by E G Manetti
“In your dreams,” milord prompts, gliding his fingers down her spine. “Who chases you?”
Milord promised to revisit the topic. It is time to resume. Lilian’s inward cringe of embarrassment is not strong enough to overcome the lassitude brought on by milord’s extended attentions. Gathering herself, Lilian releases the words, “A dead man.”
“Insufficient,” milord warns, tightening the fingers that had begun to caress her buttocks.
“Yes, milord, but it is difficult.” Describing a dream never truly captures the intensity. How does she explain the horror of the sounds, the terror of not being able to escape? “There are chambers and corridors. They spill endlessly into one another. I cannot find the way out. There is the sound of moaning behind me, chasing me. It is a horrible sound, and it fills me with fear.”
Lilian pauses, swallowing against the terrifying memory. Milord’s hands stroke her back, encouraging her. “There is a dead man chasing me and he is moaning. I cannot breathe. I can barely race. It is as though the air itself wishes to hold me prisoner. A hound begins to howl somewhere in the distance. The sound mixes with the dead man’s moans so that together they are deafening.”
Pausing, searching for words, Lilian presses into milord’s warmth.
“Is that all?” milord inquires, tightening his arms reassuringly.
“No, milord, the dream changes.” Lilian is unable to repress a shudder as she continues. “I am outside, the dead man continues to pursue me and the hound is louder. In front of me is a Crevasse. It is narrow, ten, maybe fifteen feet across, at least a mile to go around. The hound is on the other side waiting for me. When I leap, the Crevasse widens, and the far edge is miles away. That is usually when I awake. The last time, on Fortuna, the dead man followed me in.”
As Lilian has been speaking, her skin has grown cool, and she has started to shiver. Pulling the coverlet around them, Lucius holds her close. While he waits for her trembling to cease, he mulls her words and Chin’s alert. Chin confirmed that Lilian complained of evil dreams after Martin’s attack but did not consider it an issue. It would have been surprising had she failed to have them. The same dream repeating is most likely the result of a specific traumatic event. Should Lucius be able to get Lilian to give it voice, it might help. Both Lucius and Chin had expected that it would be Martin chasing Lilian. Lilian’s trembling has eased, freeing Lucius to continue. “Did the dream come the first time after Martin’s attack?”
“No, milord, at least not all of it.” Lilian huddles closer, her fingers digging into Lucius’ bicep signaling her distress. “The falling into the Crevasse is since Martin’s attack. Being chased through endless chambers by the dead man began on Socraide Prime.”
Lilian’s protocol review. They would have taken her thorn.
“Who is the dead man? How do you know he is dead?” Lucius demands. This appears to be the core of the dream.
“I do not know who he is, milord. He must be dead. There is so much blood and damage, he must be dead.” Lilian’s shivers are increasing, again. It is time to cease. Mayhap Chin can make some sense of this.
Sevenday 98, Day 6
Fenrir’s protégé is all but stalking Lilian. Her relentless pursuit of a confiding relationship has her appearing at meals and during Lilian’s scarce bells of liberty. After another day of intensive work that included the Bright Star code and her new design for training Nickolas in risk and complexity theory, Lilian is desperate for respite. Taking shelter in the training chambers, Lilian discovers that the determined protégé has pursued her once again.
For all her annoyance, Lilian agrees to a match. She has missed the exercise of sparring with Maman and Seigneur Trevelyan. Although Lilian has no notion of the protégé’s skill level, Mayling is a warrior, with a warrior’s training. Nor will it cause Lilian a single pang of guilt to drop the aggravating protégé onto the mat.
Knowing she dare not spill the protégé’s blood, even in sport, Lilian elects for an unarmed match in the smaller square of the free boxers. Until the match with Hannah, Lilian had not sparred unarmed in some time. Both Helena and Trevelyan have been concentrating on her skills against armed combatants.
Starting slowly, Lilian takes the other woman’s measure. Mayling is competent but no Hannah, lacking both the muscle mass and inherent fierceness of the transport mate. The exercise will provide another opportunity for Lilian to adapt to a confined combat area. Soon, Lilian is enjoying herself. She is able to adapt Adelaide’s Discipline to the smaller space without ending up bruised for her timing mistakes. Mayling does not fail to make contact when Lilian’s experiments do not prove, but she does not strike very hard. Nor is she quick to follow an advantage.
