by E G Manetti
Micah’s eyes widen and then narrow. His hands open and he nods. “I will ask again in six months.”
Lucius has no doubt that on the day Micah reaches his majority he will present himself to be bloodsworn. Solomon must have been well pleased in his heir. “Is there aught else?”
“If Monsignor pleases?” At Lucius’ nod, Micah says, “Elysia’s image has been in the media since her cotillion. We were monitored from the moment we entered the indulgence. How is it that a black raider was permitted to approach her?”
That a notorious gray commerce raider runs The Blade’s Point is part of its allure. But Micah was not wrong to believe that they would be safe since harm to Elysia would bring down the might of Blooded Dagger. “I know not, Micah, but I soon will.”
Unlike Micah, Tiger Sylvester will not be released with just a warning and a few light bruises.
»◊«
At the soft hiss of a door recessing, Lilian raises her eyes from her slate to watch Rebecca exit Trevelyan’s office and Malcon enter. The owner of The Blade’s Point is soon to encounter Monsignor’s spymaster and chief assassin. Lilian’s rare, delighted smile follows Malcon into the spymaster’s office.
At the sight of that smile, Rebecca misses a step. Before either Raven can speak, Micah emerges from milord’s office, pale and resolute. Acknowledging the Ravens with a nod, he strides from the suite.
Honor is my blade and shield. Entering milord’s opulent office, Lilian discovers what she expected. Milord is enraged. A black tsunami roils in milord’s eyes, tension marking every line of his tall frame as he prowls along the wall of windows that offer a vista of the Garden Center and the cityscape beyond.
Honor knows not fear. She has not incited milord’s rage. She can do naught but stand before the ebony desk and wait.
Milord’s pacing ceases. He turns from the impressive vista, one hand moving to release jacket fasteners. “Come.”
Settling her slate bag on milord’s desk, Lilian removes her jacket as she walks forward, draping it on the back of a chair. By the time she reaches milord, his jacket is gone and his tunic open. Shrugging her top from her shoulders, she sets it on a side table.
Milord’s mouth is hot, invading, overwhelming. Milord’s hands are hard and insistent as he molds her to him. Releasing her mouth, milord discards her bra before sliding his hands under her skirt, grasping her buttocks. Wrapping her arms about his neck, she presses against the hard ridge of milord’s trouser-encased erection. Mouth on hers, milord pulls her to the floor. Yielding to both kiss and descent, Lilian revels in the sensation of milord’s bared torso against her naked breasts, the pressure of milord’s sex against hers.
Milord pushes her onto her back, dragging her skirt to her waist. Her legs, loosened in invitation, are pushed wider by milord’s knees. His eyes are black with passion, behind which surges rage that makes her heart hammer. Dropping his head, he licks and sucks the tender tips of her breasts into hard points. The hand attempting to explore her sex fists in the black silk barrier and tears it free.
The contained violence of the act, coupled with the stroking of milord’s fingers along her heating core, draws a whimper from Lilian. Reaching for him, she presses her cleft into the urgent touch. Releasing her, milord collects her exploring hands and places them by her head on the carpet. Through lips stiff with passion, milord says, “Do not touch me.”
At Lilian’s gasped, “Yes, milord,” he returns to a skilled exploration of her sex. Clever fingers probe the delicate folds, penetrate her tight channel, and insistently work the small morsel of flesh that controls her passion. His dark gaze commands hers as he works her into wet, swollen need.
With one hand, milord releases trouser fastenings, freeing the hard length of his sex. She moans and moves in invitation, arching toward milord’s shaft. She desperately wishes to reach for milord, her control tested to its limits as she keeps her hands on the rug and her legs from milord’s waist.
Milord’s hands grasp her hips, tilting her, positioning her for the coming penetration. The head of his sex strokes along her opening, calling forth another desperate sound. In response, milord sends the hard, hot length of flesh into Lilian’s body. He pulls back and then surges forward again. Hard, sure strokes call forth more wetness and greater heat. He releases her hips to the floor and begins to move in the hard driving rhythm that can bring such pleasure. Gasping, Lilian attempts to meet the rhythm. She is hampered by milord’s command. She cannot achieve the leverage and positioning she requires. Frantic and wanting, she entreats, “Please, milord. Please, may I touch milord?”
