by E G Manetti
“Beaten? She did naught.” The scholar is horrified.
“That ‘doing naught’ is a serious transgression. She failed in her duty to defend herself as property. Had Lilian admitted you to her sister’s house, the transgression would have been severe enough that time could be added to her bond.” Certain he has the scholar’s attention, Trevelyan is remorseless. “With one other than Monsignor Lucius it could lead to a failure in her trial proof.”
“I will purchase her bond. The Holy Mother has so authorized.” Andreas waves off the concern. That the arrangement will not meet the requirements of Lilian’s trial proof and that she will be confined to Mulan’s Sanctuary for the duration of her natural life does not trouble the scholar.
With a harsh laugh, Trevelyan responds, “You are a fool. Lucius Mercio will not sell it. Had you a glimmer of sense, you would have approached the monsignor and known this. Your contempt for the warrior ways has imperiled a young woman who owned more than sufficient peril before your contribution. Have you any regard for Lilian, leave her in peace. Should you fail to do so, the monsignor will not need to come for your balls. I will present them to him on a plate.”
For a moment, Andreas is poised to argue. He cannot. Trevelyan’s words are the same as Lilian’s. With a sigh, Andreas accepts defeat. “You can place them next to my ears. Lilian has already promised to take them as a battle trophy for her master should I attempt to visit her again. She meant it, and she is more than capable of executing such an act.”
“She spoke thusly?” Trevelyan makes no attempt to hide his delight at this newest revelation.
“Indeed she did. I cannot say which appalls me more, that Lilian would so speak in front of her sister or that Katleen was not the least bit disturbed by it. I believe Lilian is correct, she would make a poor Universalist.” Andreas sighs again in resignation.
“A poor Universalist, true enough,” Trevelyan concurs. “Make no mistake, though. Lilian owns an instinct for redressing balance worthy of the Conclave. I have known her to accept extra burdens, even personal risk, to correct injustice and create the opportunity for light. Leave her in peace, Andreas. I know not why the Universe requires Lilian walk this path. Required, it is. She walks it well in spite of the many snares that dark forces have laid for her. Leave her in peace.”
“You aid her as you may.” Andreas is pleased his onetime friend is not completely lost. At Trevelyan’s scowl, Andreas smiles. “Deny it not. It relieves my spirit to know it. I will leave, and I will leave her in peace. Should she need aught I or the Conclave can provide, contact me.”
Nodding at Andreas’ words, Trevelyan rises and departs.
»◊«
“Seigneur Trevelyan!” Katleen’s call turns Trevelyan back from the school gate.
“Well met, Mistress Katleen.” Trevelyan smiles. “I did not find you at the river yesterday.”
“We were not at our usual time. We were delayed by Master Andreas. Have you come to make him depart?” Katleen radiates animosity well out of keeping with her normally sunny expression.
“Yes, I have. Why does that please you?” Trevelyan asks, intrigued.
“Master Andreas distressed Lilian,” Katleen responds, satisfaction replacing animosity. “He should not have come here, and he would not listen when Lilian wished him to depart.”
Angrily, Katleen adds, “She has been so much brighter of late. Not like the last dry season. The scholar made her go all closed off again. She barely spoke yesterday. I like it not.”
Reaching to Trevelyan, Katleen catches the cuff of his jacket. “I am glad that you have made him depart.”
Concerned by the young girl’s distress, Trevelyan draws Katleen to a stone bench so they can sit. “Master Andreas should not have come, and he should go, but it was out of concern for your sister.”
Katleen shakes her head in disagreement. “The concern is there, and that desire men feel for women, but it is overwhelmed by the discordance of his greed. He was disappointed that Lilian is not miserable and desperate. He was counting on it so he could have her help finding his bits of old metal and glass. I am glad you are making him leave. I wish he never returns.”
Surprised by the young girl’s insight, Trevelyan wonders at her words, “Discordance of his greed, Katleen? What mean you?”
“It was in his voice, all twisted up with the concern and the desire so that they were barely audible. Mostly it was the nasty jangle of greed,” Katleen insists.
“You could hear all that in Master Andreas’ voice?” Trevelyan pursues.
“Yes. Although it is not really hearing, that is the way I interpret it.” Katleen shrugs.
