by E G Manetti
I am the foundation of my family. She must cease to complain, even if it is confined to her thoughts. There are but three sevendays to survive. She must not release her discipline. This day. There is only this day.
»◊«
Milord’s eyes hold mischief as Lilian takes her place before the ebony desk, the eighth-bell chimes fading to silence. With a smile, he pushes a record strip box across the black expanse. Taking a deep breath, Lilian reaches for the box, knowing it must contain her associate’s contract.
Honor is my blade and shield. Her tally is sound, and milord has demonstrated his approval on many occasions. The terms will be more than fair, as were those of her bond.
Honor knows not fear. Removing the strip from its case, Lilian inserts it into her slate and waits for the contents to display. A loud rushing fills her ears, the opulent chamber dims and blurs, the plush rug rolls beneath her feet. Her lungs will not work. Honor . . . honor. Lilian’s brain stutters. Adelaide.
Lucius bites his cheek, fighting to hold back a grin. Lilian knows she has earned favorable terms, but he suspects she does not anticipate his true intent. Watching her insert the record strip and scan her slate, he leans forward, waiting for the gray eyes to glow and her rare smile to appear.
Her fingers tremble and she looks up, her eyes dark and unseeing in a face gone shade pale. The slate slips from her grasp as she begins to sway.
Socraide’s sword! Lucius plants his palms on the desks and vaults to the other side. His feet hit the floor as she begins to topple. His hands grasp her shoulders, pulling her to his chest before her head can strike the desk. Sweeping her into his arms, he strides to the nearest armchair, settling her in his lap. Her pulse is strong, her brow cool as he tests it with his lips. He is about to signal for Chin when her eyelashes flutter. “Lilian?”
Milord’s breath tickles her brow. She is in milord’s embrace, her head resting on his shoulder, seated in one of the armchairs. It is eighth bell. What does he? Opening her eyes, she tilts her head to meet his gaze.
Concern and confusion war in his expression. “What is amiss? I expected you to be pleased. What in the terms distresses you?”
The terms? Her contract. Her protégé contract. It is the contract Dean Joseph aided her in negotiating over three years gone. For a moment Lilian struggles to breathe. “The terms are acceptable, milord. Beyond acceptable. Milord is beyond gracious. I cannot—”
The chamber spins, and she closes her eyes. “I beg milord’s pardon.”
I am the sum of my ancestors. She focuses on her breathing. I am the foundation of my family This is unseemly. Rise. Honor is my blade and shield. Express proper appreciation. Opening her eyes, Lilian attempts to rise.
Milord’s grip tightens. “Do not, woman. You will explain what distresses you.”
“I cannot, milord.”
Milord frowns, irritation replacing confusion.
“I do not deny milord. I cannot. There are no words.” No words to explain three years of ruthless self-control shattered by a few contract terms. No explanation that can adequately convey a past and potential future—denied for years—crashing through her barriers and shields.
This day I live. Forcing back the overwhelming emotions, Lilian drops her gaze as she struggles for control. There is only this day. I am bonded. I will not fail. I will not fall. There is only this day.
It is not a prayer with which Lucius is familiar, but it is enlightening. Lucius gives her a gentle shake. “No expectations at all?”
Gray eyes wide and clear, she whispers, “I dare not, milord.”
Rimon condemn me for a fool. Lucius settles her snug to his shoulder, finding naught to say. He had intended to please her, not overset her. As it is, she will need a few minutes to recover from her faint and he some breaths to recover as well.
He can feel her purpose gather before she speaks. “I beg milord’s pardon. My behavior is unseemly. Truly, I am beyond words in my appreciation. I would—”
“Cease.” He gives her hip a slight shake while he nuzzles the citrusy skin of her neck.
“Milord.”
“I bade you cease, woman,” Lucius reminds her with a squeeze, his attention focused on an earlobe with its prim gold post. He cannot resist a small tug. With a sigh Lilian yields into his embrace. The quiet chimes of ninth bell rouse Lucius to his duty. Releasing his explorations, Lucius raises one hand to his apprentice’s chin and turns her face toward him. “In one matter you must look to the future.”