“Yes,” he groans, driving into her.
Wrapping her legs about milord’s waist, reaching with her arms, Lilian finds the angle and leverage to match the wild rhythm of milord’s desire.
Lilian’s movement pulls Lucius deeper into her and tightens her around him. The intense pleasure of it shreds the last of his control. He pounds into the hot, welcoming chamber with complete abandon, surging into shattering release.
His shattered senses collect, beginning with scent. The pleasant citrusy scent of Lilian’s skin is followed by awareness of its silken texture and the firm muscle beneath. A softer surface penetrates Lucius’ awareness where he rests against her breasts. The sound of light breathing whispers near him as does the sensation of a delicate sigh against his neck.
They remain on the rug. He is prone, yet inside Lilian and half his torso on the rug. Her face is turned toward him, allowing her breath to tickle his neck. As he assesses their position, Lilian’s hips move in a languid circle, her chamber tightening. Shifting to his forearms, he examines her recumbent form. Her eyes are closed, her aspect serene. He traces the line of the cheek turned toward him. “Lilian.”
Milord’s featherlight touch and voice pull her from her blissful haze. Opening her eyes, she finds the tsunami has retreated. Milord is in control. As milord is still within her, she may return his gentle caress. “Yes, milord?”
“Is it well with you, woman?” Milord’s face is close, his voice roughened by waning emotion.
“Yes, milord.” More than well. Do not. Do not.
For a moment milord’s gaze searches her face, attempting to read her mind. He will find naught but blissed-out serenity. Ninth bell chimes and milord eases from her.
Fastening his trousers, Lucius watches Lilian rise and gather her garb. He does not miss the minute drop of her shoulders, quickly corrected, as she collects the scrap of black silk and lace he destroyed. It was not well done. Lilian dislikes the lack of lingerie. She finds it humiliating.
Rising from the rug, Lucius ignores his tunic and jacket. He will have recourse to the freshening closet before he resumes his garb. Settling at his desk, Lucius begins to tap instructions.
»◊«
“He’s dead. What would you have of me?” Naught in Tiger Sylvester’s casual tone and comment indicates that there is a blade pressed against his manhood or that he is pinned to a table in the chamber where Elysia was assaulted. “I cannot kill him again.”
Four Serengeti Militia guards hold the raider to the table while a dozen others control the thug’s minions. It is Malcon’s blade at Tiger’s groin. Trevelyan paces in slow circles around the pinned raider.
“You did not slay him, did you?” Trevelyan asks.
The black raider died of a broken neck given him by Bran in combat. Only one of the six involved in the assault on Elysia lives, the woman Micah left bleeding on the floor. Two others were destroyed by Raleigh and Caoimhe. Tiger’s late-arriving minions took two more before the governor’s militia arrived to restore order. By then, Micah had Elysia halfway to the Mercio mansion.
“Mercio’s free-trader associates are remarkably effective. Quite the surprise it was, given their Universalist leanings.” The last word ends in a sharp cry as Malcon presses his point.
“Do not compel me again to remind you to be respectful in reference to Monsignor.” Malcon’s even tone belies his fell intent. H
e would very much enjoy unmanning his onetime master.
Trevelyan looms over him. “Do not attempt to avoid the question. The shadeless scum should not have been within five paces of Mistress Elysia. Do not attempt to pretend you did not have her monitored from the moment she entered.”
Trevelyan’s quiet tones are not reassuring as he halts by Tiger’s head, the direction of his gaze indicating he is considering breaking Tiger’s nose.
“Yes, well, that was a lapse. I was hoping the lad would lure the girl into an enjoyment chamber,” Tiger admits without shame. “The monitor records would have been priceless.”
A sharp cry completes Tiger’s sentence as Malcon brings his point through skin. “Shades take it, Mistress Elysia, then. I intended no ill to Monsignor’s daughter, only advantage for myself.”
