by E G Manetti
Following the comely derriere back to the benches, he was delighted to discover her taking a place in a row forward and slightly to the left of Elysia. Absently handing the refreshments to Elysia, Cesare claimed a seat within an arm’s length of the unknown beauty and her two friends. Keeping a wary eye on Elysia, Cesare attempted to catch a glimpse of the features hidden by the large hat.
While his regard was on the wide brim hat, the taller of her two friends rose to aid her companion into an interior position. The red splotch in the nondescript attire solidified into his father’s seal. With dawning horror, Cesare realized the females he had been enjoying from a distance were his father’s apprentice, her sister, and Seigneur Trevelyan’s apprentice. His carnal interest collapsed under the rigid taboos surrounding his father’s apprentice, as well as the knowledge that Seigneur Trevelyan would not be lenient with untoward advances. As his shock dissipated, desire turned to curiosity. It was an unlikely venue to find a pair of Ravens, and Cesare had become fascinated with Lilian after the events surrounding Martin’s caning and her festival confrontation with Adelaide’s Prelate.
As the puppet play progressed, Cesare eased as close to the trio as he could manage. Most of the back-bench occupants were present for the artistic merit of the play. All were startled when the woman in the wide brim hat joined the children in active enjoyment of the entertainment. Her enthusiasm was contagious, infecting first her younger companion and then, to Cesare’s amusement, Elysia and her silly friend, who had been emulating the artistic crowd. To Cesare’s wonder, a number of staid older couples followed suit.
As the interval commenced, Cesare was pleased to discover his sister and her friend immersed in conversation, leaving him free to eavesdrop on Lilian and her companions. It was all he could do to smother laughter at the thought of his father’s fierce apprentice playing with puppets. When the play recommenced, Cesare eased back toward Elysia and her friend. He would learn no more of use during the play, and it would be awkward if they noticed him at its conclusion.
“Not as pretty as you thought?” Elysia whispered with a speaking glance at the wide-brimmed hat.
“Not to my taste,” Cesare replied. He was not about to reveal Lilian and her companions to his sister. Elysia had yet to learn discretion.
20. The Rise of Militia Captain Reynald
The Third System Moon Trial is held during the last sevenday of the year, when Metricelli Prime’s two moons are in their closest proximity. Originally created for fighter training, the course is designed to test reflexes, strategic analysis, and raw courage. The narrow, convoluted, and challenging field of flight is crowded with eighteen contenders traveling at high velocity in tight formation. All are determined to be the first to complete a course that averages two bells. There is always the possibility of accidents and death. The only difference between the current sport and the ancient training games is that in these civilized times, the flyers are not equipped with fireburst weapons. ~ excerpt from Third System Moon Races, a wagering guide.
Sevenday 100, Day 1
Lilian steps eagerly across the scarlet threshold, the midday chimes a bright counterpoint to her mood, content that all her assignments are in good order after her absence. From the scarlet sofa milord beckons, his gazed fixed on the reviewer. Depositing her jacket and slate on a side table, Lilian glances curiously at the visual of the younger Fenrir sitting with another man, Militia Captain Reynald.
“What say you?” Milord demands.
“I beg pardon, milord,” Lilian startles. “Did I speak that thought?”
“Do you recognize that man with Fenrir?” Milord pins her with his gaze.
“Yes, milord,” Lilian says slowly, searching her own recall. How does she know the man’s name? Yet she is certain it is true. “It is Militia Captain Reynald.”
Before milord can inquire, Lilian adds, “I know not how I know it, milord, but I do. When I saw the visual, I knew the name. I cannot explain it.”
“According to Seigneur Trevelyan’s investigation, this man is a rare metals dealer.” Milord frowns. “It is unexceptional that he would meet with a Matahorn representative. A militia captain would be very exceptional.”
“Yes, milord.” Lilian is at a loss. “Nonetheless, it is Militia Captain Reynald.” Retrieving her slate, she gestures at the reviewer. “With milord’s permission?”
