by E G Manetti
How did Maman know?
Ann was released from Serengeti on Second Day. Once Ann was evicted from the safety of Monsignor Sebastian’s shadow, Seigneur Herman and Associate Master Straus wasted no time in evicting her from the Cartel. As Chrys predicted months gone, after the events that led to Clarice’s caning, Seigneur Herman and the associate master conducted a thorough review of both Ann’s and Clarice’s work. Since then, all that restrained the seigneur and the associate master from dismissing Ann Hunter was Monsignor Sebastian’s protection. As Seigneur Marco surmised, Sebastian presented the dismissal as Grey Spear contrition for its failure of duty.
Red eargems, and now Ann Hunter. I believe I will watch for someone who resembles Maman’s mongoose.
“Maman, would it be acceptable to make visuals of your paintings?” Lilian inquires carefully. One never knows what will overset the seer.
With a bright smile, Helena responds, “Of course dearling, you are meant to have them.”
»◊«
“Lilian, I do not understand why you favor these stark designs.” Katleen waves at one of the tinted engravings from the Eight Systems era.
It is a delicate rendering of Rimon’s pools at daybreak. The barren landscape and quiet pools are rendered in tones of gray and sepia. A light wash of rose and gold suffuses the rising mist.
After a moment Lilian says, “The third century was a turning point. The promise of Order created by Adelaide and the Five Warriors became a certainty. Martial topics began to be displaced by more serene depictions.”
Looking more closely at the aged parchment, Katleen nods as Helena hums an obscure melody. Lilian’s decision to use the Art Museum Café was driven by more than a desire for insult-free obscurity. Katleen is too much with the Universalists. A warrior view of the Twelve Systems’ history is needed. Continuing her explanation, Lilian adds, “The simple lines and subtle tinting evoke discipline as well as serenity. It reminds us that order is not a given. Without daily commitment, it will readily disintegrate into anarchy.”
“Lilian,” Katleen complains, “it is my birth festival! May we leave warrior instruction for another day?”
“What better day than your birth festival to remind you of your heritage?” Lilian returns as she playfully tugs one of Katleen’s red-gold locks.
“Glitter and glory. Song and story,” Helena inserts with an admonishing glance at Lilian.
With a small sound of amused frustration, Lilian yields. “Yes, you are both correct. This is a party. Come, Katleen, let us admire the neo-Eight Systems ornaments and then we will to our meal.”
»◊«
“So much intrigue even then,” Katleen marvels as the trio exits the art museum and passes the small, melodic water feature. Their destination is the far side of the sizable plaza.
As Lilian suspected, Katleen adored the romanticized Neo-Eight Systems style typical of the early eighth century as much as the legends associated with the more important pieces. “I suspect our natures are such that intrigue is a given, regardless of the era.”
“Bright and dark, past and future, the Shades come and go,” Helena adds.
“Maman,” Lilian gently remonstrates. “It is a party.”
“Yes, it is,” Helena replies. “And I scent braised waterfowl. Let us hasten.”
As Katleen rolls her eyes, Lilian shakes her head in correction, more out of duty than conviction. They are both well able to discern when Helena is overset and when she but plays ‘The Seer.’
Shielded by awnings, the café is a set of small tile tables collected to one side of the restaurant’s main entrance. A chamber of sorts is defined by large pots of pastel flowers in hues that match the tables.
Katleen is in her favored purple, Lilian in the same dark green from last Settlement Day, and Helena in soft blue. They are deep-toned for the surroundings, but not noticeably so among the other patrons, mostly scholars and visitors seeking a reasonably priced meal after touring the museum.
Following Lilian’s direction, Helena and Katleen collect brightly hued plates and explore the buffet that serves as a menu. The braised waterfowl proves as tasty as the scent promised. With the sweets, Lilian and Helena produce their gifts to Katleen.
The two packages are simply wrapped and unadorned by ribbons or gilt. It is a far different moment from the one a year gone when Katleen was surrounded by her friends and faced with a table piled high with elaborately wrapped gifts.
Before the ruin. Before. Do not. Katleen attempts to push away the memory.
A strong, elegant hand clasps Katleen’s nape and gently presses. Lilian. “Do not, sweetling. It is gone.”
