Bright Star

by E G Manetti

  Sighting Master Martin, Ann Hunter, and several of Martin’s other sycophants in the center of the first reception chamber, Lilian moves to another. She has successfully avoided the protégé since his return the First Day past. Lilian has no desire to encounter him now. She doubts that even Martin and Ann will be so bold as to publicly disdain her when she is present as milord’s conservator. She can imagine no benefit in risking an unpleasant encounter.

  Entering the next chamber, Lilian is hailed by Fletcher Detrenti and gladly joins his group. She is beyond pleased when the amiable man in his sixties seated with Fletcher is revealed as Leonardo Senior Associate Aidan. Aidan is the gifted and creative engineer who will design the propulsion systems for the stellar exploration vehicle also known as the SEV.

  The Iron Hammer legalistics associate who supports Bright Star is on favorable terms with a legalistics associate from the local Matahorn interests who is not part of Bright Star. An enjoyable, if somewhat careful conversation ensues as the group samples the renowned fare of the Warriors’ Summit.

  Meal complete, Lilian excuses herself to make a brief trip to the freshening closet. The respite is mental as well as physical. None of Fletcher’s well-mannered group offered aught but courtesy, yet there is no doubt that each one of her companions was evaluating her commerce utility relative to her tainted blood.

  I am the sum of my ancestors. She has done well so far this eve, she will not falter now.

  I am the foundation of my family. It is time to return to her duty.

  In these circumstances, Lilian is not expected to remain within milord’s sight at all times, though it is necessary that she periodically appear where she can be beckoned does milord require her. Exiting the closet, Lilian seeks a route to the main chamber where she can be available to milord’s will.

  As Lilian passes a small terrace, she is surprised by a man who bars her passage. Five warriors’ take it! Damien St. Gervais is quite possibly the last person in the Twelve Systems Lilian wishes to confront.

  “Well met, Lilian,” Damien begins.

  “What do you here, Damien?” Lilian refuses to greet him formally.

  Raising his eyebrows at her rudeness, Damien responds, “I am with the Matahorn Alliance. Monsignor Horatio is my mentor.”

  Adelaide’s Thorn! Protégé to Horatio Margovian? How? Why? This is ill. “When we last encountered, you had a place with the Andes Consortium. How comes it you are among Matahorn?”

  “It is a recent development, and not one that requires Serengeti approval,” Damien replies arrogantly.

  Warily, Lilian assesses the young man. His six feet do not bring him to milord’s height, nor does he have milord’s strength of physique. The features of his face are so well defined that he can truly be termed beautiful. Long golden hair carefully arranged in warrior braids frames clear skin as pale as alabaster in which are set amber eyes.

  It is a face Lilian once held dear. Now she distrusts it and carefully measures the distance between Damien and the end of the passage.

  “I knew you would be here,” Damien continues as he attempts to close with her. “I have awaited the opportunity for private speech.”

  “To what purpose? All that need be said between us has been said,” Lilian returns coldly as she glides through the terrace archway, toward the balustrade and a view of the Garden Center.

  Damien follows and manages to skim Lilian’s shoulder with his fingers before she sidesteps out of reach.

  “It has been a while, sweetheart. I thought we might renew our association. I understand that Lucius Mercio uses you well. Perhaps you have learned aught that might please me.” The confident smirk and crude suggestion turn the lovely man ugly.

  I am the sum of my ancestors. Repressing her instinct to spit on the offensive warrior, Lilian forces cool boredom into her voice as she glides farther out of reach. “For what reason would I ever consider such a proposition?”

  “Financial consideration.” The suggestive tone and deepening smirk add to the nasty intent. “Should you please me, I could be generous. You were anxious enough when we last met.”

  I am the foundation of my family. It is all Lilian feared. Stepping backwards, Lilian states, “Know you this, Damien St. Gervais, even a doxy from a tainted bloodline has standards, and you are beneath mine. I would rather lie with a crevasse-wallower than endure your touch. Do not approach me again, or as conservator I will treat it as an attack on His Preeminence Lucius Mercio and the Blooded Dagger Cartouche.”