At Trevelyan’s confusion, Katleen attempts to explain, “It is similar to when Sinead speaks to Maman. Sinead does not send visuals. Maman creates the panels to interpret the message.”
Trevelyan is well aware that Helena Faesetili, Sinead’s Seer, is Shade-Ridden. What Sinead, visuals, or Helena have to do with Katleen’s odd perception escapes Trevelyan.
Oblivious to Trevelyan’s continued confusion, Katleen adds earnestly, “Sometimes I do not hear music in voices, I see color. I know not why.”
“Has it always been thus?” Though Trevelyan does not share the warrior conviction that the shades of the Five Warriors speak to the living, he is Universalist enough to accept that the Universe has mysteries that it reveals to only a few.
“I believe so,” Katleen says quietly. “At first, I did not know that not everyone could do it.”
At Trevelyan’s encouraging nod, Katleen continues, “A few years ago—Maman says I was but seven—there was an argument among the shrine’s acolytes. I could not understand why everyone was letting the man lie, so I asked.”
At Trevelyan’s gentle smile, Katleen explains, “I saw that one as colors. His normal voice was yellow, and it went all muddy brown when he lied. The shrine keeper said I had been touched by Sinead Standingbear and that her gifts are not for casual use. It is not a secret, but I am not supposed to say much about it or use it too openly.”
More and more intrigued, Trevelyan asks, “Yet you have spoken openly to me. Why is that?”
“Lilian trusts you, and you are like Lilian in that your voice has music and color. Yours are not the same as Lilian’s, but it makes for a strong, harmonious whole,” Katleen replies brightly.
“So it is a good thing to have a voice with music and color?” We began as cosmic dust. Lilian’s insights, and now this. Add in that the mother is considered a seer, and the Universalist inside the warrior tingles at the possibility that the Universe has an interest in Monsignor Lucius Mercio’s disgraced apprentice.
“No, not always.” Katleen’s stoic expression is remarkably similar to Lilian’s. “With you and Lilian, it is. Remus Gariten’s voice had color and music. It was so terrible it made me ill. I am glad I heard it only once.”
“How so?” Trevelyan probes. It is almost impossible to get Lilian to speak of Gariten.
Dropping her eyes to her shoes, Katleen reveals, “It was before he took the Final Draught. Maman and I did not wish to go, but they made us. It is the custom. He went on and on. Finally, Lilian told him to take the drink or she would pour it down his throat. She would have, too.”
What says she? Trevelyan had no idea the events of Gariten’s execution were so irregular. Before he can form a question, Katleen looks up and adds, “I hope Master Andreas understands that Lilian did not lie. She will take his ears.”
“He is well convinced, Mistress Katleen.” Trevelyan nods schooling his expression and voice to hide his shock. He need not question Katleen, there are other means to discover the truth of Gariten’s death. Instead, he asks, “What does Lilian think of your gift?”
Surprise crosses the young girl’s face. “I do not know. We have not spoken of it. She did not live with us for a very long time. When she came home, it was to go to the monsignor and the Cartel. I mostly see her on Seventh Day. She may not know. I should probably tell her.”
>
»◊«
I am the sum of my ancestors. Lilian resolutely crosses the scarlet threshold to receive milord’s discipline. She fears milord’s displeasure more than the potential pain.
I am the foundation of my family. She can expect no laxity. She has erred too often of late.
The large chamber is bright with the afternoon sun. The chair behind the ebony desk is vacant. Where is milord?
Honor is my blade and shield. Slowly, Lilian pivots, warily eyeing first the scarlet sofa and then the conference table. Anxiety increases with each breath.
Honor knows not fear. Not by the windows. Where is milord?
With a soft rustle, the freshening closet door opens, and milord appears. Déjà vu gives Lilian a moment of vertigo. It is eerily reminiscent of Lilian’s first day as Lucius’ apprentice. Tunic shirt loosened at the top, a tall man without his jacket sits down in a conference-table chair, legs akimbo. The Five Warriors guard his back. Honor endures.
Forcing her gaze to meet milord’s, Lilian finds anger, but not the tsunami of rage from the morning. Something else flickers in milord’s expression and is gone before Lilian can identify it. Milord’s words command her attention. “I have sent Seigneur Trevelyan to deal with Andreas Chiang. He will trouble us no further.”
