Bright Star

by E G Manetti

  “The art museum?” Helena’s voice takes on a telltale singsong aspect. “Lovely structure.”

  The fruit drops unnoticed from Helena’s hand as she begins to circle the fountain. “Patron. No. I will not.”

  Tossing her spoon into the bowl, Lilian springs from her seat as Helena begins to wander aimlessly around the courtyard, “Lovely art . . . Influence . . . patron . . . no . . . no . . . no aid . . .”

  Helena is overset. Lilian has no notion why the art museum would give rise to such an episode. It matters not.

  “Maman,” Lilian grasps her mother’s shoulders. “Be not distressed. We need not visit the art museum.”

  With a start, Helena ceases to mumble, her eyes focus on Lilian in surprise. “Not visit the art museum? Why ever not? The collection is lovely. Much improved since I was a girl. Katleen will enjoy it immensely and it will be well to be out of the Garden Center District.”

  »◊«

  Lilian has always enjoyed the seaside. The steady thrum of the surf, the tangy scent of the sea, the warm shore, and the breeze whispering through the tall grass on the dunes almost as if someone is speaking . . . Bright Star . . . Marco . . .

  A hard, long finger strokes between Lilian’s buttocks and probes the small rosette in the center. The shockingly intimate contact pulls Lilian from her pleasure-induced haze. Milord is beneath her, warm and redolent of the sea. The thrum of surf solidifies into the steady beat of milord’s heart under her cheek. It is not the dunes that whisper, but milord.

  Milord is speaking, something about Seigneur Marco and Bright Star. That small round of muscle is amazingly sensitive. Focus. Ignore that finger. What has milord said? Raising her head to face milord, Lilian inadvertently pushes against the nudging digit, igniting shocking sensation. Duty. “Milord, I beg pardon, I did not hear?”

  Smiling, milord ceases his disconcerting explorations and gently cups Lilian’s buttocks. “Marco will arrive within a half bell. I suggest you hasten.”

  Nude, scented with passion, her hair in disarray, Lilian hastily rolls from milord and toward the freshening closet, gathering her discarded garments on her way. She has barely a quarter of a bell.

  “Do not tarry, I also require the closet,” Milord calls as the door recesses.

  Entering the closet, Lilian has scarcely opened a freshening packet when she realizes that milord has not left her to lie in disarray while he rights his appearance. It is a remarkable and unprecedented consideration. Lilian frowns slightly as she attempts to unravel the mystery of milord’s extraordinary will.

  »◊«

  “No advantage is too minor for Horatio, is it?” Lucius shakes his head as Marco concludes the briefing. For a sevenday, Matahorn has disputed every aspect of the protocol for the formation negotiations. First Matahorn resisted using the Serengeti governors’ chamber for the negotiations, finally yielding when Lucius agreed that the monitor records would be provided to all parties.

  Then Matahorn disputed the agenda of property reviews, initially insisting that the properties reviewed at the outset would be at a disadvantage and then later complaining that those reviewed last would suffer. Eventually, an even distribution was accepted.

  This day, Horatio is demanding that since Seigneur William is the Margovian heir and Seigneur Marco only kinsman, William should have the preeminent seat during negotiations.

  “Monsignor Horatio is well versed in intimidation tactics,” Marco notes.

  “The placement of William’s seat will intimidate you?” Lucius scoffs.

  “Not me, Monsignor,” Marco returns. “I am thinking of Leonardo. Monsignor Angus has been remarkably reticent during the protocol discussions.”

  “He has, has he not?” Lucius’ eyes narrow. “That is not what we have come to expect of him, is it?”

  Without turning his head, Lucius asks, “Lilian, what think you?”

  At milord’s command, Lilian steps forward from her place behind milord’s left shoulder. This meeting at milord’s conference table is not a formal Bright Star activity. Lilian is an apprentice, not conservator. From milord’s tone and the seigneur’s concern, the two believe that Matahorn has acquired undue influence over the Leonardo Society. Lilian does not agree, and with milord’s instruction she may safely voice her thoughts. “I believe that Monsignor Angus is very clever to leave the arrangements to Matahorn.”

  Settling back in his chair, milord exchanges a brief glance with Seigneur Marco before motioning her to continue.