  Lilian’s maneuvering has succeeded. Damien’s back is to the balustrade and no longer blocking the passage. With her final words, Lilian turns and exits. Anxious to find milord and provide warning that a dreadful ghost from her past has joined the Bright Star formation, Lilian hurries through the elegant reception chambers.

  Discovering milord near the entrance to the reception chambers, she is relieved to be acknowledged and beckoned. As Lilian closes with milord, milord begins to speak, “I must depart. Attach yourself to Seigneur Marco until Mr. George returns to carry you home. You may report your findings on First Day.”

  “Yes, milord.” Pleased to shelter in the shadow of anyone with rank enough that Damien will not pursue, Lilian locates the seigneur and takes position behind his left shoulder.

  Seigneur Marco is in conversation with Monsignor Angus Blackthorn, who breaks off after a moment to address Lilian. “Mistress Lilian, am I correct in understanding that you have oversight of the Desperation refining operations?”

  “Yes, Monsignor,” Lilian replies, slightly stunned to be acknowledged without an introduction. Fourth System manners are very casual.

  “What think you of this new refining technique intended to increase encoding capability in the lesser grades?” The bright, demanding intelligence in the monsignor’s gaze is oddly reassuring.

  With an encouraging nod, Marco gives his consent. “Conservator, your opinion is welcome.”

  To Lilian’s intense relief, the following thirty minutes are spent in a lively discussion of the potential benefits and costs of the new technique. It concludes when Mr. George arrives to collect Lilian.

  Sevenday 32, Day 1

  Honor knows not fear. Honor endures. Lilian has been repeating the litany since she awoke. The thought of describing to milord her encounter with Damien is repellant. She should never have revealed her loathing for the man. It will bring naught but trouble. Worse is the unnerving prospect of revealing to milord her history with Damien. It must be done. Honor acts as duty commands. The Bright Star formation is a delicate endeavor. Even small secrets may do damage. The more heinous the secret, the more likely it is to cause damage.

  Eighth bell chimes. I am the sum of my ancestors. Lilian steps through the scarlet door. I am the foundation of my family.

  Milord is not at his customary place behind the ebony desk. Turning toward the couch, Lilian does not find milord seated, gaze riveted on the quickly moving reviewer. This morning the reviewer is dark. Milord is standing behind the couch, face shadowed and hands gripping the couch back. There is tension in every line of milord’s body.

  It is not tension, it is rage. It is that same terrible rage from the night of the traitor. That hungry rage looking to destroy.

  Honor is my blade and shield. Forcing back fear, Lilian awaits milord’s will.

  Milord turns his head toward her and the tsunami of rage reaches for her, hungering to swallow her.

  Instinctively, Lilian takes a step back, only to be halted by the whiplash of milord’s voice. “Go to the windows. Do not speak. Do not move.”

  Honor knows not fear. Mouth dry, heart hammering, Lilian obeys. The walk to the windows appears as long as the Great Crevasse.

  Milord returns to his former stance, no longer searing her with his gaze.

  Honor endures. Terrified that the least sound might shatter milord’s control, Lilian draws on Adelaide’s Discipline to traverse the distance to the windows without moving the air or shifting a single carp
et thread. This cannot be about Damien. Their encounter does not warrant this level of wrath. Mind scrambling, Lilian can discover no cause for milord’s rage, no reason for such rage to reach for her.

  Within Lucius, rage wars with disbelief. The counterfeiters. The evidence cannot be ignored. Scoring. Lilian is dedicated to his will. The man has lain with her. Martin’s beating. Lilian is a proven guardian of Blooded Dagger honor. He has lain with her. The man could not own such knowledge otherwise. Lilian has betrayed him. How dare she? Violent, brutal images riot through Lucius’ mind questing for escape into reality: images of beating, rape, public humiliation, and death.

  Fighting for control, Lucius attempts to think, to analyze. The level of duplicity defies belief. Synthetics. He has been a fool. Bright Star. She is too obedient, too eager, too diligent. So very wanton. Gariten’s daughter.

  It is not possible. No one is that clever. Six months sustaining such deceit, mayhap. Nine years? Dean Joseph is no such fool. In the end, a lifetime of unrelenting discipline enables Lucius to seek answers rather than gratification.