Milord is waiting. Respond. “My thanks, milord.”
“Truly, Lilian?”
The question is soft. It requires a breath for Lilian to understand. “Yes, milord. I wish him to depart, and I do not wish to be the one to do it.”
“Will you be able to do it? Should it become necessary to offer the man violence?”
As much as Lilian would prefer the Five Warriors, she cannot drag her eyes away from milord’s intent regard. Honor acts as duty commands.
“Yes, milord. It will grieve me, but I will do it. I see no other path.” Lilian’s resolve does not mask her impatience with the Ancients scholar.
“Even should he not understand why?” Lucius’ intellect and curiosity once again dominate his emotions.
“Yes, milord. Andreas understands that I do not wish to see him. According to his tenets, to attempt to force another to one’s will is a severe offense. Although, Andreas has proven quick enough to dismiss my will as anything from naiveté to lack of proper education. By his faith, to come to me again violates my will. Should he do so, I will embrace my own faith.” Lilian has made her choice, and she will honor it.
“Naïve? He thinks you naïve? Has the man no understanding of you at all?” Lucius finds the scholar to be even more of a fool than he had previously believed.
“He does not wish it, milord.” Lilian’s frustration is apparent. “Andreas wishes my talent for archeology so desperately that he mentally reshapes the universe. The argument is over two years old between us. I grow weary of it.”
“He would have taken you before the bond was formed.” Each word is as hard and cold as crevasse stone.
“He so offered. It was another pointless discussion. Please, milord, do not mistake me. Without the Universalists’ care for Katleen, my situation could have been dire. I will not be ungrateful.” Lilian does not wish to incite further ire. She will not lie to milord.
Nothing more is said for some time as Lucius ponders this latest set of revelations. In the end, one conclusion is inescapable. Lilian had other choices. She is his by her own will. Within Lucius, the hard hot knot of anger eases and, with it, his appetite for corporal punishment. In the void left by Lucius’ receding rage, other appetites rise. He holds out his hand.
What does he? The gesture is so far from the expected command to strip and present her back, Lilian stumbles a little as she moves forward. When she is within reach, milord catches Lilian by the waist and pulls her between his legs. Milord’s head is lowered, hiding his face as one hand plays with the warbelt, rubbing the links between finger and thumb, toying with the lock.
“I find it a wonderment that a woman with so little of a past could experience so much intrigue from it. You seem to rouse strong emotions in men,” milord muses, his tone lacking the terrifying silkiness of the morning. “I find I am not immune.”
Milord lifts his face, his expression predatory. “The emotions you have roused in me are very primitive.”
The hands at Lilian’s waist slide up her torso and along her breasts. They move to her shoulders, pushing her jacket off and tossing it to one side. Milord’s teeth close gently on a breast covered by two layers of silk. The carefully controlled contact traps Lilian’s breath in her throat.
Releasing her breast, milord shifts forward, taking them both down onto the floor. Lilian is on her back, looking at the man crouched over her, his visage darkened with passion. His hands make quick work of her blouse and bra fastenings. Spreading the layers of silk, milord leaves her breasts open to his hot gaze, demanding hands, and nipping teeth.
Milord’s touch holds an edge of roughness that denotes tightly leashed violence. Lilian cares not. Relief and desire mingle, inciting passion. Eagerly, Lilian pulls milord’s tunic free and finishes opening the closures. Her hands roam hard, warm flesh, scratching in response to tormenting teeth.
With a growl, milord finds the hem of Lilian’s skirt and pulls it up to her waist. One hand reaches unerringly for her sex, the other captures Lilian’s wrists and holds them above her head.
Milord’s dark eyes pin Lilian as effectively as the constraining hand on her wrists and the strong body caging her. The hand exploring her sex is experienced and ruthless. Milord’s thumb works Lilian’s jewel while two fingers tease her slit and then slide into her. Lilian is soon moving in response, swelling and dampening as desire builds.
Milord’s hand ceases to tease between Lilian’s thighs and moves to milord’s trouser fastenings. Milord’s sex springs free, hard and thick. Lilian moans softly at the sight, struggling briefly against the constraining grip.