  “By allowing Matahorn to lead the discussion, Leonardo gains the same benefits but without annoying milord,” Lilian continues, pleased by Seigneur Marco’s encouraging nod. Milord’s impassive expression is softened by his relaxed posture. Emboldened, Lilian completes, “In so doing, Monsignor Angus also implies that he defers to Monsignor Horatio. The arrangements are as favorable as Leonardo could hope and the Cohort remains on positive footing with both cartels.”

  “As opposed to being crushed by one or both of us.” Milord adds what Lilian would not speak for fear of effrontery.

  “As milord voices,” Lilian replies obediently.

  “Now, as to the matter of Damien St. Gervais and the Matahorn profiles.” Milord turns back to Marco.

  “It is as Mistress Lilian reported,” Marco confirms. “Seigneur Ayesha did not protest it when I demanded that Ann Hunter be dismissed from Bright Star. I expect Monsignor Sebastian will dismiss the incompetent associate as an act of contrition for the failure of his house.”

  “Knowing Sebastian, it will be due to pique at the embarrassment rather than true contrition,” milord remarks.

  “As to that,” Marco begins to respond before being halted by milord’s gesture. Turning his head, Lucius says, “Lilian, you have done well. Leave us now.”

  “Yes, milord.” Lilian efficiently stows her slate and departs, regretting that milord recalled her presence. The conversation was becoming interesting. I must work harder at being invisible.

  As the door seals behind Lilian, Lucius turns to his kinsman. “Sebastian’s reasons do not concern me as much as the competence of his Bright Star contingent. The Hunter woman failed in her assignment, but Ayesha did so as well.”

  “We cannot be rid of her,” Marco states. “Ayesha has meager commerce ability, but her devotion to Grey Spear is unparalleled. With Garwynn controlling cartel financials and Damocles security-privilege, Monsignor Sebastian will know all he needs of Bright Star developments. He need not have competence within the Bright Star contingent.”

  “Sebastian has always favored those who flatter him over those with ability,” Lucius notes contemptuously. It is fortunate for Serengeti that the media management seigneur, Aristides, is as capable as he is charming. Aristides.

  Under Marco’s fascinated gaze, Lucius’ fingers steeple and the dark eyes hood. “Know you aught of Aristides’ apprentice?”

  “No, Monsignor,” Marco replies, mildly bewildered by the sudden change in topic.

  “Aristides will attempt to inveigle his apprentice into Bright Star,” Lucius explains and then stuns his kinsman with the instruction, “You are to permit it.”

  »◊«

  Striding through the first storey of his Garden Center mansion, Lucius rapidly inspects the extensive and opulent formal reception chambers. Several of the gracious chambers have been opened to enable the free flow of the three score guests due to arrive for the evening’s festivities. When all are opened, the mansion can host well over three hundred guests.

  Delayed at the Cartel, Lucius has less than a period to ready for the evening’s entertainment. Commerce aside, the Matahorn and Leonardo visitors are important warriors. Lucius’ rank obligates him to provide personal hospitality as well as commercial. Generally, it is a duty Lucius enjoys. At the moment, he is finding Horatio a trial. At least Horatio’s spouse is not with him. Estella suffers sufficiently as it is.

  “Papa! Papa!” Elysia, Lucius’ daughter, twirls into the reception chambers. The budding ado
lescent strongly resembles her mother with light hair and lovely features, her father’s legacy evident in the dark eyes. “Do I please?”

  Laughing at Elysia’s exuberance, Lucius clasps her fiercely. “Always, dearling.”

  “Oh, Papa,” Elysia protests. “My attire! For the festivities.”

  Two sevendays shy of her fourteenth birth festival, Elysia will attend the evening’s entertainment. It is her first entry into a formal evening entertainment and it is for Bright Star. She will be the envy of her friends and all of Crossed Sabers, the Third Systems’ premier warrior academy.

  Releasing his daughter and stepping back, Lucius’ smile remains as he attempts a stern tone. “Do you wish my opinion, a more decorous twirl is in order.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Elysia responds with a giggle, unimpressed by the stern tone. With her movements, the ankle-length frock of blue and gold silk bells gently above gold pumps with small, delicate heels. A wide sash circles her waist above which a modestly cut bodice and puffed sleeves hint at the figure that has begun to curve.

