by E G Manetti
“Lackwit, it is Katleen that feeds you,” Lilian remarks at the undaunted wombat. “Not that you need more, you are getting fat.”
“She is not a lackwit,” Katleen says, entering the kitchen. “She is quite clever. And Gloribelle is not fat, she is growing.”
“Exactly how big will she grow?” Lilian eyes the rotund creature the size of a good-sized cat.
“In another year, at full growth, the size of small dog. Mayhap twenty-five pounds.” Katleen shrugs. Pulling a handful of radishes from the foodkeeper, Katleen tosses one to her pet. With an eager chirp, Gloribelle happily snatches the treat and retreats under the table to enjoy it.
Shaking her head, Lilian dismisses the creature and asks, “How was the shrine? How fared Maman?”
Mouth full of radish, Katleen nods her head and waves a hand wildly.
“Something exciting?” Lilian teases, putting a glass of water in front of Katleen.
With a big gulp, Katleen washes down the radish and gasps out, “Seigneur Aristides and Maman!”
“What say you?” Lilian rocks back in surprise.
“The seigneur made an offering to Sinead, and Maman gave the seigneur Sinead’s blessing,” Katleen explains.
“How so?” Lilian knows Aristides’ shrine affiliation, as she knows the shrine affiliations of all the Cartel seigneurs. She had never given it much thought, though.
“It was so boring in the shrine this morning,” Katleen begins. “With the nice weather, almost no one came. I was playing my pipes for the fish in Sinead’s sacred pool when Seigneur Aristides arrived…
Sound and movement draw Katleen’s attention to the shrine entrance, where a splendid group enters led by a slender warrior in peridot and silver battle garb of the finest quality. Katleen’s eyes go unerringly to the gold and sapphire signet and dagger hilt visible at the warrior’s waist. Grey Spear. He is a warrior of Grey Spear.
Katleen’s mind races through the Grey Spear signet warriors who attend Sinead’s Shrine. It is most likely Seigneur Aristides. Her guess is confirmed when a tall girl nearing the age of consent moves next to the seigneur. She has the same elongated, clever features as the warrior, softened by a dimpled chin and bright blue eyes instead of heavily lidded black. Marisa, Aristides’ daughter, has added inches and curves in the seasons since Katleen was expelled from Cross Sabers Academy for Gariten’s crimes.
As the keeper and her senior acolyte hasten to greet the important visitors, Katleen ends her tune and quickly fades into the shadows. The altar is as orderly as it has been all morning. There is naught for Katleen to do but stand in pious attendance while Aristides approaches the effigy.
Expecting naught but a brief prayer to accompany the shrine offering, Katleen is surprised and impressed when Seigneur Aristides pulls his dagger and executes a brief and powerful display of Sinead’s Attack. With a flourish, Aristides slices not a finger but his palm to end his observance. Stepping forward, Marisa places a handful of gold shrine coins before the effigy. She is followed by her father, who passes his palm over the coins in a blood offering. The generous offering can only be thanks for some recent improvement in Seigneur Aristides’ circumstances.
Katleen quietly proffers a bowl of clothes and sealant strips to the keeper who deftly wipes the excess blood from Aristides’ hand and then applies the sealant.
“The hound must attack in order to defend,” Helena intones, appearing from behind the effigy. “Hunt in order to attack. Ever on guard.”
“Seer Helena.” Aristides bows formally in greeting as the keeper places the blood-spotted cloths in the sacred flame.
“Sinead favors the wily as well as the fierce,” Helena responds cryptically.
“Deception can fell foes as well as a blade,” Aristides quotes from a Sinead text.
“Or elevate allies,” Helena completes the text with a smile. “You have pleased Sinead, and she blesses you.”
Before Aristides can muster a reply, Helena drifts away, disappearing behind the effigy and into the small chamber reserved for her use.
By the time Katleen finishes her description of events, the radishes are gone and the water glasses empty.
“So, Sinead is pleased with Seigneur Aristides,” Lilian muses. “Definitely a blessing.”
“We should look at Maman’s panels,” Katleen suggests. “Perhaps Seigneur Aristides has appeared.”