“Sit here.” Milord indicates the position next to him, fingers lightly tapping on the armrest as he waits for Lilian to work her slate.
The reviewer segments on a vertical line. To the left is the visual of the two men. On the right a list of names and dates appears. A quick tap and one of the entries expands into a death notice, including a visual of the man with Fenrir in the formal uniform of a Third System Militia captain. Militia Captain Reynald, age fifty-eight, died in a tragic transport accident two years after Lilian entered Mulan’s Temple. The decorated officer left behind a grieving wife and two daughters. There is more on his ancestry, spiritual affiliations, education, and career.
“You did not pull the name out of the ether.” Milord nods. “We will set Trevelyan on the matter. He may be able to discover more than the Governing Council’s scrubbed profile. Have you any recall of how you know this man?”
“No, milord. The visual with Fenrir is from early in the rainy season when I was fourteen. Old enough to remember, but I can think of naught.” Shaking her head, Lilian stares at the reviewer, confused by this newest development and unsettled by the knowledge that she has attracted the hostile attention of another powerful warrior.
“It is not the same.” Milord cups her chin, turning her face to him. “Fenrir has no power to harm you.”
Milord is correct, Fenrir is not Sebastian Mehta, and milord has said he will protect her. Taking a deep breath and forcing her fear back, Lilian nods. “Yes, milord.”
“Bravely said.” Milord’s fingers glide along her jaw, his eyes warm with approval. “Worry not. Trevelyan will discover the source of his interest and we will deal with it.”
Milord’s hand cups her head, tilting her face to his descending lips. Milord’s mouth moves on hers, gentle at first and then demanding. Driving all thoughts of Fenrir from her mind as the carnal contact deepens, drugging her with pleasure.
»◊«
At the sound of the freshening closet door, Lucius looks up from his slate. Lilian was longer than usual removing the evidence of their passion. Her abstracted expression does not please him—he prefers the quiet serenity that normally follows passion. Has Fenrir’s hostility undone the benefit of the Fortuna voyage? “Is it well with you?”
“Yes, milord.” Lilian turns from collecting her jacket to gaze at him in confusion.
“You were overlong in the closet,” Lucius explains.
A delicate blush replaces the confusion on Lilian’s face. “I beg pardon, milord. I used some of your personal cleansers. My lingerie was . . .”
The blush deepens as Lilian searches for words. Recalling the sodden silk, Lucius cannot repress a smile. His fastidious apprentice would not don lingerie scented with the musk of arousal. “It is not important. You are welcome to whatever you need from the closet.”
“My thanks, milord.” Lilian’s relief is visible in her retreating blush.
“Is that what had you so abstracted?” Lucius wonders. Soiled lingerie is far less worrisome than Fenrir.
“Abstracted?” Lilian wonders and then her brow clears. “I was but thinking about tomorrow’s competency demonstration.”
“Does it concern you?” It is Lucius’ turn to be confused. Lilian defeated a discipline master but three sevendays gone.
“The trial? No,” Lilian denies. “I welcome it. Adelaide’s Discipline is unique, only a discipline master can truly test me. I am more concerned about the potential of a spectacle.”
“Worry naught,” Lucius reassures. “I spoke with Trevelyan. He has it well in hand.”
“Truly, milord?” Lilian’s expression lightens. �
��My thanks.”
“I regret I cannot attend,” Lucius admits. “But it would not be wise. You may tell me about it at eighth bell.”
Sevenday 100, Day 2
It lacks fifteen minutes to sixth bell when Lilian, Katleen, Helena, and two of Sinead’s attendants enter the Shrine of the Fourth Warrior. It is as quiet as Lilian hoped. The three Jonathan acolytes attending their duties do not pause in their labors. The only other occupants are an elderly couple making an offering before the effigy and two young men practicing a devotional exercise in a warrior square. None offers more than a passing glance as the small party enters the alcove.