  “Adorable.” At Elysia’s crestfallen expression, Lucius immediately recognizes his mistake, “And very grown up. Think you can behave with decorum suitable to your honor?”

  “Yes, Papa, of course, Papa.” Unable to contain her excitement, Elysia spins about without the least hint of decorum.

  “Elysia, enough,” Lucius laughs. “I must ready and your mother may require you.”

  “Yes, Papa!” Elysia skips ahead to her parents’ chambers.

  »◊«

  Sabri, Lucius’ personal servitor, makes a minute adjustment to the set of Lucius’ jacket and steps back. The deep charcoal formal wear is ornamented with the same platinum insignia, signet, and dagger Lucius donned for the Bright Star formation reception. As Sabri reaches to adjust the dagger, Lucius waves him off. “Enough, Sabri. It is a party, not a portrait sitting.”

  “As Monsignor wills.” Sabri sniffs slightly as he steps away. Lucius’ personal servitor is of average height, rotund in build. His features are even without being handsome. His shaven head and grayed eyebrows yield no hint of the color or texture of the hair with which he was born. Light brown eyes complete the unremarkable appearance.

  Within Estella’s chamber, Elysia holds a flat case the size of a slate. Seated before her mirror, Estella is a vision in cream silk. Her personal servitor, Marigold, carefully drapes a double strand of pearls in the V-neck of the sleeveless gown. An enhancement chain of matching pearls and pink diamonds settles between Estella’s shoulder blades. The carefully arranged platinum blonde hair is strung with pearls and more pink diamonds. The enhancements were a gift from Lucius when Elysia was born. Estella has similar enhancements to commemorate the births of their sons; rubies upon the birth of their eldest, Raphael, and emeralds for their second son, Cesare.

  At Estella’s approving nod, Marigold collects the eargems from Elysia’s case, each a single pearl from which dangles a row of pink diamonds. As the woman adjusts the ornaments, Estella smiles at Elysia. “You may use the pearl studs this night.”

  “Maman!” Elysia cries delightedly, starting to skip with excitement. Only Marigold’s quick reflexes keep the case and its contents from spilling to the floor.

  “Oh, thank you,” Elysia exclaims as she rapidly replaces her prim gold posts with the single pearls. Pearls in place, Elysia peers around her mother for a glimpse in the mirror. “Maman, may I show Raphael and Cesare?”

  “Yes, go.” Estella laughs. “You are far too excited to assist further.”

  With another glad cry, Elysia races from the chamber.

  “She grows so quickly,” Lucius murmurs at the retreating back.

  “She lacks two years to the age of consent,” Estella reminds her spouse. “She will be a child for a while yet.”

  “And you will live to see her to womanhood.” Lucius smiles, raising one of Estella’s hands to his lips. He knows it will not be welcome if he disarranges gown, hair, or jewels. “Elysia will do well between Marco and Angus. How have you placed Lynette?”

  Lucius finds Marco’s spouse, Lynette, thoroughly unpleasant. It is a sentiment Estella and Marco share. The alliance was designed by Lucius’ father, Tiberius. Marco was unenthusiastic but obedient to the preeminence of Blooded Dagger. On the wrong side of his father’s will for entering wedlock at the early age of thirty, Lucius could do naught to aid his cousin.

  Once Marco had an heir from Lynette, he established his own household. To this day, Marco and Lynette avoid each other. Divorce is not prohibited in the Twelve Systems, but it is uncommon. Among warriors, it is almost impossible. Once property and genetics have mingled, they are not readily separated.

  Marco is not alone among the warriors in his separation from his spouse, although indifference between separated spouses is more common than the ongoing animosity between Marco and Lynette. For a decade, they have avoided being in the same chamber. It was too much to hope that Lynette would maintain her distance when offered the lure of a Bright Star reception that includes the Matahorn preeminence.

  “I have placed her with Horatio,” Estella replies, closing her eyes for the lids to be brushed with golden powder.

  Sputtering slightly with amusement, Lucius demands, “What of the Lady Governor?”

  Lady Moira was only a decade into her tenure as governor when Lucius, at the impossibly young age of thirty-eight, ascended to preeminence upon the untimely death of his father. At the time, piracy and mayhem born of severe economic crisis throughout the Twelve Systems threatened the Vistrite trade, Blooded Dagger, and Serengeti. In an unprecedented and bold move, Lucius Mercio allied Serengeti Militia with that of the Twelve System’s governors to destroy the pirates and return stability to the supply lines.