“I looked this morning.” Lilian takes the glasses to the sink. “There are no new figures, and the snake vine is retreating. It is gone from the monsignor’s panel, and only tendrils remain in mine. There are many fewer, and the snakeheads have returned to buds.”
“What do you think it means?” Katleen begins to dry the glasses.
“Monsignor Lucius has swept Sebastian Mehta and the worst of the traitors from the Cartel.” Lilian rinses the second glass. “What remains of that corruption, Seigneur Trevelyan will discover and eradicate. I expect the vine will be gone completely by the dry season.”
Drying her hands, Lilian continues, “As to Seigneur Aristides, I expect Maman knows more about the changes in Grey Spear than many in the Cartel. Sebastian Mehta is one of Sinead’s and was preeminence of a cartouche until two days gone.”
Putting away the glasses, Katleen nods. “Does that mean that Seigneur Aristides is now the most powerful member of Sinead’s Sect in the Third System?”
“Mayhap.” Lilian leans against the sink and mentally reviews the roster of Third System warriors. “There are two in the Third System with greater wealth, but neither with the status of Serengeti department head or Maman’s blessing.”
“Maman rarely gives her blessing. I do not think she has done so since before the ruin,” Katleen says, frowning in concentration. “That would mean Sinead favors Seigneur Aristides above the others.”
More like Maman favors Seigneur Aristides, Lilian thinks. Helena may be disordered in her wits, but she does not lack them. Seigneur Aristides supports milord. An increase in Aristides’ status and influence also increases milord’s power and the depth of the shadow that shelters Lilian. Swallowing the cynical thought, Lilian places a hand on Katleen’s back and gently nudges her toward the door. “Time to race. Call your pet.”
Leaving Gloribelle in the garden, Lilian and Katleen cross the now-sunny courtyard to exit to the street and journey to the River Quarter for Katleen’s race training. Taking Lilian’s hand, Katleen skips along happily. “You are safer now, are you not? With Sebastian Mehta and his protégé swept from the Cartel.”
“Yes, I am.” Lilian squeezes Katleen’s hand briefly. “And the Cartel and the monsignor are better for it as well.”
Sevenday 88, Day 1
Lilian opens her eyes to the pale dawn light falling weakly through the high, thin clouds. There will be no rain this day.
Today I live. Lilian rises, stretches, and slides gracefully into Adelaide’s Contemplation.
I am bonded. Sebastian Mehta is gone from the Cartel , and Lilian is safe from his dangerous animosity.
There is only this day. Martin is also gone and with him, the worst of the associates’ hostility.
I will not fail. The spectacle of Martin’s public caning in front of the Halls of Justice is scheduled for this coming Third Day, after which he will leave for Sedona in the Seventh System.
I will not fall. Lilian was relieved to discover that milord is the claimant in the matter. Lilian’s presence is not required
There is only this day. Chrys will return soon, and they have much to share.
Today I live. Lilian reaches for her training garb.
»◊«
The early morning cloud cover has burned away, leaving the Garden Center and cityscape sparkling in the bright light of the green season. Bright blossoms mist the foliage and will soon be followed by an explosion of new growth. The promise and optimism of the new season very much suits Lucius’ mood. He is rid of Sebastian Mehta and his intrigues years before he thought it would be possible. He is firmly in control
of Bright Star and looking forward to the Fortuna summit in two months’ time. More immediately, he is looking forward to the eighth-bell arrival of his apprentice.
As if summoned by Lucius’ will, the chimes sound and the scarlet door recesses. Lilian’s slender, black-clad form steps lightly into the chamber, the loose swing of her shoulders and the brightness in her gray eyes indications that she has fully recovered from Martin’s attack. Leisurely perusing the length of Lilian’s elegantly muscled legs revealed by her short skirt, Lucius notes a mild abrasion on one knee. She has been training in the stone courtyard.
After months of battling dangerous intrigue, Lilian crosses the scarlet threshold filled with anticipation of the season to come. The evil dreams brought about by Master Chin’s potions are completely faded. In a few months, she will accompany milord to Fortuna for the summit and the beginning of SEV1 construction. Milord appears well pleased, seated at the ebony desk, a smile mixed with the hint of heat holds naught of commerce.
