Transgressions

by E G Manetti

  “That was a nasty trick. Though, truly, what benefit did Mistress Shoshanna think to gain? Such acts will not gain her Mistress Lilian’s place in Bright Star and Mercium.”

  “It was not for benefit, but to relieve her ire,” Tabitha huffs derisively, taking another sip of the sticky beverage. “Mistress Shoshanna is offended that an apprentice from a tainted background is lavished with advantageous assignments while Shoshanna, with all her skills and connections, has naught but ordinary security-privilege assignments.”

  “Mistress Shoshanna has an odd view of what is important. I enjoy the Mercium and Bright Star work, but it is only a small part of Serengeti interests,” Douglas returns thoughtfully. “The majority of my periods go to proven endeavors that generate the wealth we all rely upon. It is right it should be so. I regret I cannot tarry longer. Will you walk with me?”

  “That was four sevendays past.” Chrys stretches back in his chair. “It has been festering ever since. Today was only the latest instance of Seigneur Damocles’ increasing displeasure with all Mistress Shoshanna does.”

  “It was perfect,” Lilian responds. “Truth structured to play to Damocles’ vanity and cast doubt on Mistress Shoshanna’s commitment to the Cartel.”

  A few months prior, Damocles suffered the dual insult of having both Bright Star and Mercium security-privilege placed with Seigneur Trevelyan. Insult was followed by injury when his rank challenge to Trevelyan ended in a severe and public beating in a trial by combat. The security-privilege seigneur would definitely take offense that anyone considered his area of control less desirable than Trevelyan’s. Douglas’ defense of routine Cartel work was an additional appeal to Damocles’ vanity and reinforced Damocles’ sense of righteousness. That Douglas is apprenticed to an influential Grey Spear seigneur gave credibility to the entire conversation.

  “Chrys, I do believe our Douglas is a worthy student of the so very manipulative Seigneur Aristides,” Lilian comments, impressed. “It is a pity that the seigneur will never know of this. The seigneur would be pleased.”

  »◊«

  “We will know for certain in two sevendays,” Solomon reports happily. “But it appears the Laser Sting can be calibrated so that the cutter only affects the surface at which it is directed.”

  “Excellent,” Lucius replies, returning his kinsman’s happy smile. “How soon will you be ready for a full trial in Wonder Crevasse?”

  “Mid-green season, Monsignor,” Solomon reports.

  “Why so long?” Lucius frowns. “Three months to construct ten devices?”

  “And to finish testing and constructing the new smaller devices we are prototyping,” Solomon hastens to explain, waving at the schematic displayed on the reviewer. “It is the same few engineers working both tasks.”

  From her standing position behind the couch, Lilian once again marvels at the design. Intended for specialized cutting, the mini Laser Sting it is not much bigger than Lilian’s thorn.

  “You would delay the Wonder Trial to complete the mini-Sting?” Lucius challenges.

  “Yes, Monsignor,” Solomon nods. “They are intended for fine cutting, and the Wonder trial will be more accurate if we include them.”

  “Very well,” Lucius agrees. Rising, he adds, “Inform me immediately if anything changes.

  “Yes, Monsignor.” Solomon rises, knowing he is dismissed.

  As Solomon exits, Lucius settles at his desk. “You can go, Lilian.”

  “Yes, milord,” Lilian acknowledges as she reactivates the alerts on her slate. A series of urgent pings have Lilian rapidly tapping. It cannot be. The floor shifts beneath Lilian’s feet.

  From his desk, Lucius looks up at Lilian’s sudden movement to see his apprentice steady herself on the back of the sofa. “Is it well with you?”

  At the sight of Lilian’s pale face, Lucius rises, “Are you faint? What ails you?”

  Shaking her head a little to clear it, Lilian straightens. “I am well, milord. I beg pardon, the alert—Douglas is to be caned.”

  Settling back in his chair, Lucius considers his apprentice in confusion, unable to fathom why she is disturbed by routine corporal punishment. “Why does that overset you? It is a common practice.”

  Honor endures. Lilian struggles for composure. “I beg pardon, milord. It was the surprise. Master Douglas is always so steady. I cannot imagine how he could have erred so.”

