walkway, Lilian notes that the Grim Twins have not yet arrived. Although no one has admitted it, Lilian is certain that they are Seigneur Trevelyan’s operatives. The proximity of their worksites to hers provides milord with close monitoring of her behavior and Lilian with protection from harassment.
As Lilian settles into her worksite, Rebecca turns in her chair across the narrow walkway. “You were a long time at eighth bell.”
Busying herself at her reviewer, Lilian hides a face flushed from recall of exactly how eighth-bell attendance ended. As welcome as it is to have her friend and fellow apprentice so close, there are times it can be a nuisance. Seeking to distract the other woman, Lilian asks, “Is that a new suit?”
“Yes it is, do you like it?” Rebecca preens, rising to show off a fashionable outfit of better quality than Lilian’s inexpensive and serviceable attire. Rebecca’s suit is also noticeably less provocative than has been her habit, the skirt a decorous inch longer than Lilian’s. The fitted jacket flatters Rebecca’s lovely curves without clinging. The silk blouse is as modestly buttoned as Lilian’s.
“Well?” Rebecca demands sharply, her aquamarine eyes narrowed, the delicate, heart-shaped face scowling at Lilian’s lack of enthusiasm.
“The suit is very becoming,” Lilian hastens. “Although I do not fathom how you can walk in those heels.” The stylish, six-inch heels make Lilian’s feet ache in sympathy.
“They are pretty, and not all of us are blessed with your inches.” Rebecca flounces into her chair, kicking her feet tauntingly.
Shaking her head at the irrepressible platinum blonde, Lilian remarks, “Of all of us, I think the black of a Blooded Dagger Raven suits you the best.”
“Being a Raven suits me.” Rebecca smiles, using the common term for a Blooded Dagger apprentice. “I couldn’t hope for a better seigneur than Seigneur Trevelyan.”
“Diction,” Lilian murmurs back.
“What say you?” Rebecca’s confusion quickly turns to realization “Rimon’s Saber! Will I ever remember? Could not. Could not have a better seigneur.”
“Peace, Rebecca, you are doing well for coming so late to it,” Lilian encourages. “Katleen slips up, and she has been trained against contractions since she could talk.”
“Please do not repeat that,” Rebecca pleads in mock horror. “Should Seigneur Trevelyan hear that I am no better than a thirteen-year-old, he’ll have me doing diction exercises until my tongue falls off.”
Ignoring Rebecca’s latest lapse, Lilian asks, “What has Seigneur Trevelyan assigned you? Are you free to speak?”
“Along with Tabitha, I am still investigating anything questionable from the Grey Spear seigneur profiles we collected for Sebastian Mehta’s Cartel review. Much of what we are finding is not actionable, though it could prove useful leverage in the future.” Rebecca gives a little sigh at the tedium of the task. “I did hope for an assignment with the security-privilege arrangements for the Bright Star summit on Fortuna. Will you accompany Monsignor Lucius?”
Fortuna, located in the Fourth System, contains the Twelve Systems’ most sophisticated fabrication centers
for stellar transports. It is also the headquarters for Monsignor Angus’ Leonardo Society, and the location of the Summit. All three Bright Star Consortium partners—Serengeti, Matahorn, and Leonardo—will convene to review the progress of the stellar exploration venture. Not by chance, the Summit coincides with the start of the construction of the Stellar Exploration Vehicle.
Nodding, Lilian confirms her participation. “The risk analysis and financials for SEV1 construction will be part of the proceedings.”
“I notice you have started calling it the SEV1 and not simply the SEV,” Rebecca returns. “Are there plans for a second vehicle? Would it not be prohibitively expensive?
“Another? The first is yet to be constructed.” Lilian huffs a laugh. “No, Seigneur Marco made the designation as a reference to the SEV1’s revolutionary design. There will be no other stellar transport with its speed or capacity anywhere in the Twelve Systems.”
»◊«
Stepping off the riser at the thirty-fifth storey, Lilian bypasses milord’s suite and turns down the corridor that holds the office of milord’s protégé, Nickolas. Although Nickolas no longer treats her with disdain and hostility, this is the first occasion he has requested her presence for other than assigned tasks. The clear wall of Nickolas’ office reveals a tall figure with a strong build gazing out the far window into the Garden Center. A loose queue of burnished copper locks rests on broad shoulders encased in a dark gray suit. As Lilian crosses the threshold, Nickolas turns, green eyes glowing with excitement in a face so handsome it is almost pretty.
“Conservator,” Nickolas steps forward, “please have a seat.”
“What is it you wish of me, Master Nickolas?” Lilian settles tentatively into a seat in Nickolas’ office. After over a year of Nickolas’ insistence that she stand as befits an apprentice, she has not yet fully accepted his change in attitude.