Gone. The lovely pile was not important. Katleen’s friends were. Particularly Velia. Friends since Sinead’s nursery, Velia and Katleen were nearly inseparable. Clever Velia with her brown hair, slightly bulging blue eyes, and narrow face was never at a loss for a jest. Katleen knew Velia could not be a friend after the ruin. Katleen expected Velia would shun her. Katleen was completely unprepared for what occurred that early dry-season day when she could not bring herself to enter the empty house after school and instead set a path to Sinead’s Shrine.
Lilian will not be pleased, Katleen thinks as she hurries along the Garden Center pathways to Sinead’s Shrine, sweat forming under her academy garb in the early dry-season heat. It matters not. Lilian is ever at the Cartel. You must hasten from the Universalists to your house, Lilian chides in Katleen’s head.
Ignoring her sister’s wisdom, Katleen hurries through the entrance to the Garden Center. Sinead’s acolytes are kind and clever. They will slip her sweet tea and cakes while she works her studies in a quiet corner. Our neighbors are not our friends. Katleen ignores Lilian’s insistent voice. The academy garb of the Universalists, with its wide-brimmed headgear, conceals her well enough for the brief distance between her house and Sinead’s Shrine.
Ahh. Something heavy and wet strikes Katleen’s hat, knocking it to the path. What?
“Demon spawn!” Another sludgy projectile strikes Katleen’s shoulder as she turns to discover the source of the assault. A half dozen young girls are circling, Katleen’s former classmates among the warriors, buckets of malodorous filth in their hands. Sinead’s aid! They have been waiting for her. Without hesitation, Katleen turns with every intention of racing for the shrine.
Blocking her path is Velia. Velia! The mud that hits Katleen full in the face is not as awful as Velia’s hate-filled “Demon shit!”
“Demon shit! Demon spawn!” Velia leads the chant as filth smacks into Katleen from every side. Half blinded, soaked in offal, and sobbing, Katleen barrels through her once-special friend, intent on the shrine. The mocking laughter and taunts of demon shit and demon spawn cut as harshly as spurs as Katleen stumbles toward Sinead’s Shrine and succor.
“We are here and the gifts are here, what is this ‘gone’?” Helena chides. Reaching her hand over one of the packages, Helena threatens, “Katleen, if you do not wish your gifts, I can find a—”
“Maman! Do not tease!” Katleen grabs the small bundle quickly and shelters it in her lap. “I am—oh! Maman, it is wondrous!” Katleen exclaims, dropping the silver belt to embrace her mother. The supple leather is a perfect complement to the Five Warriors’ Festival attire Katleen acquired last Settlement Day.
Examining the exquisitely worked belt, Lilian considers her mother’s shrine stipend. What little is not given to the market funds would not stretch to this. In defiance of custom, a grateful member of Sinead’s devoted gifted the seer in addition to the shrine.
Settling back into her seat, Katleen assaults Lilian’s package, opening it in such haste that one silver sandal nearly reaches the crevasse-stone plaza before Katleen catches it.
“Lilian!” Katleen’s cry holds as much surprise as delight. Lilian has been brutally practical about expenditures since the ruin. That she reversed her Settlement Day decision about the sandals is a wonder.
“Katleen, sweetling, try the sanda
ls,” Lilian encourages, pleased that Katleen has abandoned dismal recollection. “If they do not suit, we may yet exchange them.”
Without hesitation, Katleen toes off her worn ankle boots and eagerly dons the shiny, strappy sandals. The heel has a small lift, greater than any Katleen has owned to date. Rising, Katleen points her toes, admiring the sandals. “May I wear them now? It is not too chill.”
Suspecting that Katleen’s toes may turn blue before they return home, Lilian looks to Helena. The seer is unconcerned. “Of course you may. It is your birth festival.”
Ill made and silly, the delicate footgear was impulsively purchased in the aftermath of Damien’s intrigue and Ann Hunter’s dismissal. After the Five Warriors’ Festival, two months hence, Katleen is unlikely to use them again before they are outgrown. Swallowing her worry at the waste of expenditure for one day of wear, Lilian focuses on Katleen’s delight as the young girl twirls about the museum courtyard. Whatever dark memory troubled Katleen, it is banished by the extravagance.