  A few quick taps, and Lucius pulls up the incident. “He assaulted Master Martin and broke his nose.”

  “My thanks, milord. If milord pleases, I must hasten. It is half past fifth bell, and the chimes have sounded.” Honor knows not fear.

  “You will attend me at seventh bell.” Lucius dismisses her.

  »◊«

  “Mistress Lilian, should you not unbind your hair?” Mr. George’s grave voice startles Lilian out of her thoughts.

  Five Warriors take it. They are almost to the penthouse. She has been sitting numbly, unable to repress the sounds of the caning, trying to calm her mind and her unsteady stomach.

  “My gratitude, Mr. George. I was not attending to my duty.” In her haste, Lilian’s fingers stumble and knot the linen ties rather than releasing them.

  Crevasse swallow them. Impatiently, Lilian pulls her thorn and slices the ties free of her hair. Thrusting the destroyed nape ties and thorn into her slate bag, Lilian clumsily orders her hair as best she can.

  As Mr. George opens the transport door, Lilian’s legs are no steadier than her hands. Once Lilian reaches the safety of the entrance, the driver reaches into the transport, igniting the conduit to Lucius. “Monsignor, Mistress Lilian is on her way up. She’s not herself.”

  Lucius reaches the foyer as the riser opens. Even with George’s warning, Lucius is shocked by Lilian’s pale face, her eyes dark and staring blindly. Before Lucius can speak or reach out to her, Lilian bolts past him. She makes it as far as the sink in the freshening closet off the foyer. The unmistakable sound of retching can be heard before the door recesses, shutting off all sound.

  After fifteen minutes of pacing, Lucius is about to override the door when it opens to reveal Lilian, pale, but with her eyes gray and focused. “I beg pardon, milord—”

  With a gesture, Lucius cuts her off. “You will come and sit down, and we will discuss this.”

  Obediently, Lilian follows milord to the scarlet plush sofa where milord hands her a glass holding ice and something citrusy.

  “My thanks, milord.” Lilian cautiously sips the contents.

  Lilian’s hands are steady, Lucius can begin his interrogation. “It was the caning that overset you?”

  At Lilian’s nod of agreement, Lucius demands, “Why? You are not normally squeamish.”

  This is the same woman who in less than a year has acquitted herself well in two battles, survived a violent beating, and seen an enemy defeated by intrigue and daring.

  “It is the sound. That evil humming the rod makes. The sharp shattering sound when it strikes flesh. It took a long time. It was twenty strokes. I did not… I could not… g-get the sound out of my head.” Liquid sloshes as Lilian’s hands start to tremble, and Lucius reaches over to steady the glass.

  “That is insufficient, Lilian.” Lucius’ voice is soft, his command unmistakable.

  “Please, milord, so much that was lovely in my past has been buried, cannot some that was ugly remain buried as well?” Lilian’s voice is tight with distress and repressed emotion.

  The forlorn plea touches Lucius but changes naught. There is more to Lilian’s distress than concern for her friend. Lucius cannot permit her evasions. She must yield her will in this. She must trust him.

  “Not this time, Lilian.” Milord is implacable. “I will tolerate no evasions. No half answers. Tell me.”

  This day. Milord’s will is justified. Lilian’s behavior, her distress, is exceptional. Milord is owed an explanation. I am the sum of my ancestors.

  “Yes, milord.” Reconciling to the inevitable, Lilian continues, “I
t disgusts me to speak of Remus Gariten. I beg a moment.”

  Where to begin? Without conscious thought, Lilian rises, abandoning the glass into milord’s care. How much to explain, how much to avoid? Instinctively, Lilian crosses to the windows, keeping her back to milord.

  The rain, which had ceased briefly, has begun again. The clouds are low, dark, and heavy. Water sheets against the windows, obscuring the lights from the Crevasse while the cityscape to the north is a fuzzy blur of gray surrounded by black. The distance from milord makes it easier to speak.

  “Smuggling, decadents dealing, fraud, lottery operations, illegal servitude—Gariten was guilty of it all and a great deal more.” Voice it. “He also broke my mother’s mind.”

  The horrible words, the awful truth drops into the dark cityscape and fades away. Milord is silent. Milord will allow her to voice this without interrupting.

