Transgressions

by E G Manetti

  Milord lowers his head, lips parting. Milord is going to kiss her, it is well.

  Milord growls softly against her throat. “Have you aught else in motion that predates my stricture against interfering with Monsignor Sebastian?”

  Confusion replaces Lilian’s brief relief. Is milord angered? Appeased? Milord’s embrace indicates pleasure, milord’s words and tone hold ire. It is well she is able to affirm, “No, milord. I would do milord’s will in all matters.”

  Milord’s harsh, intelligent countenance looks at Lilian consideringly. “Would you, Lilian? It is wonderment to me how someone so obedient is able to work her will so frequently. Nonetheless, it is a pleasing thought, and I find my will even more pleasing.”

  Pleasing? Even as Lilian wonders at milord’s intent, one of milord’s hands slides beneath her skirt and feathers against her silk-clad sex. Milord is not angered.

  Milord’s strong fingers convulse on the lacey scrap and tug. Lace and silk lightly burn Lilian’s buttocks, and then the delicate fabric separates under stress it was not intended to withstand. Pulling the ruined lingerie from Lilian, milord drops it to the floor. Milord’s dark gaze holds Lilian prisoner as he rises and sets her on the ebony desk. “Inattention to my will carries consequences. You are forbidden lingerie until First Day to come.”

  Honor endures. Midday has yet to arrive. Lilian will be naked beneath her suit for the remainder of the day and all the morrow. The thought of her humiliation dampens Lilian’s desire even as she accepts that milord’s correction is justified. It has barely been two sevendays since her last transgression. Swallowing shame, Lilian acknowledges, “Yes, milord.”

  Milord tugs Lilian’s thighs, urging her to the edge of the desk as he instructs, “Lie back.”

  Obediently, Lilian lies back against the slick surface, her legs dangling as milord shoves her skirt to her waist, the warbelt sliding onto her abdomen. Milord’s fingers unerringly find her sex as milord takes her in the kiss Lilian expected upon entering the chamber.

  »◊«

  Milord’s pleasure was fast, hard, and exceedingly thorough. In the aftermath of release, the pleasant ticking in Lilian’s center is counterpointed by a distinct burn between her legs. Carefully positioning the gold belt so that her conservator’s seal is correctly displayed, Lilian attempts to ignore the sense of exposure from her lack of lingerie. You are as milord wills.

  Honor endures. Uncertain of milord’s humor, Lilian squares her shoulders, pats the scarlet seal for reassurance, and exits milord’s freshening closet. With her jacket fastened, it is possible none will note the free movement of her breasts.

  Milord is not behind the ebony desk.

  “Lilian,” milord sounds, unseen, from the scarlet couch. Rounding the sofa, Lilian discovers milord, comfortably sprawled in a corner, jacket absent, and tunic loosened. At milord’s frown, Lilian hesitates. Has she erred again? So soon?

  “Lilian, abandon your jacket on the side table,” milord instructs mildly.

  This day. Milord’s will is inexplicable. Milord was pleased enough when Lilian entered the freshening closet. Now milord frowns. Already unsettled by milord’s earlier displeasure and correction, Lilian finds milord’s latest humor daunting.

  As Lilian’s jacket finds the table, milord holds out a hand, a familiar wicked gleam in his eyes, “Come.”

  Game time.

  Obediently placing her hand in milord’s palm, Lilian finds it turned palm up and filled with a small box. Thoroughly confused, Lilian meets milord’s gaze. “Milord?”

  In reply, milord flips open the box with his free hand to reveal two charms of the same size and style as the ruby hanging from Lilian’s warbelt. Set in one is the distinctive greenish-amber crystal of Mercium, in the other a green-black piece of Vistrite. Together, they are worth as much as the ruby that already hangs from her belt.

  Milord is pleased. Lilian’s distress over her error, her lack of lingerie, even milord’s earlier displeasure dissolve as Lilian recognizes the implications of the gems. Reaching out with one finger, Lilian touches the Vistrite as she softly hazards, “Desperation, milord?”

  At the awe in Lilian’s voice, Lucius releases his smile. “As you voice.”

  Pulling the small gem from beneath Lilian’s finger, Lucius attaches it to her belt.

