The Fifth Moon's Wolf (The Fifth Moon's Tales)

by Monica La Porta

  With a foreign detachment, Mirella watched the girl spill the caramel liquid all over the floor as she carried the teacup to the low table by Mirella’s sofa. She noticed that the china was from a different set than the one she usually used.

  Memories from the night before played back in a fast loop. “What happened to my favorite porcelain set?” Mirella asked, keeping her hands on her lap.

  Startled, Laura’s eyes widened. “I broke the cup while cleaning it—” She started crying again, and barely managed to deposit cup and saucer on the low table without dropping them, so much she shook by now.

  “Take care, child,” Aldo admonished the girl.

  “Forgive me, Blessed Bride.” Laura kneeled before the sofa, lowering her head.

  Mirella looked at the half-empty teacup, then at the cowering form of her lady’s maid.

  Laura had always seemed on edge around Mirella, but the full-blown panic attack she was having about broken china was too much even for her. And all that incessant crying about Mirella’s predicament, it now sounded off.

  Before drinking the herbal tea, the night before, Mirella had been planning her husband’s seduction. She had been awake and bristling with energy she wanted to spend with Valentine. The visit to the library first and his brushing touches later had filled her mind with all the possible lessons he could teach her. She had not been tired in the least. Yet, soon after sipping a few drops of tea, her head had felt heavy, and she had started yawning. At the moment, she had thought she almost sounded drunk.

  Drunk. The word evoked a memory from an earlier moment. Dragon drunkenly stumbling up the stairs. The High Lord had looked as if he had imbibed himself to stupor, but during the night, whenever Mirella had spotted him in the Grand Room, he had not been drinking. Busy as he was talking to Adris’ politicians and merchants, she could barely remember him holding a flute.

  Mirella looked back at the girl, and, finally, the whole picture was displayed before her eyes. With the kind of clarity that only comes from desperation, she knew how her and Dragon’s drama had played out. Only, she didn’t have time to prove her theory, so she played the only card she had left.

  She closed her eyes tight, then she pinched the bridge of her nose and moaned in distress.

  “Blessed Bride?” Aldo asked, stepping forward.

  “I’m feeling queasy.” Mirella dropped her head to the backrest behind, letting her hand trail to her side. A strangled wail escaped her mouth.

  Her performance spurred Aldo into action. “I’ll call the medicus.”

  Laura too reacted and sprung on her feet. “Blessed Bride, would you like a glass of water?”

  Turning her head slightly, Mirella whispered, “Yes, please.”

  Both the majordomo and her lady’s maid fussed over Mirella until Balenus arrived. Ten minutes had passed since Aldo had rung for the medicus. She had less than an hour to stop the duel.

  “Laura, I need to eat something solid,” Mirella said. “One of those savory breads from yesterday’s party perhaps. See if there’s any left in the kitchens.”

  Once the girl had eagerly left the room, Mirella addressed Aldo, “Order the trash to be searched and look for a porcelain teacup.”

  Frowning, Aldo was about to ask why, but she silenced him with a raised finger.

  “I was drugged and so was the High Lord,” she said.

  “It’s impossible—” Aldo stuttered.

  “It’s what happened, but I need to prove it before my husband enters the arena.” Satisfied that her statement had made an impression on Aldo, who immediately turned and rang the bell, she then turned toward the medicus. “Can you test my theory if the cup is found?”

  “It depends.” Balenus eyed her with an unreadable expression. “If the cup has been washed thoroughly, I won’t be able to find anything to corroborate your words.” The doctor’s eyes went to Aldo in the corner, who was issuing orders through the voice-intercom, then back to her. “It will also take hours to get the results back.”

  “Can you test my blood?” she asked, studying the reaction of the doctor as she offered her forearm.

  “It’s worth a try,” Balenus answered. “But the drug could be out of your system already.”

  A long, cold shiver ran through Mirella’s back.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The iron brand descended upon Valentine’s forearm.