Lucius is well aware that the banishment of Sebastian Mehta is due in no small part to the woman standing before him. Lilian’s talent, effort, and courage were essential to the timely thwarting of the counterfeiters and the Laser Sting intrigue. Had they had longer to play out, the cost would have been considerable. Bright Star might have been imperiled. Much of what Lilian has done cannot be acknowledged for reasons of Blooded Dagger and Serengeti security-privilege. Of what can be acknowledged, to do so would call far more attention to Lilian than is safe for her. Most, but not all, material recognition is forbidden by the terms of her Trial by Ordeal. There is one acknowledgement Lucius can make, however. Reaching into his desk, Lucius pulls forth a small, black box. “Come here, I have something for you.”
Both heat and mischief have risen in milord’s expression. The last such box held the Mercium and Vistrite that hang from her belt. Eagerly, Lilian rounds the desk and accepts the box. At milord’s encouraging nod, Lilian lifts the lid.
A ruby, the size of a pea and set in gold, is twin to the one that already hangs on Lilian’s gold warbelt. That first ruby was a token designed to reflect Lilian’s triumph over Damien St. Gervais, a symbolic rendering of the shrunken heads that once graced Adelaide Warleader’s warbelt.
Another head? Face alight with pleasure, Lilian lightly touches the stone as she raises her eyes to milord. “Martin, milord? My thanks, milord.”
Taking the ornament from the box, Lucius carefully affixes it next to the green-black Vistrite crystal. Lilian’s delight in the gift is evident in her voice and quiet smile. “It is a wondrous head. My thanks, milord.”
Pulling Lilian into his lap, Lucius orders, “Thank me properly, woman.”
»◊«
Milord exudes anticipation as he crosses the lobby with sixth bell chimes. The lightly predatory glance milord offers as he strides past her toward the waiting transport is all the additional warning Lilian requires. Milord is about to initiate another game.
Immediately upon entering the transport, milord closes the privacy screen, hiding them from Mr. George. Pulling her between spread knees, her back to his chest, milord glides his hands across her shoulders and then into her nape ties. Without a word, he begins to work the heavy locks free of the severe bindings.
It is truly remarkable how such a simple task can become sensual with milord’s warm breath on the back of her neck. Holding her hands tightly clasped in her lap, Lilian resists the temptation to run her hands along the strong columns of milord’s thighs.
Satisfied with the loosened locks, milord cups and strokes her breasts while nibbling along her neck.
Milord’s erotic assault forces Lilian’s hands to her thighs as she arches to provide better access for exploring lips and fingers. By the time the transport slows to a halt, she has yielded to temptation and let her hands wander to milord’s thighs. By the time she has followed milord into the bedchamber, the heat raised by milord’s caresses has mellowed to a pleasant arousal.
Placing her jacket and slate bag on the console table, Lilian discovers not a sarong, but a slender band of silk. Too narrow for a blindfold. A binding? Trepidation leavening her arousal, Lilian glances from the silk tie to milord. Mischief and the slightly predatory aspect from the Serengeti lobby blend in milord’s smile, increasing both Lilian’s wariness and excitement. His smile increasing to a grin, milord instructs, “Use it to queue your hair.”
Laughing at the dumbfounded expression on Lilian’s face, Lucius deigns to explain while they disrobe. “I believe I mentioned that I would like to execute the unarmed Duet?”
The Duet! She has not performed the Duet in over two years. Nude and with milord? The idea sends energy and excitement coursing through her. As she disrobes and queues her hair, Lilian surveys the massive chamber. The furniture nearest the two-storey windows has been pushed aside, including milord’s favorite reading chair, leaving more than sufficient space for the Duet.
Following milord to the windows, Lilian faces milord and moves gracefully into the opening stance. The basic sequence of the stylized mock combat can be executed in thirty minutes, although more elaborate and lengthy displays are used for festivals, with flutes, horns, and drums to accent the movements and set the pace.
The rosy glow of the setting sun plays over their nude forms, reflecting off the gold chain resting on Lilian’s hips and caressing milord’s strong, well-muscled form. Unconsciously, Lilian licks her lips, eager for the coming contact.
“Classic tempo,” milord instructs, moving to initiate the sequence. Three beats for the movement. Two beats for the position. The initial movements bring milord’s hands to Lilian’s shoulders in mock blows, followed by attempts at a throw that have milord holding her hips. Each contact is held for two beats before they flow into the next.