Working through the lessons of the bout with Hannah, Lilian is increasingly pleased. Her match with Mayling proves beyond useful. In return for the benefit, Lilian releases the petty desire to humiliate the annoying protégé.
“Mistress Lilian is holding back,” Nickolas remarks to Fletcher and Jasper.
“What say you, Master Nickolas? Mistress Mayling appears to be trying the apprentice hard,” Jasper challenges. He has heard about the match with Hannah but discounted it as a measure of Lilian’s skill. “Combat with a warrior lacks the ease of defeating a common transport mate.”
Fletcher’s eyes hold a hint of Nickolas’ annoyance. Neither has failed to note the Grey Spear protégé’s disdain for Lilian. His casual assumption that Hannah was not a formidable opponent further irks Nickolas. With a disarming smile, Nickolas suggests, “Care to place a wager on the match result?”
A moment after they conclude the wager, Lilian drops her opponent on the mat. As Nickolas relieves Jasper of his funds, Fletcher rushes to assist Mayling, who springs to her feet, openly pleased at the match and having acquitted herself well against an adversary recognized for her skills. At the edge of the small crowd of observers, Fenrir offers his protégé a small nod of approval, his eyes moving dismissively over Lilian. Nickolas does not like Fenrir’s open interest in Lucius’ apprentice. If, like Jasper, he mistook Lilian’s forbearance with Mayling as lack of skill, it is all to the good. If Lilian has attracted the enmity of another powerful warrior, it is better if he underestimates her as Martin and Sebastian did.
»◊«
There is no sign of milord when Lilian enters the suite. A quick check of her alerts shows naught urgent and a brief message from Rebecca assuring her that all is well with Katleen. The captain’s reception is not for another period, giving Lilian ample time to take a leisurely shower and rework her hair with the brilliants chain. Briefly, she considers the gold halter and skirt milord admired on Fortuna but bypasses it in favor of the gold tunic and skirt she has worn but once. Twisting in front of the small mirror, she is satisfied with the soft flow of gold and the graceful swirl of the pleats against her thighs.
Entering the salon, Lilian finds milord sprawled on the sofa, garbed in the same elegant tunic and trousers he wore for her trial at Sinead’s Shrine. Putting aside his slate, milord rises and beckons, his eyes glittering in appreciation of her attire. Slowly she pivots, revealing the chain of brilliants worked into her hair.
“Tell me you did not humiliate Mistress Mayling,” milord murmurs, tracing the chain Lilian has woven into a loose braid for the captain’s reception.
The brush of milord’s knuckles against her neck sends a tremor of desire through Lilian as she savors milord’s fascination as confirmation of her decision to place the jewels in her dark hair. “I did not, milord. We ran the match timer to the end before I dropped her on the mat as gently as I would have Katleen.”
A soft tug on the braid pulls Lilian’s gaze to meet milord’s quizzical expression. Tipping her head into milord’s grasp, Lilian explains, “Mistress Mayling was of assistance to me. I cannot assume a warrior’s square in true battle. It was well to have the opportunity to work on close-quarters adaptations. I do not wish another battered ribcage or weakened knee.”
At her expl
anation, a smile flickers across milord’s lips before they descend to capture hers. All too soon, the pleasant contact ends, and milord releases her. “Come, if we remain longer we will arrive late to this reception.”
Dropping into her place behind milord’s left shoulder, Lilian follows milord through the transport, the bodyguard taking the right. The transport captain is a handsome woman of middle years who does not attempt to mask her admiration of milord. Released from milord’s attendance after the formal greeting, Lilian turns to find Nickolas bringing her wine. “We did not do as well from Master Jasper as we did from Hannah’s crewmates. I thought you were to yield notice when you meant to spar. Other than Master Jasper, Fletcher and I had no chance to place wagers.”
“It was not meant to be a spectacle,” Lilian replies, accepting the wine. “Mistress Mayling and I but wished some exercise.”
Sipping her wine, Lilian glances around without catching sight of either Mayling or Fletcher. Before Lilian can inquire, Nickolas volunteers, “It is Master Fletcher who comforts the defeated in this instance.”