Seigneur Trevelyan, Rebecca, and Chrys are waiting by the warrior square to the right of the Adelaide effigy. Before they can exchange greetings, the alcove keeper comes forward to guide Lilian to the effigy. While they await the discipline master, Lilian makes the ritual offering and devotion. Two silver coins anointed with Lilian’s blood grace the lap of the statue when Lilian raises her thorn on both palms. “Of my own will, Adelaide Warleader. I listen for your voice.”
Offering completed, Lilian steps back to find Tabitha, Clarice, and Douglas have joined her observers, and, to Lilian’s surprise, Master Simon. Lilian’s observers will easily surround the square. Random visitors will need to mount to the gallery to view the trial, placing them well away from Lilian.
Lilian barely finishes greeting her friends when Apollo arrives with the discipline master, followed closely by Socraide’s Keeper Virgil. What interest Virgil could have in the matter defeats Lilian, but his presence will be useful. Even the most hostile observer will behave with decorum under that stern gaze.
Adelaide’s Discipline Master is a fierce warrior of sixty years who tops Lilian by three inches and has the same strong build as Douglas. His square-jawed face supports a nose that has experienced numerous breaks and a heavy forehead with bushy black brows that are the only hairs on his head. Black eyes narrow with a shadow of a scowl in the otherwise impassive face. Lilian is well aware he tries her under duress from the Lord Prelate. I am the sum of my ancestors.
At Apollo’s signal, Lilian tucks her warrior’s queue into her tunic, the gold warbelt under her trousers, and adds the edge guard to her thorn. For the trial, both Lilian and the discipline master will use live thorns coated with thin polymer sheaths that leave only the tips bare. The match ends at thirty minutes or when one of the combatants is either knocked senseless or from the square.
It is Lilian’s first thorn to thorn challenge since leaving Mulan’s Temple. Nor has a master of her discipline challenged her since that time. I am the foundation of my family. It matters not that the discipline master is unwilling. Apollo, Seigneur Trevelyan, and Maman have trained Lilian. She will not disgrace them. Honor is my blade and shield.
Determined to impress the discipline master, Lilian stays within the classic Adelaide forms. The discipline master’s first thorn score is but a light scratch. Annoying but not painful. The second strike is deeper, burning as Lilian’s blood flows freely. Beyond the square, Seigneur Trevelyan’s brows draw together in a frown of disapproval. She is using naught of what the seigneur has taught her. Honor knows not fear. Bleeding will not impress the discipline master, and she is disappointing Seigneur Trevelyan. Abandoning the attempt to present a perfect Adelaide, Lilian employs all her skills to avoid further marks while attempting to mark Adelaide’s Master.
Her shift in tactics succeeds. In the next five minutes, Lilian twice scores the discipline master and receives no marks in return. The discipline master’s snarl is all the warning she receives before he releases the full force of his abilities. A series of rapid-fire kicks and blows have Lilian spinning and tumbling around the square. This is no longer a competency trial. Lilian has shamed the discipline master by drawing his blood. He will use every skill he has to knock her from the square or knock her senseless.
Honor acts as duty commands. Lilian abandons attack and defense in favor of avoidance. As water falling through a sieve, Lilian flows around the discipline master, treating his thorn-wielding arm as if it were a sword. She dodges determined kicks and blows that would not shame Trevelyan. A sudden opportunity to score the master leaves a tear in his training trousers, but Lilian cannot be certain she drew blood. The brief snagging of the thorn on fabric almost brings Lilian to grief, as she is barely able to dodge a blow that would have knocked her senseless had it landed properly. The follow-through on the glancing blow gives Lilian one more chance to score the master before the match bell rings.
Exiting the square, Lilian feels a sharp catch in her back. Thorn score. She did not feel it land and it is not painful enough to be more than a minor wound. Breath returning to normal, Lilian awaits the discipline master’s verdict. He has three marks to match her three. Her only notable bruise is the one on her cheek from the blow intended to defeat her.
A deep scowl has replaced the discipline master’s impassivity. “Your instructors have taught you well. You are worthy of your thorn.”
