by E G Manetti
“I’m well enough here.” Rebecca shakes off the offered seat to lean against the privilege shield.
A soft grunt from the male twin confirms Lilian’s distrust of Rebecca’s casual tone. Something is amiss. Rebecca’s stiff movements, her lack of brightness, and the Grim Twins’ odd acknowledgment amount to a wrong thing. And then there is the missed meal when Rebecca’s attendance should have been brief.
“Rebecca, have you respite to stroll the Cartel?” Lilian asks with false brightness, inclining her head toward the Grim Twins on the other side of her privilege shield. “I have been too long within and my mind is muddled.”
Eyes narrowed, Rebecca hesitates and then nods. “I could use some air.”
Neither apprentice speaks as they make their way to the street. Serengeti Headquarters encompasses a full city block. The two young women can circuit the structure without technically exiting commerce. They know from experience they can accomplish the stroll within the fifteen minutes that is the maximum respite span they are allowed outside of midday. That both apprentices routinely sacrifice all or part of midday to the pleasure of the ranked is of no note. It is the custom.
By the time they reach the pavement, Lilian is certain that Rebecca is hurt. Her normally seductive sway is stiff and careful. The indomitable and irreverent spirit is a pale flicker. Lilian likes it not. She desperately wishes to interrogate her friend. Instead, she pulls a protein bar and a small water vial from her satchel. “We missed you at midday.”
Halting for a moment, Rebecca accepts both food and drink and, with a dry glance at Lilian’s satchel, asks, “Have you ointment, as well?”
“Ointment?” Lilian is at a loss as she keeps pace with Rebecca.
Snorting around a large mouthful of protein, Rebecca waves her hand to indicate Lilian must wait. Protein is followed by water before Rebecca speaks. “You’re so well prepared. Have you naught for the welts?”
“Welts? What welts?” Lilian swallows outrage. Her suspicions are confirmed. Someone has injured Rebecca. Damocles! This is ill. Seigneur Thorvald cannot protect Rebecca from another Grey Spear seigneur as Thorvald did when he battered Martin at the end of the dry season.
“A half dozen from Master Straus’ belt,” Rebecca admits with wry humor. “It is well he favors me.”
What? Wait. Master Straus? The associate master has governance over the Cartel apprentices, with whom he may not dally. Lilian has found the associate master as honorable as he is uncompromising. For what cause would he belt Rebecca? Completely confounded, Lilian stumbles as she sputters, “Rebecca, I do not understand. Why? How?”
At Lilian’s uncharacteristic clumsiness, Rebecca loses some of her stiffness. With a shrug, sharply abbreviated, Rebecca admits, “I erred.”
“We all err,” Lilian protests. She has done so often and suffered humiliating correction a time or two. This is more. “A belting? For what cause?”
Color suffuses Rebecca’s cheeks as she swallows the last of the protein bar. At Lilian’s impatient expression, Rebecca quickly finishes the water. “I laughed.”
Laughed? At what? Midday. Oh no. Lilian is horrified. “You did not!”
“Not at that,” Rebecca quickly denies. “Afterward. It was funny and it was but a giggle.”
“A giggle?” Lilian cannot quite imagine how it could be so. Naught in milord’s passion incites mirth. Although, now that she thinks on it, compared to milord, Andreas— Do not. Do not.
“With another, it might have been overlooked,” Rebecca adds with a hint of her normal insouciance. “Seigneur Damocles is very strict. Master Straus had no choice.”
A seigneur may discipline his or her apprentice at will. However, Cartel apprentices are common property, and only in very exceptional circumstances is correction administered by other than the associate master.
“You voiced Master Straus favors you,” Lilian probes, knowing it to be true. Rebecca took a terrible risk in the manner by which she approached Master Straus for a place at Serengeti. Straus overlooked Rebecca’s transgression, demanding that in return she yield unswerving loyalty to the Cartel. Rebecca has done so to a degree that could not be publicly acknowledged. Master Straus would not have relished belting Rebecca.
With a spark of her normal spirit, Rebecca responds, “I will be well by this evening. Had Seigneur Damocles belted me, I would not sit until Fourth Day.”
Lacking words to respond to the revelation, Lilian hands Rebecca a small purple fruit that can be consumed with skin and seeds. “Clarice saved this for you.”