  Lilian stands numbly, stunned by milord’s actions. The Mercium and Vistrite gems are milord’s recognition of her role in creating one and safeguarding the other. Outside Serengeti, the value of the precious objects will mark milord’s favor. Within the Cartel, the message could not be plainer. Lilian is a worthy Blooded Dagger retainer.

  Words are inadequate, though they are all Lilian has to offer. “My thanks, milord.”

  At the bright lilt in Lilian’s voice, Lucius glances up to catch a glimpse of a rare, fleeting smile. Resisting the urge to claim Lilian’s gently curved lips, Lucius adds the second charm. Reclining back, Lucius briefly admires his work before pulling Lilian forward onto the couch and into the curve of his body. Midday contains yet a half period, and Lilian’s freely dancing breasts should not go unattended.

  As milord’s fingers deftly work Lilian’s blouse fasteners, milord’s lips tease her ear, “You have twice thwarted Monsignor Sebastian’s will in recent sevendays. Do you realize how few inside or outside the Cartel can claim the same?”

  His ire at Lilian’s withholding appeased, Lucius is torn between dismay at the price of Lilian’s machinations should they be discovered and delight that his apprentice is so capable.

  The small part of Lilian not currently beguiled my milord’s touch and overwhelmed by milord’s favor trembles in fear that she has attracted the anger of one of Sebastian Mehta’s might. “Milord, my only intent was to advance milord’s interests and aid my friends. I had not thought that Monsignor Sebastian would be so angered.”

  Lucius does not doubt Lilian’s intent, but he will reinforce his will. “Woman, you have done well by my interests and your friends. But make no mistake, you will taunt Grey Spear no further.”

  “My thanks, milord. As milord wills,” Lilian responds in order.

  “My will, yes,” Lucius murmurs. He has had his will of Lilian once this midday, he will have it again.

  As milord claims Lilian’s mouth in a searing kiss, Lilian abandons all thoughts of Grey Spear, her consortium, and the myriad of other concerns that bedevil her days. Lilian arches into milord’s embrace, content in his favor.

  8. Insight

  The Twelve Systems’ commercial, spiritual, and civil authorities evolved from the alliances and treaties among the Five Warriors and their retainers. Their genetic descendants are the First Families, the warrior elite who control the cartels, the shrines, and the Governing Council. Children of the warrior elite are dedicated to the service of one of the Five Warriors in the year after their fourth birth festival and are consecrated twenty years later with a formal act of devotion.

  Among the common orders, a sect is chosen in the sixteenth year, and those devoted take their spiritual guidance from that warrior’s canon and discipline. ~excerpt from A Social History of the Twelve Systems, an instructional text.

  Sevenday 53, Day 5

  “I have promised second bell after midday to Masters Gil and Douglas for Mercium media management.” Lilian gazes intently at her slate. “I do not know if it can be moved. They may need Seigneur Aristides’ approval.”

  “Seigneur Marco is insistent he requires all the bells after midday. Mayhap he can speak with Seigneur Aristides.” Nickolas frowns. Gazing through the throng, his expression sharpens abruptly. “Master Gil!”

  “Master Nickolas.” Gil hurries over, pleased to be recognized by the important protégé.

  “Well met,” Nickolas smiles. “Are you able to move your second-bell meeting with Mistress Lilian to another time? It would be a boon.”

  “Mistress Lilian?” Gil echoes in surprised confusion.

  “Mercium Media Management,” Lilian prompts quietly
, cutting through Gil’s awe at being addressed by Nickolas.

  “Mercium. Right.” Gil fumbles his slate from his satchel. “Let me see. I do not know. Seigneur Aristides expects a report tomorrow.”

  “Could we meet at eleventh bell?” Lilian suggests hopefully. If she can finish with Mercium Media Management today, she may have some bells to devote to milord’s Blooded Dagger property tomorrow.

  “Eleventh bell?” Gil looks blankly at Lilian for a minute and then back at his slate. “Yes, I think so. I will alert Douglas.”

  “My thanks.” Lilian’s face softens with her relief.

  “Well done,” Nickolas approves, clapping Gil on the shoulder. “You should find your seats. The scoring will start soon.”

  Following a slightly stunned Gil, Lilian mounts the stairs to the farthest rows, where the apprentices are clustered. Since his bond proved, Gil has shed his disdain for Lilian. However, he remains remote, his status as a free associate a barrier between him and those who remain apprentices.