Adelaide counters Socraide’s assault with avoidance, followed by attack. Lilian’s legs entangle with milord’s in a tableau of an attempted sweep. A leg extends and the foot rests briefly against milord’s torso in the simulation of a kick.
Attack, feint, close, break, and close again. At each closing, skin against skin arouses, hinting at closer contact. Each break is a tease. Sweat begins to flow. As the minutes pass, each contact becomes as much a torment as a pleasure. Desire is forced back by discipline until each brush of flesh sends stabbing need along skin surfaces and through limbs.
The final movements are attack and avoidance. Adelaide is pulled tight to Socraide. Milord’s rigid sex is pressed against Lilian’s quivering abdomen. Milord’s breath is warm on her face, his lips close enough to kiss.
In the final movement, Adelaide slips free, leaving Socraide holding empty air. His only option: to chase across Three Systems and claim the woman he desires.
For Lucius, it is fewer than three steps to reclaim the woman he desires, pulling Lilian down onto the dais without troubling to find the bed. Her thighs are wide and yielding, her eyes almost black, her breasts taut and moving with her rapid breathing.
Lilian feels two hard fingers penetrate her core, probing, testing for readiness as milord’s thumb works her jewel, wringing a desperate moan of passion. Hot, swollen, and wet with need, her moaned “please” is cut off by milord’s mouth as his hardened sex replaces his fingers, sliding deep.
Releasing her mouth, milord arches over her, dragging his rod along the sensitized walls of her chamber. Milord unerringly finds the right spot, the right rhythm. Lilian’s legs tighten around milord’s waist, her fingers digging desperately into broad shoulders. Time loses meaning and the half-sobbed “please, milord, please” becomes a startled cry as milord drives them both to release.
Sweat cooling, sated and relaxed, Lucius rolls onto his back on the dais, pulling Lilian with him. She is stretched out along his side, her head and shoulders across his chest, legs tangled with his. Well pleased with his creative use of the spiritual rite, Lucius teases, “Think you a claim of blasphemy would hold?”
Pressing herself into the warm, muscular length, Lilian mak
es a small sound of negation. “I think not, milord. It is how the story of Socraide and Adelaide ends. There is even a rather controversial reading of the canons that suggest this may be how the story begins.”
“What say you, Lilian?” That Socraide and Adelaide began as lovers is an astounding suggestion, even for his often-confounding apprentice. Lucius tilts his head to find the serene aspect that so often accompanies Lilian’s release. It also tends to loosen her tongue.
“I do not invent it, milord.” Lilian defends her outrageous suggestion. “I studied the canons with the alcove keeper at Mulan’s Temple. He has the most unconventional mind and has spent much time in cross comparison of the canons. Taken together, Socraide’s Canon and Adelaide’s Quintet may be read to suggest a somewhat different form to that legendary first encounter.”
A small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, Lilian adds, “Such an interpretation does seem more in keeping with the First Warrior’s character as we understand it. Two periods, and they did naught but spar?”
Laughing, Lucius pulls up into a sitting position. “The alcove keeper is not the only one with an unconventional mind.”
“Milord?” Rising to her knees, Lilian eyes Lucius hesitantly.
“Peace, woman.” Lucius tugs Lilian into the circle of his arms, leaning back against the bed. “I find I prefer the notion that the First Warrior did not need to chase across the Three Systems to achieve his desire.”
As Lilian relaxes in his embrace, Lucius savors the warm weight of the lithe form, content in the moment. Beyond the windows, the lights of the Crevasse rise to meet the endless expanse of stars. With Sebastian defeated, there is naught to hinder Lucius’ ambitions. “Two years, Lilian. In only two years, we will leave the Twelve Systems in search of the Thirteenth.”
Two years. One hundred sevendays. It seems impossibly distant to Lilian. She routinely projects financial and complexity models decades into the future. It is naught but an intellectual exercise. The reality is this day. Each individual ‘this day’ slowly ticking down the sevendays of her servitude. Sixty-two sevendays remain. If they are aught like the last sixty-two, Lilian may not survive to see her bond prove, let alone the launch of the SEV1. The thought sends a shiver down her spine.