Accepting the fruit, Rebecca offers a fleeting grin. “It was funny.”
»◊«
Beyond the glazed walls of Lucius’ office, the sun is setting into a bright, early, green-season night. It has been a good day.
Lucius’ operatives in the Fourth System, where the SEV will be constructed, are well entrenched. His kinswoman in the Sixth System is showing unmistakable brilliance in rare metal commodities. Whatever ailed Lilian at eighth bell was no longer in evidence at the third-bell Bright Star review. For a brief moment, Lucius savors Sebastian’s irritation when Lilian was seated. Socraide’s Sword, Sebastian could sour honey.
As he enjoys the view, Lucius considers the upcoming negotiations and Horatio’s latest ploys to undermine Lucius’ control. He knew including Matahorn would have its challenges. If St. Gervais’ attempt on Lilian is part of a larger plot, Lucius will know it soon enough. For the moment, he will believe it so and act accordingly.
Three warning pings announce Marieth’s entrance. Wordlessly, Lucius indicates the drinks cabinet as he settles in the comfortable seating area, his face to the sun trembling on the crests of the distant hills. A small glass of spicy vodka appears before him. “Thank you, Marieth.”
With a small smile, Marieth takes the seat across from Lucius and sips sweet sherry while she enjoys the setting sun. Monsignor will instruct her.
Enjoying the beauty of the sunset, Lucius holds his inquiry for a few more minutes. It is well to keep Marieth off-balance. Her loyalty is unquestioned. Estella’s decade-gone assessment rings true to this day. Your grandfather’s apprentice holds secrets you may never know. Keep her close so that no one else discovers them.
Silver-haired at twenty-five, at eighty Marieth’s silken locks are spun platinum. Lucius is certain she enhances her pale tresses as part of her intimidation tactics. Tactics she learned from a master when she apprenticed to Lucius’ grandsire, Jonah, who at the time was eighty-three and the Blooded Dagger and Serengeti preeminence.
Of Marieth’s apprenticeship, Lucius knows nothing beyond the Blooded Dagger and Serengeti records, which are suspiciously sterile. In that, they are not unlike Lilian’s, which reveal no hint of her involvement with the counterfeiters, synthetics, or the continuing search for the traitor. Lucius’ first recall of Marieth is of a composed woman in her early forties who guided his twelve-year-old self around the Cartel. Newly named heir, Lucius was fascinated by Vistrite and dismissed associate gossip as unimportant. He has since learned better.
As the last edge of the sun disappears behind the distant hills, Lucius turns to his executive servitor, once again grateful for his grandsire’s wisdom. “So, what has the Cartel yielded?”
Setting her glass on the side table, Marieth recites, “Monsignor Sebastian’s apprentice continues to prove lackluster. Tabitha has returned from restricted duty and been assigned to the inventory audit.”
Sipping his drink, Lucius nods. Sebastian’s apprentices are playthings, not assets. The seasonal audits are essential to limit graft within Serengeti and exceptionally tedious. The bulk of the effort is executed by clerks who are supervised by a handful of associates with limited value elsewhere.
“Monsignor Elenora’s heir has taken up with an Indulgence doxy,” Marieth continues her report. “It is rumored the heir will be exiled to the Second System for two seasons. Her personal servitor has been given Elenora’s leave to physically restrain the heir, if necessary.”
“She will enjoy that,” Lucius laughs. “Truly, Elenora overindulges her heir.”
Shaking off amusement, Lucius pins Marieth with his gaze. “What else?”
In response, Marieth takes a careful sip of sherry and raises an eyebrow. Marieth’s parchment skin holds fine lines that confirm the wisdom and experience in her heavy-lidded eyes. Her elegant intimidation reminds Lucius of his unruly adolescent self and Marieth’s gentle curb. Recognizing the distraction technique for what it is, Lucius laughs again. “Cease. What has Lilian done?”
Why Marieth favors Lilian is unknown to Lucius. That she does amuses him to no end. It is also proving very useful.
“Comforted that Rebecca after a belting,” Marieth sniffs. She shares Lucius’ opinion of the vulgar apprentice. At the commanding gaze Lilian knows so well, Marieth continues, “Mistress Rebecca was irreverent in her attendance to Seigneur Damocles.”