“Advantage?” Trevelyan pursues. At the spymaster’s nod, the militia guard holding Tiger’s right arm shifts. He holds the black raider at wrist and shoulder. Trevelyan grasps the first two fingers in an iron grip. “Voice it or I will cripple you.”
“Cease. I will speak,” Tiger yields. Trevelyan releases his fingers. “The dead raider was an unwelcome but unavoidable commerce partner. I’d have had him killed a decade gone, but the Assassins’ Guild would not allow it. I had no idea he’d be here last night. I didn’t even know he’d arrived until he appeared in the erotic entertainment chamber. I knew he favored young, fresh women, so I sent my enforcers. All I needed was for him to lay but a finger on her and I would have unchallengeable license to kill the shadeless scum.”
Malcon’s eyes gleam with anticipation. “You used Monsignor’s daughter as bait to serve your ambitions. Offer a single reason that you should retain your manhood.”
»◊«
The green-season day is inviting, Chrys more than willing to accompany Lilian on a stroll around the block encompassed by Serengeti Headquarters. “Micah owns a black eye, split lip, and, from his movements, bruised ribs.”
Lilian nods. “Public and painful, but none of the injuries offers permanent harm. Seigneur Thorvald’s chastisement was warranted and precise.”
That none of the injuries will be tended until Micah returns home at the end of the commerce day is part of the retribution. Knowing that Lilian has suffered more for far less cause, he changes the topic. “The cartel is agog to discover that the deacon and his companions are so effective in battle.”
“We knew Deacon Raleigh must be fierce to have succeeded against the pirates,” Lilian returns. “Until I viewed the visuals, I had no notion of the effectiveness of their battle techniques. As best I can tell, they combine free-boxing, the Balance Way, and a smattering of warrior disciplines.” Lilian pauses in her step. “I would very much enjoy the opportunity to match Caoimhe.”
Whatever troubled her when she joined him in the variants lab has dissipated under the influence of the bright day. Her shoulders swing loosely. Her countenance is light as she contemplates matching the deacon’s enforcer. He smiles at the thought. “I would very much enjoy viewing such a match. Please inform the consortium if you are able to arrange it.”
As they reach the Blooded Dagger entrance to the cartel, Lilian returns his smile. “You are the best of companions. I have voiced it before. I voice it again. You have no notion of your importance to me.”
Smile broadening, Chrys says, “You have no notion of your importance to me. I think better for your presence.”
»◊«
Eased by her time with Chrys, Lilian makes her way to her worksite. She is a lackwit to be troubled by the lack of a scrap of black silk that none but milord and she know is lacking. Neither Grim Twin does aught but glance her way as she passes. She wonders if when her bond proves she will learn their names.
Do not. Do not. There is only this day. Rebecca is not at her worksite as Lilian settles into hers, discovering the electric-green box that is the signature of one of the most expensive boutiques in the lobby. The establishment offers only the most leading-edge and finely crafted of fashions. Lifting the top of the box, she finds two delicate pieces of black lace. A questioning finger reveals that the delicate lace is as soft as down. The intricate patterns will not abrade.
“What have you there?” Rebecca’s voice disrupts Lilian’s examination of the fine lingerie. Before Lilian can replace the box lid, Rebecca closes the distance. It does not require the brilliance of the spymaster’s apprentice to interpret the contents of the box and Lilian’s discomfort.
Closing her lips and squaring her shoulders, Lilian meets Rebecca’s intent gaze, prepared to defend milord if Rebecca voices aught that is disparaging.
To her amazement, the lovely blonde grins. “Monsignor’s taste is exceptional. Which is a matter of no surprise; that his interest in you remains unabated is.”
“Rebecca, I take not your meaning,” Lilian returns.
Rebecca’s grin shifts into its once common educating Lilian expression. “Have you not noticed that neither Clarice nor Chrys are required at midday more than once a sevenday?
“No, of course you have not,” Rebecca answers her own question. “When would you have had opportunity to note it?”
She settles into the small, hard guest chair at Lilian’s worksite and continues. “It is common for the bondholder’s carnal interests to fade after the first year. Seigneur Rachelle’s interest remained strong for more than twice that, but even it has begun to wane. Seigneur Tristan has not called Verity to him since the Nightingale launch. That Monsignor’s interest remains strong is much commented upon.”
