by E G Manetti
The grounds were ceded to Adelaide by the Fourth Warrior before the Code of Engagement was ratified. Upon the passing of Socraide Omsted, Adelaide returned to Metricelli Prime and constructed her private residence. Leaving the area before the structure a meadow, she planted elaborate gardens in the rear, where they could be viewed from her chambers, mingling her favorite plantings from the First and Third Systems with samplings from the newly opened Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Systems. Elaborate for the time, the gardens have been tended and expanded over the centuries, becoming the envy of the Garden Center.
Upon her death, Adelaide gifted her home and gardens to a kinsman and retainer. Two generations later, the kinsman’s heir was anointed Adelaide’s Prelate, the first of the prelate line. The Lady Prelate constructed the alcove in the Garden Center Warrior Ring and dedicated her home as the alcove keeper’s quarters. ~ excerpt from Crevasse City, a visitor’s guide.
Sevenday 143, Day 6
I am the sum of my ancestors. She is not early for midday; the timer functions ill. The chimes are slow.
I am the foundation of my family. There had been unmistakable humor in Master Chin’s voice when he released her from restriction this morning. The ankle in question is streaked with yellow from the fading bruises. They are the only marks that remain from the match with Caoimhe, all the others faded more than a day gone. Flexing her foot in her pump, she can sense no weakness. On the morrow she will return to race training, although she will heed the medic and halt the exercise at the first twinge.
Chimes. At last. It has been over a sevenday since Lilian enjoyed milord’s embrace.
Her eyes sweep the chamber. Not the desk. Not the sofa. The windows. Jacketless, face to the view, milord’s hands are clasped behind his back.
Settling her jacket and slate on the small table by the scarlet door, she awaits milord’s attention.
His are words are soft and thick. “Disrobe to your lingerie.”
Delicate muscles clench. She can view naught of milord’s reflection in the windows. But he can see her. With practiced grace, she drops her skirt and shrugs free of her loosened top. Stepping from her shoes, she gathers her skirt and top, adding the to the discarded jacket.
Clad in naught but two delicate structures of intricate black lace soft as down, she can feel milord’s gaze, as palpable as a caress, swelling her breasts and heating her sex.
Milord’s shoulders shift, his arms rising to what she knows are tunic fasteners. Desire rises with anticipation of milord’s bared back and shoulders.
“Come.”
The trembling in her step is not from ankle weakness but arousal. As she reaches the casual seating area, milord turns, dropping his tunic on a nearby console table. Milord’s eyes are dark with passion, his nude torso a lodestone that pulls more strongly with each step she takes.
Between one breath and the next, she is in milord’s arms, his mouth hot and demanding on hers.
Releasing her mouth, he turns her to face the windows and the bright midday of the Garden Center in the high green season. His fingers strum across her ribs before rising to caress and tease her breasts through downy lace. Milord’s will is inexplicable. The heat in his eyes, the searing kiss prepared her for milord’s pleasure to be hard and fast. Yet milord’s pleasure is slow and deliberate. His caresses are gentle and arousing, his lips warm against her neck and the curve of her shoulders as he teases her to the point of writhing and arching under those clever fingers.
Milord’s lips skim her neck and behind her ears, calling forth whimpers of need. The lips nibbling behind her ear close on one prim, gold post, sucking, the tugging pressure setting up an echoing throb between her legs. She wishes milord’s touch on her sex, his shaft inside her.
Unable to contain her desire, she presses back against his erection, reaching for his hips. Milord’s low chuckle is followed by his hands gripping her wrists, pulling her arms forward. Clasping them in one hand, milord releases her bra with the other and pushes the lace down to hang from their joined hands while he plucks at her hardened nipples. Eyes closing, she surrenders to the exquisite torment. His fingers cease, dropping to tickle her wrists, tightening the soft lace to secure her hands. Eyes flying wide, she tilts to meet milord’s hot gaze.
“It is not tight. Pull free if you need to.”
She does not wish to. Milord’s eyes hood, reading either her expression or her mind, it matters not. His lips curling with approval, he pulls her to the low table and lowers her on her back, legs dangling over the edge. “Keep them above your head.”