The gray eyes blink owlishly at him. Lilian was enjoying his attentions. Were there more bells, he would have her fully restored. As it is, he must release her while Lilian’s form retains its stiffness, her face its stoic expression. Smiling and shaking his head, he reminds his prodigy of the purpose of the early release of her contract terms. “You must choose a name before the contract may be sealed. Does it please you, you have earned the right to Serengeti.”
Lilian nods, no doubt having anticipated the honor. The gray eyes warm even as her shoulders stiffen. “Milord honors me beyond my service, but in this, Sinead’s Seer has made the determination.”
Lucius does not miss the wry resignation in his apprentice’s proper acknowledgement. With a smile he releases her. “Then the seer shall be heeded. Inform Seigneur Trevelyan your delay is of my will. I will expect you at midday.”
A bout with the formidable Trevelyan should stabilize his apprentice nicely. Is there aught left of concern at midday, Lucius will have the pleasure of attending to it.
»◊«
Trevelyan glances at the time and frowns. Lilian is late. Since Zdenka’s death he has been within Katleen’s house as often as the strictures permit. It may have been an error, allowing Lilian to become comfortable with him. If it were not so dangerous for her, it would please him. As it is, she must not falter now. If he must be harsh, so be it. With that thought, Lilian appears, her face pale, expression shuttered.
Universe scatter it. What now? Before he can speak, she drops to her knees in supplication, head bowed.
“I beg Seigneur’s pardon. It is by Monsignor’s will that I have inconvenienced Seigneur.”
Trevelyan cares not the transgression. Lucius Mercio owes the woman too much to be tormenting her at this late date. Dropping to his knees, Trevelyan says, “What goes forward? Why has Monsignor delayed you? What has you overset?”
Lilian will not raise her face. “Do I have Seigneur’s pardon?”
“Yes. You have my pardon. What of Monsignor’s will?”
The face raised to his is filled with bewilderment and something akin to fear. “Protégé.”
Twenty minutes later he and his student are seated on the floor, their backs to the padded wall, in clear view of any who care to glance through the bout chamber window. Unlike Lilian, he had expected this. For all Lucius maintains a public distance from his apprentice, the bond between the two of them has grown with every challenge and triumph. A protégé relationship is almost as intimate as that of apprenticeship. It will also give her status that will offset the shame of Gariten’s heritage. From her words, she does not fully understand Lucius’ design, but she does understand the honor. Knowing combat will do more to settle her than words, Trevelyan rises. “Monsignor’s protégé and shieldbearer must do him credit. Take your stance, Adelaide’s Thorn. I offer no quarter.”
»◊«
Rebecca stalks past the Grim Twins, not bothering to savor the entertaining image of what will transpire if they discover Lilian’s name for them. Lilian’s blank, rigid countenance when she finally emerged from eighth-bell attendance has shattered Rebecca’s recently acquired respect and tolerance for Monsignor. Whatever occurred during eighth-bell attendance was ill. At least she can take comfort in knowing that Seigneur Trevelyan will be forgiving of Lilian’s late arrival. For all Rebecca’s transgressions, the worst he has ever done is increase her lessons in decorum and diction.
Slamming open her worksite, she settles in to her tasks. When Li
lian returns, Rebecca will address what has befallen her friend. Until then, she must attend her duty. It will not serve to disappoint Seigneur Trevelyan after he has been so generous.
A shift in the air is all that alerts Rebecca to Lilian’s return. It is disquieting how her friend can move without sound and naught but a slight disturbance in the air.
Ignoring the Grim Twins, Rebecca drops into the small, hard second chair at Lilian’s worksite. “He is beyond cruel to torment you. There is no transgression so severe that can justify—”
Lilian’s eyes are bright and snapping with excitement. The blank, rigid countenance that passed Rebecca without seeing over a period gone is no more. In a voice filled with wonder, she says, “I am to be Monsignor’s protégé.”
“How are you surprised by this?” Rebecca returns her friend’s wonder. “You are already conservator. As protégé you will be a great deal more useful than you could be as an associate. Not to mention that it will further discomfit Monsignor Horatio and his heir. Monsignor will enjoy that. Did you truly not expect this?”