  “Have you lain with Damien St. Gervais?” There is cold iron in the question.

  Stunned and bewildered, Lilian responds unhesitatingly, “Yes, milord.”

  At her confession, Lucius’ rage surges and he takes a step toward his wayward apprentice.

  Eyes widened in terror, Lilian cries, “Milord knows this!”

  The unexpected response slows the advancing wrath; it retreats from confusion. “What say you?”

  “Milord inquired. On my First Day. While I was at the university.” Barely coherent in her fear, Lilian stammers in her haste to explain.

  Dean Joseph attests you have known only two men. Lucius’ caged rage churns within him as his recall makes sense of the disjointed response. St. Gervais is a former lover. The most condemning aspect of the evidence is readily explained. Too readily?

  “St. Gervais’ claim is of a more recent association. A current one.” The rage begins to crest again in expectation of landfall.

  “I would rather lie with a crevasse-wallower. An opinion I made the error of sharing with him at the Bright Star reception,” Lilian declares, repugnance replacing fear in her voice.

  The contempt in Lilian’s voice, along with her words, is an effective levy in containing the dark emotion that Lucius has been controlling with difficulty. Now curiosity strengthens Lucius’ intellect and provides mastery of his emotions. There is clearly much more to the situation. “I believe there is much you should convey.”

  “Yes, milord, if milord will permit, I will present what I intended as I entered.” Lilian’s voice wavers slightly and gains strength as she speaks.

  At Lucius’ acknowledging gesture, Lilian continues, “If milord pleases, I will begin at the end and then provide the why.”

  Lilian quickly relates the sordid scene that occurred at the reception.

  Resting against the back of the couch, Lucius crosses his arms and considers his apprentice. Her tale explains her closed, immobile countenance as he was leaving the reception. He knew she had been wounded. He thought it no more than routine insult. Lucius remains enraged, though he is beginning to question the target.

  “A crude approach,” Lucius comments as he evaluates Lilian’s pale and trembling form. Well-justified fear or some other emotion? He will know. “I suspect your ire had another source.”

  “Yes, milord.” Lilian has been bracing herself to discuss her distasteful history with Damien since departing the reception. Now, buffeted by milord’s rage, she spends several moments subduing her emotions before relating a history she wishes to forget.

  “When Remus Gariten brought us to ruin, it was a dark time. When there was naught left save my sister’s house, there remained outstanding demands. They amounted to a fraction of the house’s value, but there were no means to settle them. Discredited, none would contract with me, nor could I negotiate on my sister’s behalf. As milord is aware, my mother is Shade-ridden. She is unable to negotiate on Katleen’s behalf.”

  Lost in the past, Lilian turns to the windows, her arms hugging her waist, her careful dispassion misting into bleak remembrance. “Lacking other resources, I applied to the one person who might offer aid, Damien St. Gervais. We remained in contact after he left the university and there was, I believed . . . affection.”

  Swallowing hard, Lilian continues, “When he agreed to receive me, I went to his lodgings in Pinnacle City. He greeted me kindly and agreed to provide a personal loan against the value of the house. I was not to disclose the source lest it cause him embarrassment.”

  Lilian shudders as she gathers herself to continue. “Damien wished to lie with me and I was willing. Afterward . . . afterward, he informed me that I was lacking as a doxy and in no way worth such a sum.”

  Gazing blankly at the vista of the cityscape and the Garden Center, Lilian once again pauses before forcing out, “There is more, milord. It is uglier. I would prefer not to give it voice.”

  Lucius believes her. What else he wishes to know of Lilian and Damien, Trevelyan will discover. Lucius has other questions to pursue. Pushing away from the couch, he moves to Lilian. “It is enough. I believe I understand why you would prefer a crevasse-wallower.”

  Reaching Lilian, Lucius grasps her shoulders, lightly pressing against her back as he searches her reflection. “Lilian, I would know. Had St. Gervais not promised you the funds, would you have lain with him?”