“Marieth, that is an inadequate response and you know it.” Lucius lowers his brows as his amusement evaporates. He detests Damocles.
“She found the seigneur’s attentions . . . amusing.” Marieth barely swallows her contempt. This latest generation is totally lost to discipline.
Amusing? Lucius carefully sets his glass on the side table, swallowing hard. “Rebecca laughed at Damocles? During passion?”
“Yes, Monsignor,” Marieth nods. It is beyond shocking.
For a moment, Lucius pulls air, attempting to control his reactions. He cannot and truly, there is no need.
“Socraide’s Sword!” Throwing back his head, Lucius gives full vent to his mirth. On more than one occasion, he has considered having Lilian’s impertinent friend belted. If his laxity and Trevelyan’s favor led to this, it is well worth it.
Crossing her shapely legs, Marieth sniffs hard as she takes up her sherry. Truly, Jonah’s grandson owns a wayward humor.
Mirth subsiding, Lucius considers the cartel guardian. “Marieth, enough of stricture. You are as delighted as I am by Damocles’ shame.”
He is Jonah reborn. Fine. So be it. Damocles is a slug. “Yes, Monsignor, I am pleased. Seigneur Damocles is a meager warrior and an annoyance to Blooded Dagger.”
Regaining his composure and his drink, Lucius says, “As to Lilian, Rebecca has comforted her often enough, it is to be expected that Lilian would respond in kind. Is there aught else?”
Marieth considers. Lilian’s deepening relationship with Rachelle’s apprentice is dangerous for all. However, the Ravens are careful of stricture and Lucius is well aware of that connection. There is nothing new to say on the topic. Sifting through the myriad of details she has garnered in the past sevenday, Marieth offers only one other tidbit. “Grey Spear’s Aristides will attempt to place his apprentice in Bright Star.”
Aristides, Serengeti’s media management seigneur, is a warrior of exceptional skill. That he wishes his apprentice in Lilian’s orbit will prove interesting. Lucius offers a half smile as the entry chimes warn of his next visitor. “That will be Trevelyan. You have done well, Marieth, as always. You are an asset to Blooded Dagger.”
»◊«
Trevelyan takes an appreciative sip of his single malt as he watches Marieth exit through the scarlet door. “Mistress Marieth would make an excellent operative, are you certain?”
“You may not have her, Trevelyan.” Lucius shakes his head. His spymaster has exceptional instincts for talent. “My executive servitor must be loyal and discreet beyond question.”
“And handed down like a blade from father to son.” Trevelyan snorts into his drink.
“Peace, Trevelyan,” Lucius chides, well familiar with his spymaster’s hostile opinions of indentured servitude. “It has been nearly fifty years since Marieth proved her bond. She serves as she chooses, including a number of assignments in other systems.”
“And returned when Monsignor Jonah was aging and your father summoned her,” Trevelyan challenges.
Lucius looks sharply at Trevelyan. This is not a matter they have ever discussed. Marieth accepted an assignment in the Sixth System almost as soon as her bond was proved. A year later, she entered into a consort alliance with an Iron Hammer seigneur. There was no issue from the union. Her return fifteen years later coincided with the termination of her consort alliance.
Within a year of her return, momentous change entered the Cartel. At one-hundred-two, Jonah had been failing in commerce judgment for some time. His abrupt transfer of preeminence to Lucius’ father, Tiberius, was a welcome, if startling event. Even more startling was that Lucius was named heir and not his sister, Heloise, who had long been Tiberius’ favorite. Mistress Marieth became executive servitor to Monsignor Tiberius, and Jonah retired to the Southern Continent citrus plantations.
Over the next decade, Lucius visited his grandsire often. He never succeeded in unearthing the truth of those abrupt events. “Trevelyan, if you know something of the succession and Marieth’s role, voice it.”
“Nay, Monsignor.” Trevelyan shrugs, his hopes for a revelation from Lucius dashed. “I know the events were sudden and unexpected. As for Mistress Marieth, well, she is a formidable woman. I say again, she would make an excellent operative.”