  The smell of sizzling flesh reached his nostrils before he received the pain signal from his nervous system. As it was asked of him, he didn’t cry out but bore the excruciating agony with merely a flinch.

  When Gabriel raised the still incandescent brand, two letters were left on Valentine’s skin.

  VL.

  His initials carved by fire. If he were to die today, the gods would recognize him by his brand and receive him in the afterlife. As old as Lupine, the tradition to shave and brand duelers before they entered the killing arena served the purpose to make the severity of their decision abundantly clear to everyone involved. The shame from the shoring and the unbearable pain from the marking were usually deterrent enough to clip most fights in the bud. But, if that wasn’t enough, once the duel was fought and fates were sealed, the survivor would then receive a second brand on the left arm. His opponent’s initials. Taking a life was the most serious of matters, and no drive-by duels had ever been fought on the frontier planet. High rates of children’s mortality had decimated the first settlers’ wave, and they couldn’t afford to lose the few adults left, which led them to strictly regulate honor killings.

  The ache from the brand had the effect to finally wake Valentine from the numbness that had followed the destruction of his quarters. The angry-red wound on his arm hurt, making his eyes sting with tears he couldn’t shed.

  As his harsh reality came back into focus, Valentine realized that life as he knew it was no more.

  “Ready?” Gabriel asked.

  With a nod, Valentine stood and gritted his teeth when throbbing pain accompanied his every breath. Outside the Observation Deck, the air was cooler, and he passed his left hand over his bald skull. On their way to the gymnasium, he had a brief glimpse of himself before one of the many mirrors dotting his hallways, and he couldn’t recognize the man staring back at him.

  A somber presence, Gabriel silently walked by his side.

  “Thank you,” Valentine said, without slowing his pace.

  “For what?” Gabriel asked.

  “For being a loyal friend all these years.” The raw bite of the still burning brand made talking difficult for Valentine, but there were concepts he wanted to express, and it was now or never.

  “Don’t say it like that.” Gabriel stopped before him.

  “There isn’t any other way to say goodbye to a friend.” Before Gabriel could rebuke him, he said, “I have no intentions to die at the hands of Dragon, but I must entertain the thought that I might.”

  Gabriel shook his head and stepped aside.

  All of Lobo Mansion’s staff had gathered along the hallways, patiently waiting to salute their master. Heads high and two fingers pressed over their hearts, men and women wished him good fortune and a fair fight.

  Valentine had told Aldo to give everyone permission to witness the duel from the arena’s grandstands. By the time he and Gabriel finally approached the sports hall, a long procession followed them.

  One of the guards from the Solarian’s court exited the gymnasium and approached Valentine. “The High Lord is ready.”

  Valentine nodded while at the same time wondered where his majordomo was. Aldo should’ve been the one overlooking the final details. Shaking the bad feeling from his head, he entered the gymnasium and walked straight to the central arena. A crowd had already formed, filling the seats.

  Karl Maeister detached himself from the throng and advanced toward him. In his hands, the master at arms held Valentine’s electric saber.

  “Master Lobo.” Raising both hands higher than his shoulders, Karl presented the duel arm t
o Valentine.

  Valentine accepted the saber, then patted Karl’s shoulder and headed toward the central stage, so that Dragon could enter the arena as well.

  Before stepping on the leather mats, Valentine removed his shoes. Barefoot, he walked the perimeter of the fighting area twice. Then he kneeled, sat on his bent legs, leaned forward to lower his head to the floor, and sat again. He repeated the motion three times, then placed the saber in front of him on the mat.

  All the while, Gabriel had never left the edge of the fighting area.

  A moment later, Dragon was let in by his second. The Solarian, shaved, marked, and dressed like Valentine, walked slowly toward him. He followed the same rituals Valentine had executed, then he too rested his saber before him.

  Their respective seconds talked quietly for a few seconds, then bowed to each other and took their place at the opposite corners.