With a fierce grin, milord tightens his grip on Lilian’s wrists as his knees spread Lilian’s legs, making her accessible. Milord’s hand returns to her sex, tightens on the soaked scrap of lavender silk, and rips it free. Lilian’s breath roughens and her body tightens at the contained violence of the act.
Milord presses his shaft into her exposed sheath. His penetration is deliberate and shallow. Milord reaches up and grasps one of her imprisoned wrists with his free hand. Holding Lilian’s wrists pinned on either side of her head, milord indulges in a slow, steady penetration, his eyes locked on Lilian’s. A predator’s grin is on his face.
Fully sheathed, milord pulls back and starts the slow slide again, making Lilian feel every inch of her channel fill with milord’s hardened shaft until she can fit no more. And then again.
“Who, Lilian? Who may touch you?” The words are punctuated by the drive of milord’s sex.
“Milord,” Lilian whispers.
“Who?” Milord begins to increase his pace.
“Milord,” Lilian repeats, her breath growing ragged in response to Lucius’ insistent pace.
“Again,” Milord demands, moving harder and faster.
“Milord.” Lilian rises to meet him, writhing as her need builds.
“Again.”
“Milord, only milord!” With the last word, Lilian starts to spasm as pleasure takes her, pulling Lucius deep inside her, where he finds his own pulsing release.
»◊«
“Discard the bra, Lilian.” Milord’s quietly spoken words halt Lilian’s fingers on her blouse.
Her startled eyes rise to milord’s countenance. They are standing close, milord’s suit already returned to order. Nodding, Lilian slips off her blouse and bra. Without hesitation, she places the lavender silk in milord’s waiting hand.
Lilian’s eyes rest warily on milord as she tucks her blouse back into her skirt, settling the warbelt back into position. It seems she cannot go more than a month before transgressing milord’s will and justifying correction.
Reaching out, milord strokes her breasts through the silk of her blouse, bri
nging forth hard points.
“Do you find it humiliating?” Lucius is not referring to his intimate caress.
Being naked under my suit? Milord knows I do. Do not voice it. “Yes, milord.”
“Humiliation is a mild correction for failing in your duty to my will,” milord remarks.
This day. Milord is forbearing. I will not fail. It could have been so much worse. “Yes, milord.”
»◊«
“What have you for me, Trevelyan?” Lucius turns from the windows and drops into a chair, motioning Trevelyan to sit.
Relieved that Lucius’ rage seems to have cooled, Trevelyan takes the offered seat. “The accounts vary. However, the conclusion is consistent. Andreas Chiang waited on the steps of Katleen’s house for five to ten minutes. One witness claims to have seen the door close in his face. Eventually, Katleen and Lilian exited, and Lilian secured the door. There was some scuffling, the result of which left Lilian separated from Andreas by Katleen. They proceeded to Mr. Hidaka’s café, where they were seated in the courtyard for most of a period before Mistress Lilian and her sister departed.
“They argued, but Hidaka could not speak as to the subject. Lilian left angry, and Andreas was unhappy.”
“Found you Andreas?” Lucius snaps, anger resurfacing.
“Yes, Monsignor. He will not trouble Lilian again,” Trevelyan confirms.
“Well done, Trevelyan.” Lucius’ satisfaction is tempered by his continued ire at the scholar.
With a small shrug, Trevelyan admits, “It was not all of my design. Lilian had so convinced him.”
“What say you, Trevelyan?”
With a little grin, Trevelyan replies, “According to Andreas, Lilian promised to take his ears and present them to Monsignor as a battle trophy should Andreas attempt to visit her again.”
“Did she? Lilian did not relate it. Only that she threatened Andreas with arms.” Good humor completely replaces the earlier harshness of Lucius’ expression.
13. Final Draught
Over the centuries, local and system authorities abandoned the gruesome public annihilation of criminals common in the Anarchy in favor of the quick and anonymous Final Draught. In recognition that even the most despicable prisoner has kinship rights, immediate family members are given a brief period to address the convicted and then can remain to witness the execution. To prevent any future challenge to the demise of the executed, the immediate family must remain to witness. At least one majority-age family member must seal the record, affirming that the execution occurred as recorded by the militia official responsible for the execution. Failure of either the family or the militia to seal the record is cause for immediate review by the civil authorities. ~excerpt from A Social History of the Twelve Systems, an instructional text.