Lilian’s excitement ebbs, her expression as stark as the Southern Continent wilderness. “Expectations? I hold no expectations. I dare not. They are too dangerous.”
Rimon’s wrath. Before Rebecca can say anything, Lilian’s stark expression is swallowed by decorum. “I beg pardon. I am overset.”
Overset? The damage from Lilian’s trial runs far deeper than Rebecca suspected. Knowing compassion will be met with resistance but that teasing seems to ease her friend, she grins. “That is Protégé Rebecca, Adelaide’s Thorn.”
»◊«
This day. Lilian forces a decorous pace as she moves toward the variants lab. With aid from milord, Seigneur Trevelyan, and Rebecca, she has regained her equilibrium. The joy of milord’s trust must not tempt her to abandon her discipline. The knowledge that if she holds for but three more sevendays she will have achieved her ambition from three years gone fills her with a sense of optimism she has not known since before the ruin.
Slipping into her accustomed spot next to Chrys in the variants lab, Lilian takes a breath to speak. She is forestalled by Chrys who greets her with, “Protégé.”
“How did you know?” Before the technologist can respond, Lilian answers her own question, “Rebecca sent an alert.”
Chrys’ brow furrows in confusion. “Of what do you speak?”
I am the sum of my ancestors. Once again, she has fallen into self-absorption, oblivious of others. Shamed that she has failed her friend, Lilian opens her heart to embrace Chrys’ success. “Seigneur Rachelle will have you as protégé! It is wondrous.”
Chrys’ countenance splits into a wide grin, his fingers clenching on his slate. “You as well? That is what you meant?”
Unable to speak, Lilian nods, gripping her slate to control the urge to reach for her friend. “We both discovered a means.”
»◊«
Estella half reclines on her bed, limbs aching, chilled to her marrow even with the warm comforter that encases her. Tapping her slate, she seeks an entertainment to keep her wakeful until Lucius arrives. She must know how Lilian reacted to her protégé contract. No, that is false, she wishes to be part of this next development in Lucius’ relationship with Lilian. She has but sevendays before she must yield to the Shades. Until then, Lucius is hers and all that moves him is hers as well.
The familiar cadence of his stride sounds on the tile in the dressing chamber. Sabri’s voice murmurs. She has never understood Lucius’ tolerance for that man.
The murmurs fade, and Lucius emerges. The forest-green silk robe he favors when the weather warms is loose about him, his feet bare. Once, the sight would have had her sex tightening and moisture flowing. Now, her joy at his beauty mingles with sorrow at passion lost. Setting aside her longing for what is no longer and will not be again, she asks, “How went it with Lilian?”
Settling next to her on the bed, he gathers her close. “She fainted.”
“Fainted?” No longer feeling faded, she is wide awake. “That fierce combatant of the worst forces of anarchy fainted in delight at a protégé contract?”
“Not delight, my love, shock,” Lucius says, chagrinned. “Had I not caught her, Lilian would have cracked her head on my desk.”
“Shock?” Estella turns to her spouse, lifting the comforter so he may slide within and hold her. He is all but nude for a reason. He finds the heavy bedding hot in this season, while she relishes the heat of his form, captured in the cocooning silk. One of the few sensations her diminished senses can enjoy. Clinging to his warmth, she raises her face to his. “I comprehend you not.”
The regard that meets hers is dark with emotion. “Can you imagine living for years without expectations? Lacking certainty of the next day, let alone the next year?”
Rimon’s mercy. For three years Estella has planned every moment, determined to fulfill her ambitions before death halts her actions. If she had been unable to plan or act beyond the next day, it would have been insupportable. “It sounds dreadful.”
“Lilian routinely projects Vistrite and Mercium demand to the fifth decimal place for the next two centuries.” His dark eyes hold confusion and remorse. “How could I know she projects nothing for herself beyond the proving of her bond?”
Adelaide’s Thorn is even stronger than she believed. If it is true. “How is this possible?”
“I know not. Only that it is so.”