  Valentine had thought that he could confront Dragon in a civilized manner, but the mere presence of the man roused his bile while hatred consumed him anew. When the moment arrived to exchange their sabers, he pushed his sword toward the Solarian, but broke protocol by talking. “You don’t deserve to die in a duel.”

  Dragon stared at him with ice-cold eyes. “Know that, even though I am willing to pay your price for the alleged dishonoring of your bride, I didn’t bed her.”

  “How can you lie—” Valentine hissed under his breath, the pain from the branding adding to his ire.

  “I understand you saw what you saw. The only reason I’m here, facing you, is because if I were in your place, I would’ve demanded satisfaction as well. But I am innocent of any wrongdoing, and so is your bride,” Dragon said.

  “Stop talking.” Valentine grabbed Dragon’s saber as the Solarian took hold of his, then they both unfurled from the kneeling position and stood.

  “Bow,” Gabriel said.

  At the idea of having to show respect to his Mirella’s lover, blood stirred in Valentine’s vein, but he forced himself to go through the motion so that he could finally exact his revenge.

  “May the gods show you your true path,” both Gabriel and Dragon’s second recited the words. “Ignite your sword.”

  Valentine pressed the switch and Dragon’s electric saber, now his, came alive with a red halo around the sharp edge.

  When Dragon’s weapon was turned on as well, and its blue halo shone bright, their seconds said, “To death,” officially starting the duel.

  The low murmur of the crowd was silenced at once.

  Lunging, Valentine charged, but Dragon had anticipated his move and stepped aside, lowering his saber to Valentine’s free arm with a whirring sound. Blue sparks exploded all around Valentine.

  Blood trickled from the cut, but it only spurred Valentine to attack again. He spun his body as he jumped, then brought down the sword with all his strength in a display of red light, cutting Dragon’s shoulder. He landed behind the Solarian, ready to deliver another blow, but the man moved with unexpected speed for his size and blocked Valentine’s strike before he could complete the movement. Then Dragon drove his saber forward, hitting Valentine’s sword arm.

  Fueled by mounting rage, Valentine counter-struck in a rising-slide motion, hammering Dragon’s saber. Blue and red sparks illuminated the fighting space. Valentine took advantage of his steadier footing and pressed against the sword, but the man held onto his weapon and didn’t let go. Instead, the shifter pushed forward, forcing Valentine to step backward and lose his balance.

  In the eerie silence of the arena, his wolf snarled, reminding him of how he had found the Solarian intertwined with Mirella. With a loud growl, he lunged forward, but Dragon parried the strike. Then the Solarian spun and when he landed before Valentine, he brought down the saber with both hands. Valentine escaped the blow to his face, but just barely, and his cheek was grazed.

  Blood now marring his throat and his white kimono, Valentine’s anger glowed as fiery as his blade, and it burned him from the inside, renewing his strength. Once again, he raised his blade to exact his due pound of flesh.

  A scream resonated in the arena, startling Valentine because he recognized the voice.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Mirella didn’t know whom to trust any longer, but it was imperative she found a way to talk to Valentine. Almost an hour had passed already, and with only a few minutes left before the duel started, she had to convince Aldo to help her.

  While Balenus had stayed behind with her, the majordomo was supervising the servants looking for the broken pieces of the teacup. Mirella wanted to lend a hand, but was reminded of her husband’s order by Aldo. Although the man’s attitude toward her had slightly thawed, he still didn’t let her out of her quarters.

  After drawing her blood, the medicus had kept quiet for most of the time, working with ampoules and various medical gears the ancillae had brought for him.

  Mirella had no desire to talk to him, but she eventually had to break the silence. “My lady’s maid will be here shortly. I don’t want her to know we’re looking for the teacup she’s disposed of already.” She didn’t blink as she conveyed her message, but studied Balenus’ reaction.

  Once again, the medicus didn’t show any emotion on his face. Always jovial and boisterous, the man was acting out of character, and that scared Mirella.