  Chrys and Rebecca are in the back row, Clarice across the aisle in the Iron Hammer section. Unlike other assemblies, the Cartouche and Cartel associates do not mingle freely on the three Scoring Days that mark the eight-sevenday training program for new associates, protégés, and apprentices. Cartouche scoring is a matter of honor and subject to intense wagering.

  In the row below Chrys and Rebecca, Tabitha waves a greeting. Like Gil, who takes a seat to her left, Tabitha cannot sit with them without a noticeable custom violation, but she will not deny them.

  “What think you, Lilian?” Chrys whispers as she takes her seat. “Will Blooded Dagger lead the trainees?”

  “Due to you and Rebecca, Blooded Dagger will lead, and thanks to Clarice, Iron Hammer will follow closely,” Lilian replies softly.

  “We will know soon,” Rebecca observes. “Look, the Grey Spear protégés are sinking into their seats, and Martin is not even here.”

  “Masters Nickolas and Fletcher are,” Lilian says. “They did not attend until the third scoring day last year.”

  “Things have changed, as you well know.” Tabitha turns in her chair to join the conversation. “Grey Spear diminishes as Blooded Dagger ascends. Martin is not here because he does not wish to be humiliated again.”

  The prior year, due to Lilian’s brilliance and her unconventional alliance with Chrys and Rebecca, Blooded Dagger set a new Cartel record for training scores while Grey Spear tied with Cartel Associates for third place. As the most highly ranked of the Grey Spear trainees, Grey Spear’s shame was Martin’s shame.

  “This year the Cartel apprentices may not score as well as the last,” Lilian remarks. “Vicenza assures me that this group is worthy, but not exceptional. None is likely to follow Clarice and Rebecca to become cartouche apprentices.”

  “Master Straus knows we are encouraging the first-year apprentices to help each other,” Rebecca comments quietly.

  “Has Master Straus complained to Seigneur Trevelyan?” Chrys whispers urgently. Lilian’s consortium helping the new apprentices is a radical departure from the Cartel tradition of abandoning new apprentices to fend for themselves in dangerous currents of Cartel intrigue.

  “Master Straus has said naught to my seigneur,” Rebecca reassures her worried comrades. “The Associate Master misses naught, so he must know Vicenza is aiding us, and he hasn’t forbidden it.”

  At that, all three Ravens turn their heads to thirty-year-old Vicenza sitting at the far end of the row. Returning their gaze, Vicenza salutes them briefly in acknowledgement. One of Master Liger’s archivists, Vicenza is of average height and slender build, with heavy features, light brown hair, and amber eyes.

  “Vicenza would not be so confident, otherwise,” Chrys agrees, noting Vicenza’s salute.

  Even with Lucius’ approval, Lilian’s unconventional consortium stays well within cartouche boundaries, Rebecca and Chrys tending to the Blooded Dagger apprentices while Clarice sees to those of Iron Hammer. To aid the Cartel apprentices, Rebecca recruited Vicenza, a third-year Cartel apprentice.

  As Rebecca opens her mouth to comment, Master Straus strikes the podium. All conversation ceases as the associates wait expectantly. As it was a year gone, Blooded Dagger leads the scoring, although by a narrower margin. Grey Spear and Iron Hammer are tied in second with The Cartel associates only a few points behind.

  In the front row, Nickolas rises and calls, “Blooded Dagger!”

  Leaping to their feet, Lilian and her friends join Nickolas’ cry. “Blooded Dagger!”

  Across the aisle, at the back of the Iron Hammer section, Clarice grins and joins Fletcher in declaring, “Iron Hammer!”

  In the Grey Spear section, Douglas rises with his cartouche and shouts, “Grey Spear!”

  Pandemonium rages briefly as all three cartouches scream their claim to dominance. As the thunderous noise ebbs, Vicenza rises with the mufti-clad Cartel associates and bellows, “Serengeti!”

  Exchanging grins, Nickolas and Fletcher echo, “Serengeti!”

  Immediately, they are answered by the associates of Blooded Dagger and Iron Hammer. For a second year, the Cartel Affirmation rings in the hall while Grey Spear remains silent. Until the prior year, the Cartel Affirmation had not been heard since Lucius Mercio ascended to preeminence upon the untimely death of his father, Tiberius. First Grey Spear refused to join the Cartel call in one of many petty intrigues designed to undermine Lucius and Blooded Dagger. Then Iron Hammer fell silent. After that, Blooded Dagger ceased making the call, and the Cartel Associates dared not. The return of the Cartel Affirmation is another indication that the balance of power has shifted firmly to Blooded Dagger and Lucius Mercio.