This day. Lilian cares not for comment although she is pleased that milord has not tired of her.
Rebecca shakes her head. “Lilian, you know it must be so.”
“That all that occurs in Monsignor’s orbit is noted? Yes, Rebecca, I know it well.” Rising with the box, she says, “I have been the subject of so much malicious comment that even that which is not ill meant disturbs. If you will excuse me, I require the freshening closet.”
»◊«
“Five million?” Lucius responds to Trevelyan’s report. “Who has fronted such a sum?”
Tiger Sylvester retains his manhood, although it is somewhat battered. It will be some days before he is able to mount a woman. His countenance is marred by a twice-broken nose, split lip, and two black eyes. Malcon is satisfied he broke several of the black raider’s ribs.
Trevelyan would have extracted a harsher penalty were it possible. The spymaster is certain Tiger considers the beating a small price to pay for being rid of an unwanted black commerce partner. Nonetheless, Trevelyan was forced to concede the thug’s point. Five million is a great deal of motive for assassination. They require Tiger alive and in control of Third System assassins if Lilian is to survive to prove her bond.
Trevelyan has also claimed all the monitor visuals of Elysia’s excursion in the indulgence, including the one where she is seated in the circle of Micah’s arms, aroused by the carnal entertainment. Tiger had intended to hold the visual as future leverage against Lucius.
“A consortium of interests, according to Tiger,” Trevelyan responds to Lucius’ question. “I should have foreseen the possibility. There are hundreds of millions at stake for the odds managers. A few with the most to lose could readily front such a sum.”
»◊«
Horatio Margovian considers his son and heir with quiet satisfaction. Of a height with Horatio, William’s build is not as powerful, but he has inherited Horatio’s strong leonine features, his dark olive skin a mix of Horatio’s bronze and his mother’s fairness. His heir’s gray-flecked blue eyes, so different from his own dark eyes, are an ongoing reminder of the consort Horatio loved in his youth. Back when his hair was as thick, dark, and wavy as William’s.
Although Horatio’s spouse teases him for the vanity that keeps his graying head shaved bald, she is mistaken. When he set aside William’s mother to accept the alliance required of the Margovian preeminence, he set aside his youth. His shorn head was the mark o
f his transition.
William finishes his report, his sources as informative as ever. They know Lucius’ free-traders were involved in an incident at the most popular and notorious indulgence in the city. They know that Raleigh and his fellows destroyed a dangerous black raider and several of his lieutenants. They have unconfirmed intelligence that Elysia and her favorite escort were within the indulgence at the time and that His Preeminence’s daughter was accosted by the dead raider.
The proprietor’s security-privilege measures are excellent. No monitors but his operate within the structure, and given Trevelyan’s early morning visit to the man, it is safe to assume Serengeti has all the monitor records. That Elysia’s escort was seen to exit Serengeti bearing the marks of warrior retribution is confirmation enough. William’s sources indicate that the indulgence owner was not so gently treated.
It is no more than Horatio or William would have executed in similar circumstances. It is both entertaining and intriguing.
“See you advantage in this?” Horatio asks.
“None as yet. There is no benefit to Matahorn in provoking a scandal involving Lucius’ child, as such intrigues are too readily returned.”
“Convenient that Lucius’ free-traders were on hand,” Horatio says.
“It may in truth be no more than coincidence,” William replies. “Nonetheless, I understand The Blade’s Point is a popular venue for post-cotillion enjoyment. I believe I may relieve the ennui of elegant entertainment with a visit after the Governor’s Cotillion.”
At his son’s suggestion, Horatio smiles and nods. “Have Basil join you. He has a better chance of gaining intelligence from the younger set.”
10. The Th
ird System’s Governor
The Third System’s governor holds direct descent from the first governor appointed by Jonathan Metricelli. As the Fourth Warrior’s sheriff, the governor is the spiritual as well as genetic heir to the first of those who enforced the Five Warriors’ Order in the Third System. The Governor’s Cotillion dates to the earliest cotillion seasons, established when travel among the systems remained perilous.