  “As you wish, Blessed Bride,” Balenus answered after a moment, slightly lowering his double chin.

  After that brief exchange, they resumed their strained silence, leaving Mirella alone with her thoughts.

  Laura finally reappeared with a tray filled with food. “The kitchen staff wanted to prepare something fresh for the Blessed Bride, but the ovens weren’t ready, and the chef sent one of the scullery maids to fetch berries and other ingredients that were missing,” she said, in a rare show of loquacity.

  Mirella thanked her, then perused the offering and sent her away from the room with another errand. Again, her lady’s maid left, more than happy to remove herself from her mistress’ presence.

  Meanwhile, Mirella was stuck with the medicus, waiting for Aldo to come back with some news. Her eyes went to the clock on the wall every second or so. As if by looking at the clock’s hands, she might muster the power to slow time. On the hour, mournful chimes filled the silence, and Mirella’s heart skipped several beats.

  Then Aldo entered the room carrying a napkin.

  “Did you find the pieces?” Mirella asked.

  Aldo nodded and lowered the cloth on the low table, showing her the content of the folded napkin.

  “That’s the cup from which I drank yesterday,” she said for the medicus’ sake.

  Balenus shifted on his chair and leaned over the open napkin. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’ll need my laboratory’s equipment to complete the testing on the blood and on the cup.” He folded the napkin around the shards and cradled it in his hand, then stood and left.

  “Take me to the arena,” Mirella said to Aldo as soon as they were alone.

  “I can’t.” The majordomo looked ill.

  “If my husband dies—” She couldn’t finish her sentence. “Please, let me see him.”

  Aldo shook his head, but he met her eyes and sighed. “Master Lobo—”

  “He doesn’t have to know.” She would make penance later for the blatant lie she had just uttered.

  “I don’t know,” the majordomo whispered, passing his hand over his mouth.

  “The duel has already started. Please, Aldo, let me see him,” she repeated her request, tears freely falling from her eyes.

  “The gods forgive me,” Aldo crossed his mouth twice, then said, “Follow me.”

  Soon running, he led her through the servants’ passages. They went down a flight of stairs and entered a larger series of hallways. After a few minutes, Aldo stopped before a door.

  “This is the back entrance to the sports hall. You must keep—”

  Mirella didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. Before Aldo could stop her, she
opened the door and ran into a dimly lit space, finding herself in a narrow corridor overlooking the floors below from narrow windows.

  Aldo followed her. “Blessed Bride, please don’t—”

  She ran much farther along the corridor, then leaned out of one of the windows.

  Before she could even make sense of what she was staring at, Mirella screamed with all the breath she had left in her lungs.

  Her eyes told her a tale her mind couldn’t comprehend.

  Two men faced each other at the center of the oval arena. Their heads were shaven and their white kimonos were stained with red, blossoming flowers. In their hands, electric sabers pulsed with blue and red energy as they danced a macabre tango around each other.

  “Valentine!” She ran toward the stairwell she could glimpse farther ahead, taking the stairs two at a time and risking to stumble. “Valentine!” She kept shouting his name, just as a few steps behind her Aldo was calling hers.

  She exited the staircase and entered one of the landings close to the last row of seats. Without stopping, she took the stairs dividing the arena into sections and descended toward the fighting stage.

  Her screams had stopped the action on the mats. Valentine was staring at her and she could feel his rage and shock. Among the benches a few people stood, but nobody dared stop her. Only when she reached the first row did several men from the Solarian’s court motion for the guards to detain her, but Gabriel intervened on her behalf by nodding his consent for her to approach the central stage.

  In a heartbeat, she was by Valentine, standing in front of him. “Husband, listen to me, please—”

  “Remove her at once,” Valentine hissed to Gabriel.

  “Let her talk,” Dragon said.

  Before Mirella could blink, Valentine’s saber was at Dragon’s throat.

  She dropped to her knees. So close, she could touch her husband, she wanted to touch him, but refrained. “We were drugged. Dragon and I,” she said.