  At the third cry, a few Grey Spear associates dare to echo, “Serengeti!”

  One voice is shockingly familiar. Her eyes flying to Douglas, Lilian finds him grinning as he declares for the Cartel instead of Grey Spear. “Serengeti!”

  It is a bold move for any among Grey Spear to join the affirmation. For an apprentice, it is exceptionally risky. Seigneur Aristides’ shadow is even deeper than Lilian suspected.

  Once the Grey Spear silence is broken, the rest of Grey Spear capitulates and joins in the Cartel Affirmation.

  Milord will be pleased. Recalling milord’s passionate response to last year’s Cartel Affirmation, Lilian experiences a small tingle of anticipation. Milord’s reaction to commerce triumph is often passionate. Midday will likely prove even more enjoyable than usual.

  »◊«

  Lilian stretches languidly on the silk rug, the soft fibers pleasantly tickling her skin as she savors the mild ache in her sex, the aftermath of milord’s extended midday passion. Next to her, milord rolls to an elbow and gifts her with a pleased smile while running one hand lightly down her torso.

  “Seigneur Marco was very impressed by your discovery of Angus’ intrigue with the hull alloy,” milord remarks casually, his forefinger delicately tracing one areola. “He was also amazed that someone without excellence in metallurgy or engineering could unearth such a subtle fraud.”

  “My thanks, milord.” Lilian arches into the light caress, her nipple pebbling. Milord is in a pleasant mood. He has reordered his trousers but left his tunic open, offering a beguiling view of his well-muscled chest.

  “I am curious,” milord continues. “Even for one of your skills, it is quite a leap in knowledge. How did you manage it?”

  “Manage it, milord?” Lilian gazes confusedly into milord’s dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Her mind is fogged by her afterglow and milord’s gentle caress.

  “Unearthing something so far outside your knowledge,” milord insists, lightly tracing her other nipple.

  Adelaide favor me. Milord suspects the insights, or mayhap knows.

  Since she confessed her insights to Chrys and Rebecca, Lilian has struggled for a means to inform milord. Now that it is upon her, she once again cannot find the words.

  “Lilian.” Milord skims her flank with the tips of his fingers.
The touch is oddly reassuring.

  Voice it. Lilian does not wish to displease milord again with a half answer or evasion. And yet the words will not come. “Milord, I… that is… milord...”

  Socraide’s Sword! Lucius chose this moment to probe Lilian’s odd episodes, knowing she is always more forthcoming immediately after passion. He was not prepared for her to lose all color and coherence.

  Moving over Lilian, Lucius cups her chin, looking into gray eyes that are wide and fearful. “What distresses you in this?”

  I will not fail. I will not fall. “Milord may think me deranged.”

  “What say you?” Lucius sits up with a start, pulling Lilian with him, his hands on her shoulders. “Why would you think it?”

  “Please, milord.” Lilian raises pleading eyes to Lucius, one hand rising toward him and then dropping into her lap. “I do not believe that I am. It is only that my insights defy logical explanation.”

  “Insights? What mean you?” Lucius probes, eager for the answer to this puzzle.

  Anxiously biting her lip, Lilian hesitates before speaking, “It is difficult to describe, milord. Sometimes… when confronted with a complex puzzle… I can see patterns where none exist.”

  “Such as the fraud on Desperation that months of regular audits somehow missed?” Lucius is certain he is at the core of the mystery.

  “Yes, milord, that was one instance.” Lilian begins to relax. Milord is curious but not dismayed by her revelation. “Monsignor Sebastian’s intrigue over the Bright Star shares was another.”

  A small smile curves milord’s lips. “Your insights appear to benefit me as well as my Cartouche and Cartel. Is that what I witnessed the night of the traitor?”

  “Yes, milord.” Lilian tenses. What did milord see? Will he ask about her eyes?

  “How do they work, these insights?” Milord’s voice and gaze hold fascination but no censure.

  “I do not know, milord.” Lilian unconsciously fingers her conservator’s seal. “I do not control them. They come when they come, but rarely when I seek them.”

  “How long have you experienced them?”