As the first of Metricelli Prime’s two moons rises over the distant hills, Lucius considers those decades-gone events, his grandsire’s apprentice, and the old man’s inflexible reticence that withstood the diminishment of Jonah’s wits. “It occurs to me, Trevelyan, she may once have been.”
Trevelyan knows an order when he hears one. Raising his glass in acknowledgment, he says, “I will discover what I may. A forty-year-gone history, carefully hidden, is rarely discovered.”
Nodding his acceptance, Lucius returns to his original purpose. “And of recent history? What of Lilian and Damien St. Gervais?”
“It is as Dean Joseph disclosed,” Trevelyan begins. “In her nineteenth year, mutual friends introduced Lilian and St. Gervais. After a month, they formed a liaison that continued until he completed advanced studies some eight months later. Family connections found him a place as protégé within the Andes interests on Socraide Prime. For the past four years, Lilian and St. Gervais have maintained intermittent contact. On several occasions, St. Gervais visited Mulan’s Temple. There is no evidence that their intimate relationship resumed during those visits.”
“Did Lilian visit St. Gervais on Socraide Prime prior to her protocol review?” Lucius inquires. Lilian found the man readily enough after her protocol review.
“No.” Trevelyan shakes his head. “Lilian’s single visit to Socraide Prime was for her protocol review.”
“And we know what occurred between them then.” Lucius nods as Trevelyan scowls.
Noting the scowl, Lucius demands, “What else?”
For a moment, Trevelyan does not speak as he swallows single malt and contemplates the second moon that has crested the distant hills and chases the first. When the green season turns to the dry, the two moons will be so close in proximity they will appear as one. The light of the blue and white orbs will merge into a mist green.
“Trevelyan.” Lucius will know.
With a nod, Trevelyan meets his lord’s gaze, allowing rare anger to simmer in his eyes. “St. Gervais had no funds to offer Lilian. He lives well beyond his means. Although circumspect on Artesia and at the university, in Pinnacle City he frequents the more unsavory Indulgences where consent is loosely interpreted.”
Within the Twelve Systems, sexual practices are only limited by personal consent, with the exception of the extensive taboos associated with kinship interactions, including certain commerce kin as well as genetic kin. Forced intimacy—rape—is anathema and carries severe penalties, which can include annihilation. Since Damien chose his venues carefully and likely restricted his interests to the doxies, none he hurt would be likely to lodge a complaint against a warrior or be in a position to do so.
“Age of consent?” Lucius inquires quietly. There are few taboos in the Twelve Systems more sacred than the a
ge of consent. Unlike other annihilation crimes, child molestation does not receive the mercy of the Final Draught. The gruesome penalty has not changed since the time of the Five Warriors.
“In that he is not deviant,” Trevelyan acknowledges. “And for what it is worth, his tastes run to small, round women.”
“Interesting,” Lucius muses. Lilian could not be further from Damien’s preference. Nor would she have accepted abuse at his hands. Damien is not the first, and will not be the last, to treat his warrior lover in one fashion and his playthings in another.
“What is your will, Monsignor?” Trevelyan has killed for his own purposes and in service of Lucius. He will not lose slumber over the death of Damien St. Gervais.
“Monitor his movements,” Lucius decides. If the man becomes dangerous, Lucius will intercede. “Otherwise, do not interfere. Lilian is my agent of retribution.”
Is she now? As always, Monsignor plays a deep game. Lucius’ courageous and loyal prodigy trains as if she battles demons. If she is as implacable with her enemies as she is careful of her friends, this will prove interesting. At the thought of Lilian’s friends, Trevelyan glowers.
“What displeases you in this?” Lucius snaps. He will not put Lilian at unnecessary risk to appease his ire and his curiosity. “What danger to Lilian?”
“Lilian?” Trevelyan jerks from his inward reverie. “None that I can foresee.”
“You glower.” Lucius is not mollified.
Glower? “Aye, I suppose I did.” Trevelyan nods. “It is naught of Mistress Lilian, but Rebecca. Damocles had her belted.”
“She mocked his virility,” Lucius dismisses. Truly, the doxy is ill trained. What was Straus thinking with that acquisition?
“She did not,” Trevelyan denies.
Knowing his spymaster would not speak with such certainty without cause, Lucius does not challenge Trevelyan’s assertion. He will know what Trevelyan knows.