“Joy is as much a foundation of order as discipline,” Helena quietly remarks as Katleen pirouettes.
Sevenday 34, Day 1
The monthly Vistrite operations review is held the fourth sevenday of each month. At one time, the schedule reflected the limitations of primitive reporting mechanisms. In this modern age, Blooded Dagger adheres to ancient traditions and customs. Those accountable for Vistrite are required to justify their actions in person.
With the exception of when he was absent during the pirate actions, Lucius Mercio has commanded every Vistrite operations review for nine years. As the most junior and lowest-ranking conservator of a Vistrite mine and refinery, Lilian’s place is at the base of the table, farthest from His Preeminence. As Lucius’ apprentice, her place is behind his left shoulder, where she is seated.
Even without her ambivalent status, Lilian’s role would be unique. Desperation Conservator is a position reserved for the heir to the preeminence. Lucius has yet to name one of his children as heir, so for a decade the post has belonged to Lucius’ protégés. Lilian is his first apprentice.
Solomon, the Vistrite seigneur, takes his seat directly to Lucius’ left, the Shieldbearer’s position. Were Lucius left-handed, Solomon would be to Lucius’ right where Jurian, Metricelli Deuce’s Vistrite seigneur, sits. Neck stiff, Jurian resolutely ignores Lilian as he has done since Lilian joined the reviews. The five Vistrite masters are dispersed along the table according to rank.
Another close kinsman of Lucius’, Solomon no more resembles His Preeminence than Marco. Seigneur Solomon is a fair-skinned man of seventy-plus years with brown hair and eyes. The sweet, round face, relaxed manner, and short, slender build often mislead rivals into underestimating the seigneur. After several months of attendance at the Vistrite reviews, Lilian knows Solomon to be as astute and ruthless as Marco. Having observed the seigneur in the training chambers, she knows that the narrow build is well muscled and impressively quick.
The review is routine; each master presents the prior month’s productivity and forecasts productivity for the coming twelve months. Safety, expense, and engineering anomalies are presented and dissected. Wonder’s master is rebuked for negligence in perimeter maintenance. The falling body of a self-slaughter damaged essential equipment and limited production for a sevenday.
“Is there aught else?” Lucius glances around the table, preparing to conclude the review.
“Monsignor,” Solomon smiles, “if you please.”
At Lucius’ nod, Solomon turns to Lilian. “Monsignor, I wish to commend the Desperation conservator on her algorithm for fraud detection. Several larcenies within the Great Crevasse have been halted. I recommend its inclusion in all Vistrite operations.”
Around the table, the masters fidget uneasily. If possible, Jurian grows stiffer.
I am the sum of my ancestors. Lilian built the algorithm to protect milord from further incursions in Vistrite operations. She held no expectation of Cartouche or Cartel recognition.
Returning Solomon’s smile, Lucius replies, “You are an able Vistrite seigneur, Solomon. It will be as you voice.”
At Lucius’ words, the chamber settles. Even the conservative Jurian offers a smile of approval. Solomon is well respected, and His Preeminence protects the Vistrite trade. With all the operational reports completed, only the closing formalities remain. Several of the gathered begin to shutter their slates.
Fingers poised to shutter her slate, Lilian hesitates. Something in the set of milord’s shoulders halts her actions. Milord has another will.
“Solomon,” Lucius begins, “kinsman. I invoke the blood bond.”
Blood bond. The chamber is beyond hushed. Lilian becomes so still that even her breath does not stir the air. Milord has invoked the strongest of oaths. Does Solomon agree, he forfeits his life and honor in contrition for failure.
“I honor the blood bond,” Solomon nods calmly, apparently unconcerned.
“Bright Star requires me.” Lucius looks around the table and finds all heads nodding in agreement. “Vistrite must never be neglected.”
More nods greet Lucius’ words. “For the next four seasons, I require a conservator for all of Vistrite, one of unparalleled accomplishment and loyalty.”
The attention of the chamber is focused on Lucius. “Solomon, you will serve as conservator and Vistrite seigneur for the Twelve Systems.”
Lucius has passed control of Vistrite operations to Solomon. It is unprecedented, unconventional, and—as Lucius’ will—unchallengeable. It is a profound trust. It is so quiet in the chamber Lilian imagines she can hear the rustling of the wings of the birds that nest in the headquarters roof.