  Unable to meet his gaze in the windows, Lilian drops her eyes to the teaming figures on the distant street. Remembered humiliation is laced into her confession. “Yes, milord, had he said he could not take the risk of aiding me, I would have understood and I would have willingly lain with him. It was a dark time.”

  “How did you manage?” Lucius pushes. “Your sister remains in possession of the house, and I know there were no other funds.”

  Secrets. Lucius is finally penetrating the enigma of his apprentice.

  “We sold everything of value and even those items of not much value.” Lilian’s voice reflects the desolation of those days. With a sharp inhalation, Lilian continues, her voice returned to dispassion. “Should milord enter it, milord would find my home is furnished primarily with echoes.”

  Barren. Lucius mentally chides himself for overlooking George’s initial impression of the house some months gone. His driver once carried Vistrite core thirty miles from Crevasse floor to surface to earn a meal. Barren is not a word he would use lightly.

  Shoulders squaring, Lilian raises her eyes to milord’s reflected gaze, her shuttered countenance signaling she has regained some of her formidable reserve. “Milord, if I may be permitted to know, how came milord to speak of Damien before I presented my report?”

  Lucius hesitates a moment. Truly, it is no worse than what she has already endured. “Come, I will show you.”

  Releasing his hold on her shoulders, Lucius leads Lilian to the couch and settles her next to him. Activating the reviewer, he says, “This monitor record was sent to me yesterday eve, although I did not review it until this morning.”

  It occurs to Lucius that had he reviewed it then, Trevelyan would have had the truth of the matter before eighth bell.

  Lilian watches silently as the grainy visual shows a quiet dining chamber consistent with the city’s more conservative commerce clubs. The record indicates it is from three bells past midday yesterday, Seventh Day. Damien and another man are seated in a tufted leather booth. It is quiet in the chamber. The midday crowd has departed and the evening crowd has yet to arrive. The conversation between the two men can be easily understood even with the poor quality of the recording.

  “I behold not the fascination. I expected Mercio’s doxy to have more to offer. If you know what I mean?” The unknown man makes a crude motion of his hands over his chest, suggesting a well-endowed woman. “Mayhap she is good with her mouth. Word has it Mercio makes use of her often. She must be more than she appears. What know you, Damien? You
appear to be on terms with her.”

  “She is an eager piece,” the blonde man smirks. “Very trainable and quite supple. Keeps in good condition, you know. And those curls. You would not know it to look at her, but the curls over her sex are bright red. There is something very tempting about that. Did he know it, Mercio owes me much.”

  Damien’s companion is dismissive. “I believe you not. Not even you would poach on that preserve.”

  “Not so much poaching, more of accepting what is offered. She is a wanton thing and Mercio lacks what is required to keep his doxy satisfied.” Damien preens for the other man, confident in the safety of Horatio Margovian’s shadow.

  Lucius turns off the reviewer and adds, “Master Nickolas was but one booth over.”

  The young woman next to him is stiff with tension and trembling. Wondering if he has erred, if this latest wound has broken his apprentice, Lucius is at first stunned and then delighted by what comes next.

  “I believe, milord, that once I have proved my bond, I must make it my purpose to see that parasite severed from his cartouche.” Wrath, not despair. Wrath is Lilian’s response to this latest assault.

  “A reasonable-enough retribution for attempting to instigate your demise,” acknowledges Lucius.

  Released from the rage raised by Lilian’s possible betrayal, Lucius finds a new rage is rising. How dare that parasite offer such insult to Lucius? To attempt to manipulate him?

  “There is also the insult to milord.” Lilian echoes Lucius’ thoughts in her own. “Such arrogance to suggest he could so readily steal from milord.”

  “I do not believe I wish to wait for your bond to prove to extract retribution on behalf of my name and cartouche.” Lucius’ silken tones hold a system’s worth of painful possibilities for Damien St. Gervais.

  “If milord pleases, I beg to be permitted to act as milord’s agent in this matter.” Lilian’s tone holds the same gathering of purpose.

  “It does please me,” Lucius responds, delighting in the evidence of Lilian’s fierceness. “It would seem your affinity for Adelaide Warleader goes deeper than skill with her discipline. Shall you shrink his head and hang it from your belt?”