  “Until my fourteenth year, Maman’s visions—if they truly are such—were readily interpreted. Many could be explained as maternal instincts. The last lucid one I recall preceded a party at the Gomez house. ‘Not the sandals, Lilian, you require sturdier footwear for the maze.’ ”

  Lilian leans her forehead against the cold window. The chill aids her hold on her control. “Normal, motherly concern. For Patrick Volsted, the difference between sandals and ankle boots was the difference between a bloody nose and a broken one when he attempted to take my panties.”

  Raising her head from the window but not turning, Lilian adds, “Maman’s instructions to Katleen before the festival brawl were very similar. That day, it was the difference between felling a foe and merely increasing his anger.”

  Milord does not answer. Knowing that she is digressing, Lilian continues her narrative. “Something happened shortly after that party at the Gomez house. I cannot tell milord what, only that Maman ceased giving voice to her visions. Gariten was convinced her visions could help him in his various enterprises.”

  The wind increases with Lilian’s words, howling around the building as if raging with her at past horror.

  “When Maman would not voice them, he attempted to beat them from her. It went on for sevendays before I learned of it. I knew he was angry. He was never one to contain his rage. I had not seen or heard the physical abuse. Katleen was not yet two and required a great deal of Maman’s time. It caused me little concern that Maman was often unavailable.

  “There came a day when I returned early from the academy. The house was quiet, it seemed empty. I went looking for my mother. I—” Lilian stumbles in her recitation, takes a breath, and starts again. “I found her in her chamber. She was naked, bound to a bed post.”

  As suddenly as it began, the wind halts. In the silence, Lilian’s next words ring with pain as sharp as a blade. “Gariten was caning her.”

  There is no sound from milord. He is a motionless shadow in the reflecting window. Chilled to her bones, Lilian wraps her arms around her waist as she stares beyond the night into bleak memory. “I may have screamed, I know not, only that Gariten was not alone. I was seized from behind and held while the beating continued. I may have struggled. I do not recall. When I could think, I pretended to faint, and the man holding me released me. I lay there with my eyes closed and listened to the sounds of the caning until I was certain there was no one near enough to stop me.

  “I raced the distance to Sinead’s Shrine and burst in on the keeper and the attendants in the middle of their devotions.” Another pause before Lilian can continue, gasping slightly as she gathers breath.

  “The keeper left me in the shrine in the care of the acolytes. I know now that it was barely a period. It seemed much longer before they came for me and took me to the Shrine Quarters. They had Maman and Katleen. There was a healer attending Maman.”

  Lost in the painful past, Lilian does not notice milord rise.

  “Maman opened her eyes and looked at me and started exclaiming about bright lights and guardians. The healer said it was the potions they had given her. It was not.” Lilian begins to shiver.

  “I do not know if it was the beatings, or containing her visions, or both. Since that day, it is mostly mad ramblings with an occasional lucid suggestion when I can identify it. He broke two ribs. Not the pressure fractures from a hard caning, but broken through and separated.”

  Lilian is shaking so violently her teeth chatter. She turns, seeking milord’s reaction, and milord’s strong arms enfold her. Milord is so warm.

  Lucius’ mind is teeming with questions. He knew Gariten was shadeless scum and that there was no love lost between him and his family. He knew that Lilian’s strength and resiliency must have been forged at an early age. This latest revelation is beyond appalling. Lucius sends a brief prayer of thanks to Socraide for whatever instinct has stayed Lucius from resorting to corporal punishment to deal with his confounding apprentice.

  Gathering Lilian close, Lucius returns to the sofa and settles her across his lap. Pressing Lilian to his chest, Lucius makes soothing sounds while he waits for the shaking to cease. When she quiets, her head dropping to rest on his shoulder, Lucius asks, “How does it end?”

  “We claimed Sinead’s Sanctuary. Gariten could not reach us,” Lilian’s weary voice sounds against Lucius’ chest. She makes no attempt to lift her head. “We resided for over two months at the Shrine Quarters. Maman was abed for three sevendays. A few sevendays after I passed my fifteenth birth festival, Dean Joseph came and carried me to the university. Gariten relocated to Socraide Prime. Maman and Katleen returned to the house.”