  Moira, who had ever been at odds with Tiberius and distrusted Blooded Dagger as a result, resisted Lucius’ wild plan. Lucius, in turn, employed considerable and somewhat unscrupulous leverage to compel Moira’s compliance. Without the endorsement of the Third System governor, Lucius could not have persuaded the other governors or won the endorsement of the Governing Council. Their relationship remains cordial, but distant, in marked contrast to the familiarity between Horatio and Moira.

  “Moira will have Horatio to her right and Cesare to her left.” Estella opens her eyes in time to enjoy Lucius’ disbelieving and then amused countenance.

  “My love, you are as devious as ever.” Lucius leans in and whispers his lips against one delicate ear. Estella cannot feel his caress, Marigold cannot hear his words. “Horatio cannot feel slighted or challenged by my son companioning Moira, and Lynette will have Broken Blade in knots.”

  For the first time since he accepted the duty to entertain Matahorn, Lucius looks forward to the event. “What of Gilead?”

  Jonathan’s Prelate, Lord Gilead, is the leader of the Fourth Warrior’s Sect and holds the influential position of spiritual blade within the Governing Council. Horatio Margovian is Jonathan’s Lord Patron and holds considerable authority over Jonathan’s Sect, ensuring that the relationship between Lucius and Gilead remains cool.

  “Rachelle and the Dark Axe seigneur.” Estella turns toward Lucius to be corrected by a small sound from Marigold. Lifting her chin, Estella parts and tightens her lips for tinting.

  “My love, do you plan a brawl for this event?” Lucius grins at the memory of Dark Axe’s bold brunette from the Bright Star reception. Lady Moira has long favored Gilead. She will not be pleased that the Lord Prelate has two such lovely warriors to attend to him.

  Finishing her lips, Estella smiles. “Matahorn must have someone with Gilead, and Rachelle is of Jonathan’s Sect. Since you insisted that we omit the other senior prelates to avoid Socraide’s Keeper Virgil’s presence, there was no better choice.”

  Lucius cannot resist; he briefly sets his lips to Estella’s shoulder and dislodges a few shining curls to feather her neck.

  “Lucius!” Estella’s rebuke is undermined by laughter. “I lack the time t
o correct this.”

  “Good,” Lucius replies. “You are mine, and they all may know it.”

  »◊«

  “Raphael must be nearing advanced studies,” Horatio remarks of Lucius’ eldest.

  Above average in height, the lanky youth has the promise of a powerful warrior build, but not Lucius’ inches. Raphael’s dark hair and dark eyes are replicas of his father’s. His mother’s fair beauty has lightened Raphael’s complexion and evened his features. Handsome, and charming when he wishes, Raphael is happily flirting with the Dark Axe seigneur. Lucius thought Raphael would be entranced by the sultry brunette who continues to favor clingy knits, this night in pale blue trimmed with bronze.

  “Raphael passes his seventeenth year by next Settlement Day,” Lucius says, acknowledging Horatio’s remark. “Dean Joseph has reserved his place for when he passes his eighteenth year.”

  “Not Order’s Citadel?” Horatio is surprised. The militia academy on Socraide’s home world is the most highly regarded in the Twelve Systems and the first choice for Socraide adherents such as the Mercios.

  “Raphael will be better served by Mulan’s Temple.” Lucius’ smile holds a slight challenge. Horatio is so predictably conventional.

  For a moment, Horatio appears disposed to argue and then refrains. It would be the height of discourtesy to suggest Mulan’s Temple inferior to Order’s Citadel when Lucius was educated on Artesia. “I am certain Raphael will prove exceptional at his studies.”

  He may require incentive, Lucius thinks. Since passing the age of consent, Raphael is far too readily distracted by amusement.

  “This must be Elysia, she grows much like Estella.” Rare warmth enters Horatio’s tone. As they have been speaking, Elysia has approached and waits shyly to be acknowledged.

  “Elysia, come and greet Monsignor Horatio,” Lucius beckons.

  “Well come, Monsignor.” Elysia’s charming smile and the graceful inclination of her head are a careful imitation of Estella’s manner.

  “My thanks, Mistress Elysia,” Horatio returns. “You are as gracious as your mother.”