Moisture floods her sex at the illusion of helplessness, the gentle binding freeing her from control. Milord braces his forearms on the table, rises over her, and lowers his head. His lips tease hers, and she opens, inviting entrance. Milord grazes her lips with his tongue and moves lower, scraping his teeth along her neck, setting off shivers of bliss. Lips, tongue, and teeth assault one breast and then the other, bringing them to sharp points eager for more.
Milord’s thumbs feather over her mound, tightening the lace against her sex, the teasing pressure building her need for more until she arches her hips, seeking the pressure where she needs it most. Milord nips below her navel. “Stay on the table.”
The binding on her wrists reinforces milord’s will, milord’s control, allowing her to yield all without restraint. Pressing her hips and bound wrists to the slick wood, she whimpers, “Milord.”
Milord’s hands grasp her thighs, pushing them further apart, giving him space to kneel. Lilian tenses, waiting for his touch where she desires it most. His eyes gleam. “Where, Lilian? Where do you wish my touch?”
“Milord, oh milord,” she gasps.
Milord’s fingers tease along the crease at her thighs, promising but not closing on her heat. He wishes her to voice her desire. It is impossible. Shocked, struggling to comply, to overcome ruthlessly imposed reserve, she manages, “My sex, milord. Please, milord.”
“Here, Lilian?” A hard hand slides beneath downy lace to delve between her thighs, his fingers tickling the small patch of curls but only grazing the sensitive flesh. “Here at your core?”
“Yes, milord. There, milord. Please, milord.”
Milord’s fingers delve deep and retreat, exploring, playing, and, finally, stroking her inflamed jewel. Ecstasy sparks and flares, hazing her vision in gold and red. Milord slides a finger within, his thumb flicking that small nub and turning the sparks to flames. Before she can be consumed, milord releases her. His hands drag the sodden lace down her thighs and free of her feet.
Milord’s hands grasp her ankles, lifting them to the table, spreading her wide. Cool air washes burning flesh, sending a wave of need crashing through her. Standing, he towers over his prone position, enjoying her exposure. She aches for his continued touch, to finish what they have begun.
A dark smile curls his lips as disappears behind her head. Hard hands slide beneath her shoulders. “Lift.”
Bracing her feet, she lifts her hips and is pulled flat, spread on the table as a feast.
Milord’s hands caress her shoulders and then cup her breasts, thumbs rubbing the taut peaks, ratcheting up her desire. Releasing, milord moves to her feet, once gain grasping her ankles and placing her feet on the table. “Keep them there.”
Her sex quivers in anticipation as milord stands at the base of the table, fingers on his trouser fasteners. “What do you wish? Voice it, woman.”
“Please, milord.”
Milord rises over her, releasing his swollen shaft. “Please what? Voice it, woman.”
“Enter me, milord. I beg milord, enjoy me. Enter me,” Lilian pleads, eyeing milord’s swollen shaft as it springs free.
Her head thrashes from side to side to release the coiling tension as she presses her wrists, hips, and feet to the table.
With a masculine sound of triumph, milord crawls over her, poised above her, naught but the tips of his hard length touching her as he strokes across her wet and swollen crease. The deli
cate contact when she needs so much is a torment. “Please, milord, please.”
Milord’s long, hot length slides into her, filling her. Milord grinds his pelvis against her jewel and the universe shrinks to that tiny bundle of nerves flooding her with pleasure. “Rise to me, woman.”
With a cry, her control shatters, her legs wrapping around milord’s hips, her bound wrists looping over his head. Milord pulls back and surges forward again, sending shocks of excitement to every nerve ending. Milord’s rhythm increases. He drives deep and fast, the friction driving her close to the edge. The mounting tension snaps and drowns her in bliss, milord’s cry of release echoing in her ears.
»◊«
Milord’s weight shifts and lifts, his lips grazing her shoulder. Letting her hands fall from his back, she notes the bra dangling from one wrist. At some point after her control snapped, she pulled free of the light bondage. Is milord displeased? Glancing up, she finds his expression relaxed and very pleased.