  “Why did not your mother claim Sinead’s Sanctuary as soon as the abuse began?” Lucius cannot imagine why any warrior would tolerate such treatment.

  Soothed by milord’s strong embrace, the steady sound of his heart near her ear, the words come without thought or hesitation. “I believe she feared she could not keep me with her. I had passed my fourteenth year, and protocol required I claim sanctuary for myself. It is possible Gariten would have prevented me. He had the resources. As it happened, my crying, screaming entrance into the shrine in front of a dozen witnesses was proof enough that I required sanctuary.”

  With every answer, more questions swell. Lilian is almost at the end of her reserves, so Lucius settles for one of the most immediate. “Did you have any further contact with Gariten?”

  “Contact?” From the security of milord’s embrace, Lilian looks back at a decade of avoidance. “He dared not violate sanctuary and come to me. He sent alerts and then agents. With Dean Joseph’s aid, I avoided them for the most part. When I could not, I ignored his will. In the end, just before the ruin, he managed to contact me when I applied to Serengeti. He was enraged. He wished me to go to Matahorn. He threatened Katleen should I not comply. That is why Maman and Katleen were on Sinead’s World when the scandal broke.”

  “Why Serengeti?” Lucius asks a question that has bedeviled him for over a year. Lilian’s extraordinary abilities, her rank, and—at the time—untainted bloodline guaranteed her a protégé’s place in the cartel of her choice. The Matahorn Alliance, the premier cartel in the Twelve Systems, was the traditional path for Helena’s family, the Faesetilis, and the newer Garitens. He has wondered for some time why Serengeti held her interest.

  For over a year, Lilian has desperately attempted to hide her dark secrets. She has known since milord gifted her with the warbelt that sooner or later this moment would come. Exhausted, hollowed out by extreme emotion and stress, Lilian makes no attempt to filter her response or consider milord’s possible reaction. “Milord’s Cartel was the only place in the Twelve Systems where there is a warrior who had faced the forces of Anarchy and triumphed. I needed to acquire those skills, for I knew that I must deal with Gariten if Maman, Katleen, and I were to be safe. I needed the warrior who defeated the pirates. I needed the training that only milord could provide.”

  Lilian chose Lucius.

  When Lilian was the elite of the elite and could write her own destiny, she sought him out. Not as the bes
t of desperate choices after her disgrace, but deliberately. She chose him.

  Shock, exhilaration, confusion, and a host of other emotions without name flood Lucius with this latest revelation. The woman has confounded Lucius once again. Putting aside his complicated reaction for later review, there is one question Lucius cannot contain. “What was your design for Gariten?”

  “See him dead without my being convicted of patricide or exposing his crimes,” Lilian responds without inflection.

  Socraide’s Sword! Lack of involvement notwithstanding, Lilian’s knowledge of his evildoing could see her executed. Even before the ruin, Lilian was in a nasty box. Lilian could not have been convicted of patricide without destroying her family. If there were anything suspicious in Gariten’s demise, his commerce dealings would have been reviewed by the Governing Council as a matter of form. Gariten’s death needed to be above suspicion, or Lilian and her family would have been lost.

  That Lilian plotted her sire’s murder does not disturb Lucius. It is what he would have done in those circumstances. It cannot be left there, however. “There is much to this history you have omitted, is there not?”

  “Some, milord, mostly speculation and information I have not been able to interpret. I will speak, milord, but I beg, milord, not this night. No more this night.” The pain behind the entreaty cannot be hidden, nor the distress that tightens the form in his arms.

  “No more this night,” Lucius agrees.

  Sevenday 71, Day 4

  There is only this day. The trial litany whispers through Lilian’s mind as she loosens her muscles with the contemplative movements of Adelaide’s Discipline. Today I live.

  The night before, tenth bell had barely sounded when milord released Lilian to return home. Too wrung out by emotion and stress to check on Katleen and Maman, Lilian dropped into bed garbed only in the gold warbelt, her thorn in her hand. After a few bells of sleep, the torment of long-buried memories and worry about milord’s inevitable interrogation had Lilian tossing and turning fitfully, slumber elusive.

  I am bonded. Recall of milord’s comforting embrace steadies Lilian’s nerves as Adelaide’s Discipline steadies her limbs. There is only this day.