The sharp tone relays the discipline master’s disgust, as does his immediate exit without a word to Apollo or the alcove keeper. With the discipline master’s exit, sound erupts as Lilian’s friends surge forward, congratulating her and commenting on the match. Beyond them, a crowd of strangers makes its way from the alcove.
Katleen is beside herself. “Four times, Lilian. You marked Adelaide’s Master four times. I saw it when he exited. There was blood on his thigh. I think he was annoyed, do you not?”
“Lilian girl, you did well,” Apollo exclaims. “The master is correct. Your trainers have done well by you.” Cupping her head, Apollo kisses her forehead in delighted benediction.
As soon as Apollo releases her, Seigneur Trevelyan comes forward. “You should not have held back at the beginning. You could have had him at least once more, and he requires the humility.”
“Yes, yes he does,” Apollo is quick to concur. “He should have tried Lilian a year gone as is his duty to any of Adelaide’s consecrated. As long as I am Lord Prelate, Adelaide’s Masters will do the Warleader’s will and their duty.”
Apollo’s ferocity makes Lilian wonder what challenges he may be facing within the sect. Now is not the time to inquire, but she is glad if she has aided Apollo by humiliating the discipline master. For now, she hurries to make the appropriate introductions and then exit. She cannot tarry. Even with the assistance of the alcove transport, there is barely sufficient time to treat her wounds and ready herself if she is to reach the scarlet door by eighth bell.
»◊«
With careful deliberation, Lucius examines the latest damage to his apprentice. The small scores on her arm and shoulder blade have already closed. One spot on a longer score in the middle of her back continues to seep. The swelling on her cheek will purple, but the bone beneath is sound. Trevelyan voiced truly, the damage is minor. The lack of routine instruction from an Adelaide Discipline Master has not hampered her skills. According to Trevelyan, the standard competency trial escalated to the level of a mastery challenge after Lilian proved difficult to humiliate.
Nodding his satisfaction, Lucius instructs, “Visit Chin for this one on your back, and your cheek. You may correct your disarray. I wish your assessment of Master Fletcher’s chances today and those of the Matahorn contender.”
Unlike the prior year, the odds managers are not underestimating Fletcher, expecting him to place well within the top half the field. More importantly, the addition of a contender from the Matahorn Alliance has given rise to intense wagering between the two cartels. If Lilian favors Fletcher, Lucius will escalate his wagers with Horatio.
Twenty minutes later, seated on the couch next to Lucius, Lilian finishes her analysis. “Master Fletcher should finish fifth or sixth in the field, most likely fifth. The Matahorn contender will do no better than seventh.”
“The odds managers are looking for sixth and seventh, although there is a split as to who will take which spot. Why think you fifth?” Once a
gain, Lucius does not doubt the analysis, he is merely curious.
“The probabilities for fifth are only slightly greater than for sixth. The bottom third of the field is weak this season. Two of the contenders are only in the field due to aberrations in early trials. They will add little to the contention, but their inexperience will introduce a level of randomness that Master Fletcher’s daring will readily overcome. The Matahorn contender earned her place and lacks not daring, but she has not flown the course in two years.”
“Very well, Lilian. Take yourself to Master Chin. Should he inquire, you may share your opinions on the race with Master Chin and no other.”
»◊«
“Fifth position for Fletcher and seventh for the Matahorn contender? Are you certain?” Chin closes the small wound on her back as he interrogates Lilian about the upcoming Moon Race.
“It is the most likely case, not a certainty. Sixth and seventh are also possible. The probabilities only favor fifth and seventh to a slight degree.” Lilian does not shrug. It would not be wise while Chin is treating her thorn score.
Finishing with Lilian’s back, Chin turns to her face to make careful examination before applying treatments to reduce the swelling and speed healing. “Have the evil dreams returned?”
“No, Master Medic.” Nor do I wish them to.
“You may wish to consider sleeping without the thorn occasionally to determine if they will come.” At Lilian’s stiffening, the medic retreats. “You need not as it troubles you. It was naught but a suggestion.”
»◊«