Righting his trousers, he holds out a hand, helping her from the table. In a single deft movement, he drops into a chair, pulling her into his lap. Resting her head on his shoulder, she works the tangled lace with one hand, a pleasure-induced haze clinging to her languid limbs.
Milord’s fingers stroke her hip. His chin rests on her head. “You are to accept the anointing.”
She abandons the twisted lace, confusion dissolving her languor. “Anointing?”
Milord drops a kiss on her shoulder. “Adelaide’s Thorn.”
Surprise replaces confusion. Lilian had considered the matter settled. Her days as a prelate are scheduled to conclude at the Five Warriors’ Festival on the coming Fourth Day. Apollo has not attempted to alter her decision and Milord has been adamant that she should not risk a division in her obedience. “May I know milord’s purpose in this?”
Shifting her to meet his gaze, milord says, “You are safer thus. Need you defend yourself to extremity, the status of Adelaide’s Thorn protects you.”
Milord’s expression somber, his knuckles caress her temple. “It is why I agreed to your participation in this evening’s demonstration. You must be seen to serve as Adelaide’s Thorn for the rank to be valid.”
Apollo sent her to discipline Flavia to support her claim to prelate status. At some point, Apollo must have pressed milord on this matter, convincing him the protection of prelate status outweighs the risk of a divided commitment. Searching milord’s somber countenance, she evaluates how the devious and brilliant man could be brought to an agreement that would limit his will. It is not long before she experiences a flash of enlightenment that owes little to her brilliance and much to three years of instruction by His Preeminence. “The Lord Prelate has agreed not to use his authority to challenge milord’s will.”
Milord’s expression lightens, and he rewards her with a kiss. “As you voice.” Grasping her wrist, he works the lace free and indulges in another kiss. “As you enjoyed it so, we will play such games again.”
»◊«
The heady scent of green season blossoms washes over Lilian as she makes her way to the alcove quarters’ gardens. At seventh bell, the sun skims the horizon, the sky deepening to midnight blue, the evening air retaining the warmth of the day. The fountain that centers the courtyard between the gardens and the alcove keeper’s quarters has been silenced, a presentation platform erected over it. Torches reminiscent of the more primitive time of the Five Warriors surround the platform, augmenting the Vistrite lamps. Eyeing the dancing flames, Lilian wonders about her mother’s odd Third Day episode. An accident of some sort? It seems unlikely. Apollo has taken every precaution and it would be Douglas at risk, not Katleen.
The semicircle of pavilions backs the quarters, facing the platform and the gardens. The three-tiered temporary structures are skirted with drapes in the colors of the Shades, each tier furnished with comfortable arrangements of seating and refreshment tables. Although similar in style to the pavilions used in festival entertainments, these are smaller and all seating luxurious. Apollo has selected an audience of the elite of the elite, combining those who favor the Inversion with those whom he must convince.
The Duet station will rotate slowly during the period of execution, allowing exceptional visuals for all, the central pavilion having the best. In this pavilion Lucius and his family are seated, along with the other Serengeti governors, Governor Moira’s party, and the Margovians. The other guests, including the command crew of the Nightingale, are spread out among the other four pavilions.
Making her way past the central pavilion to where she is to join Apollo’s prelates, Lilian examines the area between the pavilions where servitors and shrine attendants mingle with and guards from the shrines and alcove; personal bodyguards of the elite; and a combination of Serengeti and governor’s militia.
“This was an error,” Flavia says, eyeing the milling crowd. “Monsignor Lucius should have insisted on using only Serengeti Militia and alcove guards.”
“What say you?” Lilian gazes around, wondering what is amiss with what she considered a reassuring number of guards.
Stefan’s hand goes to his fire-pistol. “Demon shit. Flavia has the right of it. I know all the Serengeti on sight, but most of the others are strangers to me. I must trust based on uniforms and insignia.”
“What of it?” Lilian demands. “Apollo’s guard master knows his people, Captain Signy the governor’s. The private militia have all been screened by Seigneur Trevelyan.”
Flavia and Stefan share a glance and Stefan’s hand drops from his pistol. “I dislike not knowing those who guard my flank, but you are correct, all are from our allies.”