Nodding at Nickolas’ reference to his post-match dalliance with Hannah, Lilian follows Nickolas to the buffet to find a meal. An enjoyable half period passes while Nickolas points out various other passengers of interest, many of whom are female and comely. Hunger assuaged, Lilian has no objection to mingling with the passengers Nickolas finds interesting. Soon, she is pleasantly engaged in conversation with an art dealer about the merits of Fortuna water art.
Moving from the art dealer to the first mate, Lilian is surprised to discover the woman is a Universalist from the Third System and well acquainted with the master scholar at Katleen’s school. Most Universalists’ ambitions lead them toward education, research, or art in their professional lives. It is rare to find one comfortable in an aggressive commerce enterprise.
Fascinated by the woman’s discussion of maintaining the Balance Way in a warrior enterprise, Lilian is slow to respond to a growing sense of unease. As the first mate reaches for a carafe to refresh their wine, Lilian is abruptly aware that something is amiss. Seigneur Fenrir is watching her. Before he turns away, Lilian glimpses the same avid expression he displayed the day before. It causes her innards to creep along with her flesh.
“Does that man have authority over you?” the first mate worries.
Shivering at the thought, Lilian assures the first mate that the seigneur does not. Instinctively, Lilian looks around for milord and finds him with Nickolas.
His duty served, Lucius is preparing to collect Lilian when Nickolas speaks quietly from his shoulder. “Monsignor, I like not Seigneur Fenrir’s regard for Mistress Lilian. This is not the first incident I have observed.”
Following Nickolas’ discreet motion with eyes, Lucius catches the flash of something avid and dark in Fenrir’s regard before the man notices Lucius’ attention and turns away. With a frown, Lucius acknowledges, “That was a good deal more than indiscreet. Is Lilian aware—yes, I see that she is. Well done, Nickolas. Please me and continue to observe the seigneur.”
Beckoning Lilian to him, Lucius leads her from the reception.
»◊«
Lucius carefully unwinds Lilian’s hair, enjoying the silky texture of the heavy locks as he slowly frees the brilliants chain. They are naked on the bed. Lucius is half kneeling behind Lilian as the chain slides free. Dropping it around her throat, he uses a gentle tug to pull her back against him, tucking her head against his shoulder and tilting her face to his. Lilian’s lids are heavy with rising passion, the gray eyes dark with anticipation. Resisting the urge to plunder her mouth, Lucius asks, “Know you the source of Seigneur Fenrir’s interest in you?”
The gray eyes widen and sharpen and the lush lips part in surprise. “Milord has noted it? I am not mistaken? It is unusual?”
“Yes, Lilian, I noticed.” Lucius slides to a prone position, pulling Lilian with him so he is leaning over her reclining form. “Fenrir’s interest is well outside the routine indiscretions of lust. Do you know why?”
“I am not certain, milord. I have had little contact with the seigneur since the forming of Bright Star.” Lilian frowns, the gray eyes darkening once again, this time with distress. Draping the chain across her torso, Lucius waits while Lilian finds the words she seeks. “I thought I recognized the seigneur at the Bright Star reception on Fortuna. It was odd.”
“What say you?” Lucius startles. “You knew all of Matahorn on sight from their profiles.”
“Not in that way,” Lilian denies, her form starting to tense. “I heard a voice and when I turned it was as though a visual was laid over the face of Seigneur Fenrir. It was a younger version of the seigneur, at least a stone lighter in weight, mayhap two. There was no gray in the hair, and it was longer. The moment passed, and I dismissed it.”
Déjà vu. At the time, Lilian would have thought naught of it. Knowing she will find it easier to speak if she can relax, Lucius gently traces her cheek with his knuckles, encouraging her to continue.
“Yesterday in the training facility and this evening at the captain’s reception, it occurred again.” Lilian turns her face into his caress, her tension receding. “I turned, and the seigneur was there and the other image as well. It frightens me, and I know not the cause.”
At Lilian’s words, Lucius eases back onto one side, considering. “You describe Fenrir as he was a decade ago. Could you have encountered him then?”