Rising, Solomon waits. When Lucius also rises, Solomon kneels. The sweet-faced warrior reaches for and grasps Lucius’ preeminence signet. The thumb-long platinum ornament, inlaid with rubies in the Blooded Dagger insignia, dangles from Lucius’ belt. Solomon briefly presses it to his lips before vowing, “I am Monsignor’s servant in this to the limit of my life and honor.”
Briefly placing his hand on Solomon’s bowed head, Lucius says, “As you pledged, you shall be judged. Rise, Conservator, and take up your service.”
»◊«
Nude, Lilian stands with her hands braced against the two-storey penthouse windows overlooking the sparkling lights of the Great Crevasse. Oblivious to the illusion that she is perched on the edge of the abyss, Lilian quivers with desire under the skilled hands that tease her. All her focus is on the singing in her senses and milord’s exquisite touch. Milord’s instructions were simple. “Place your hands against the glass. Widen your stance.”
Milord has not spoken since. His relentless assault on her senses has left Lilian aching, wanting, and trembling. Milord continues. Milord’s lips graze her spine, sending shivers of pleasure through her while those strong hands trace her abdomen and ribs before finding and rolling the hardened peaks of her breasts. At a tug on her aching nipples, Lilian bucks against milord’s rigid sex as it presses into her buttocks.
Milord responds by taunting her cleft with the head of his shaft, causing Lilian to moan and squirm, desperate for milord’s penetration. Milord’s hands cease their attentions to her breasts. One of milord’s hands grasps a hip, holding Lilian in the position he wishes. Milord’s other hand explores her heated sex, finding the aching morsel of flesh at her center and working it. The intense sensation causes Lilian to writhe in unvoiced entreaty.
The tormenting hand releases her sex and grasps her other hip. Milord shifts her, positioning her. Please, please, please, Lilian’s mind cries as her body opens further.
Her hands slip. No! She may not release the glass.
Bracing herself, Lilian imagines pushing her hands through the window. She knows she cannot. The image allows her to focus and hold her position as the hot, hard length of milord enters her. Lilian cannot breathe, cannot think, as the pleasure of milord’s penetration threatens to overwhelm her. Forcing her hands hard against the
glass, Lilian concentrates on her palms. She must keep them against the windows.
Milord is moving inside her, stroking deep. Filling her. Pleasuring her. More.
Bracing, Lilian pushes against milord’s shaft. She is close. Her hands, she must keep her hands on the glass. The competing imperatives of her body and her discipline are overwhelming. Intellect suspends as the red haze of pleasure battles with the cold press of the glass, racking Lilian with unbearable tension.
The woman beneath Lucius’ hands is shuddering with passion. Slowly, deliberately, Lucius enters her. His sex stiffens and jerks at the exquisite sensation of her enveloping wet heat. Lilian’s eager reaction signals that Lucius need push her only a little further. He wants to feel her convulse around him, pulling him deep into pleasure. Lucius struggles to control the increasing pace and depth of his thrusts in order to achieve his will. He will feel Lilian find her release before he yields completely to the demands of his passion. She is withholding.
“Lilian,” Lucius rasps out. “Take your release.”
Lilian’s bent face is hidden by her fall of hair. At his words, she raises her head and he can view her straining visage in the glass turned to a mirror by the darkness beyond. Lilian’s face holds both pleasure and something akin to pain. Her eyes are fathomless pools surrounded by lashes spiky with tears. In response to Lucius’ command, she sets her hands against the window and pushes back. For a moment, the palms of her hands lift from the surface, although her fingertips do not lose contact. She moves abruptly away from him, slamming her hands against the glass.
Socraide’s Sword!
“Lillian, release the glass. Take your pleasure. Release the windows!” Lucius is urgent in his instruction. His breath is coming hard, his sex deep inside the distressed woman.
At his words, Lilian trembles and lurches back against him. Her hands lift from the windows. The trembles become spasms as Lilian descends to the floor. It is all Lucius can do to control their collapse onto the silk rug. Lilian convulses around him as her release takes her, pulling him deep. In moments, Lucius is exploding inside the supine woman who continues to shudder with her climax.