“And my consortium,” Lilian reminds them. “Apprentices and junior associates are as readily overlooked as servitors, but they will also know if aught is amiss.”
Reaching the outer pavilion where the prelates are gathering, Lilian scans the crowd again. Tabitha is with Blythe, who stepped in when Verity wrenched a knee in training and was placed on restricted duty. Other than the Iron Hammer apprentice, of her friends and allies, only Simon is absent. Although he was sympathetic, Apollo would not make a place for Simon. “Lilian girl, each of the Serengeti who survived the battle can claim Shades’ grace, but I have not the means to host them all. Your consortium friends are bodyguards as much as guests.”
By the refreshment tables, Katleen is in animated discussion with Raleigh, Caoimhe, and Bran. According to Apollo, Raleigh’s intelligence on the state of the Shrines in the free-trader systems earned his place at the Inversion. The mist green works well on her sister, the skirt that stops three inches above Lilian’s knees dropping two inches below Katleen’s. The tunic is loose on her, offering only the barest hint of her emerging breasts. At Katleen’s encouragement, the deacon plucks something small and red from the table. At his wide smile, Lilian knows he has discovered the wonder of Third System strawberries. Although his agenda remains suspect, Katleen found naught amiss in milord’s hedge kin. “His voice is dark honey and forest green laced with chimes. His will is as strong and deep as his honor. If angered, he will be dangerous.”
Dismissing the unease raised by her guards, Lilian turns inward, preparing for the coming ceremony. I am the sum of my ancestors.
»◊«
“Lucius, I vow, I have anticipated this for a year,” Estella says. The hand resting on his forearm is cool and fragile under his fingers. “Lord Apollo is a most unconventional prelate. It is beyond exciting that a Serengeti associate executes the Socraide. And one of the festival brawlers as well.”
At Estella’s reference to the festival brawl involving both Lucius’ protégé and apprentice, all three of his children take note.
“As you voice,” Lucius replies. “Master Douglas was Aristides’ apprentice at the time of the brawl.”
“The Warriors’ Expansion media management associate?” Estella is quick to make the connection. “How marvelous. There is symmetry to it, is there not?”
He had
not considered it. The same man, who as apprentice joined his disgraced prodigy in defeating the forces of anarchy, also defended Serengeti from Despoilers. He now employs his considerable talents to promote an entertainment designed to explore the future while trapping ancient evil. This night, he executes a controversial spiritual rite that commemorates the legendary gathering of Order against Anarchy. Stroking her knuckles, he says, “You are once again beyond insightful. There is indeed a remarkable symmetry.”
Raphael, Cesare, and Elysia have not missed a word. After a brief exchange of glances, it is Cesare who speaks. “Father, Master Douglas has a place in Mercium media management as well as the Bright Star entertainment, does he not?”
“As you voice.” He turns his attention to his son. Cesare’s involvement in the Bright Star decision trial and code could have brought him into contact with the associate, but Cesare has no direct involvement in Mercium. “How come you by this knowledge?”
“Seigneur Rachelle is efficient. It is not lost on me that Bright Star gatherings follow on, or are often followed by, another gathering of Seigneur Rachelle’s that includes some of the Bright Star group. Mercium is the most probable commerce.” Cesare’s voice holds both assurance and pride in his analysis.
Pleased, Lucius grips Cesare’s shoulder. “Well done. I will warn Seigneur Rachelle to be less obvious.”
Horns sound, ending conversation. With a final smile at Micah across the gap dividing the pavilions, Elysia turns her attention to the ritual. There will be opportunity at the reception to enjoy Micah’s company.
While it is Apollo’s demonstration, it is the Third Warrior’s year. The procession follows the order of the ring. The dozen members of Mulan’s retinue are followed by Rimon’s Keeper and a dozen of his senior shrine attendants. Next in the procession, Sinead’s Shrine Keeper is flanked by her discipline master and the seer. Seated with Nickolas, Lorelei leans forward, eagerly laying a hand on the warrior’s forearm. “The auburn-haired woman, is she the seer? She must be, for she bears a strong resemblance to her daughters.”