“I cannot imagine how.” Lilian is shaking her head in denial. “I would have been more than a year at Mulan’s University.” Another thought breaks across her face. “The angle is not correct. In my memory, the seigneur is taller. He would not have gained height in the past ten years, and I have gained little. I had almost my full inches at sixteen. I must have been younger.”
“It seems unlikely that you could have encountered Fenrir as a child.” Lucius turns the information over in his mind. “At least to the extent that would leave such a strong impression.”
“Even before the scandal, we were not of the Cartel elite,” Lilian acknowledges.
The Faesetilis are an old and highly regarded line, but they have been fading. The Garitens were warriors but two centuries. The Gariten fortune, before it was lost, equaled only a fraction of Lucius’ holdings. They were of the elite, but not of the level of cartel leadership.
Lucius is not going to trust the odd situation to correct itself. The woman attracts anarchy the way a sweets tray attracts insects. “For the moment, we will assume that whatever gave rise to this memory of yours occurred while you still resided in Crevasse City. It is difficult to track movements from a dozen years past but not impossible. Seigneur Trevelyan has done so before. We will wait for his evidence.”
There is naught more to be done for the moment. Lucius’ desire rises, and he pulls Lilian into a kiss.
Sevenday 98, Day 7
The rustle of the morning alarm draws Lilian from deep, dreamless sleep. Whether due to the thorn or relief at milord’s recognition of Seigneur Fenrir’s threatening regard, Lilian was not visited by evil dreams. Stretching on her cot, she indulges in recall of the prior evening and milord’s attentions. Although she is eager to return home to Maman and Katleen, there are definite benefits to sharing milord’s quarters. The distinctive sound of the shower in milord’s freshening closet signals he does not require her. It also signals it is time to rise.
A mental review of the day’s schedule has her moving briskly through her morning preparations. First bell after midday she will present to Nickolas her new model for risk and complexity training. If she is correct, the series of increasingly complex problems will teach Nickolas to react quickly without needing to understand the advanced theories and algorithms that underlie the exercises.
»◊«
“Lilian, I understand it not. None of these risks are significant. Why does the whole create a disaster?” Nickolas glowers at his slate.
Lilian bites the inside of her lip to restrain her delight
in Nickolas’ frustration. The exercise is working exactly as she hoped. Using her conversations with Captain Gehrig and the ideas of the SEV1 engineers, Lilian has created a model that changes with each choice Nickolas makes, confronting him with new decisions and risks. Nickolas’ warrior training and upbringing has conditioned him to confront individual adversaries. How does one deal with a swarm of small challengers who individually are no threat? Or, more importantly, recognize that together they become a threat. “Think of the individual risks as rats and the SEV1 as a cat. A single rat is no threat to a single cat. A pack of rats may overwhelm the cat.”
“So I must pick off the rats or somehow take them all at once as if a single adversary.” Nickolas nods. Turning back to his slate, Nickolas begins again, quickly tapping out his decisions. As results appear, more taps ensue until the tapping is so rapid it becomes a blur. Ten minutes later, head hanging, Nickolas drops back against the chair in the conference chamber. “I have killed us all.”
Across the chamber, Fletcher rises from his conversation with Seigneur Marco. Beckoning the moon racer, Lilian suggests, “Why do we not give Master Fletcher a trial?”
With resignation, Nickolas hands Lilian his slate and she returns the exercise to its original settings. Handing the slate to Fletcher, Lilian explains, “It is an SEV1 trial. Evaluate the challenges and enter your recommendations.”
Two minutes later, Fletcher is looking at the slate in shock. “I have killed us all.”
“Recall that in the model, minutes equate to periods,” Lilian says consolingly. “Your choices bought the SEV1 two periods. It is an excellent first attempt.” Turning to Nickolas, she adds, “Master Nickolas achieved nearly a half day. By this day two years hence, you will be able to execute these analyses in your head and well able to execute the duties of a first lieutenant.”
“It is a flight simulator for decision making.” Fletcher’s eyes light as he grasps the purpose of the exercise. At Lilian’s blank look, Fletcher explains, “When I learned to pilot a flyer, I spent extensive periods in a false flyer. It felt real, but I was safely in the hanger. I crashed many times in that simulator before I first piloted a stellar flight. When I did, I did not crash.”