He would not be mistaken in this. As difficult as it is to comprehend, Lilian has succeeded at a trial far more arduous than they understood. Pleasant pressure against her scalp indicates Lucius is running his hand through her hair. He has always been fascinated with the platinum strands. That he is enthralled even as she fails fills her with joy and her mind with purpose. As soon as Lilian’s bond proves, they will meet. Until then, she will learn what she can. “My love, you solve the riddle of your apprentice and discover a conundrum. You penetrate the conundrum and reveal an enigma. I beg you, breach the enigma. I wish to know.”
“I will do what I am able, sweetling.” Lucius feathers a kiss across her lips, her senses offering naught but a slight pressure. Tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder, she yields to slumber.
Sevenday 148, Day 3
There is only this day. Lilian fingers her conservator’s seal, looking over to Master Simon, who is seated with Master Fletcher in the two chairs closest to the doors to the Serengeti governors’ review. Next to her on the bench, Chrys’ loosely clasped hands rest on the slate satchel in his lap. Milord has been within the council chamber for a half period, the session convened at his request to evaluate the potential of developing dual-encoding and multipurpose controllers for flexible Vistrite.
Seigneur Rachelle has confirmed her analysis that dual encoding holds a high probability of success. Seigneur Kemeha concurs that his Bright Star controller designs can be adapted for dual purposes. How many other applications there might be for the technology is unknown, but the value to the Nightingale may be enough to justify the funding for development. Although milord has not voiced it, Lilian is certain that he plans to build more stellar transit vehicles using the Nightingale design.
Master Simon’s slate pings. Glancing at it, he rises, his shoulders squaring. “They are ready for us.”
Although the notion of dual encoding is Aidan’s and the research Lilian’s, Master Simon directed the research and will report to the governors. Master Fletcher, Chrys, and Lilian are to attend because milord wishes their effort recognized. Had he been willing to wait three sevendays, their roles as protégés would have made their attendance automatic.
Following Simon and Fletcher, Lilian eyes the conference table, noting that the configuration has changed since the first time she attended a governors’ session when Sebastian Mehta was the Grey Spear preeminence. Two and a half years gone, when milord was locked in a dangerous rivalry with Grey Spear, milord sat at the head of the table, Sebastian Mehta at the foot, Monsignor Eleno
ra between them.
This day, milord is in the center, Monsignors Hercules and Elenora at the ends, the other places crowded with the cartel’s most important seigneurs. Taking her place behind milord’s left shoulder, Lilian half attends Master Simon’s presentation. It is but a formality; there is no doubt that the governors will approve the funding. Even if it were not certain to bring an excellent return, milord wills it, and if milord’s ambitions are realized, Serengeti may challenge the Ayres Alliance for second place.
At Monsignor Hercules’ request, Master Fletcher presents the potential for the multipurpose controllers. She suspects that the Grey Spear preeminence is calculating the benefit to the Serengeti transport fleet of such an innovation.
Milord calls for a vote. It is unanimous. Serengeti will pursue the development of a dual-encoded Vistrite to be known as Stellarite. Once again, milord has chosen to honor his beloved spouse in an important cartel venture.
From behind Seigneur Rachelle, Chrys catches her eyes. She once speculated to him that Lady Estella had directed Seigneurs Solomon and Marco in governing the cartel when milord was engaged in the pirate actions. In the intervening months, speculation has become mathematical certainty. Milord honors Lady Estella out of more than affection. The cartel’s present state of success owes much to the formidable warrior. The Order of the Twelve Systems does as well.
Lilian’s encounters with the Despoilers over the past six months, and the discovery of their ties to the pirates, have confirmed her conclusions of five years gone. Milord has faced the forces of darkness and prevailed. Had he not, even now the Twelve Systems might well be declining into a second Anarchy.
19. Discip
line
The role of protégé has evolved from the time of the Five Warriors, when the shieldbearer was a trusted retainer sworn to protect his or her seigneur’s flank in battle. The role evolved to include protecting the seigneur and the seigneur’s family from all forms of harm and, if the warrior fell, to retaliate. By custom, the shieldbearer stands, walks, sits, and fights on the seigneur’s weak side. If the seigneur is right-handed, the shieldbearer is on the left. If left-handed, on the right.
