Bright Star

by E G Manetti

  The play Lilian staged at the Warriors’ Respite was designed to serve multiple purposes. It was to startle Damien into a mistake or two and to raise speculation in Monsignor Horatio. It was also to create evidence of Damien’s duplicity that could be readily acquired by an interested party—the recording of the confrontation by the freshening closets.

  “The next day, a copy of Damien’s pilfered accounts record found its way to Seigneur William. That evening, at Signet—Order’s Pinnacle,” Lilian quickly corrects her wayward tongue. She must give milord’s club its proper title, not the vulgar Signet Citadel. “Damien was not in attendance.”

  A frown thins milord’s lips as milord tightens his grip on Lilian’s shoulder and thigh. Milord noted her wayward speech. Licking her lips, Lilian glances warily at milord to find the telltales of amusement at the corners of the tight lips and heavy-lidded eyes. Relaxing, Lilian returns to her tale.

  “The day after milord’s reception, one of the techs at the Warriors’ Respite happily accepted a generous bribe from Seigneur William to provide monitor recordings of my encounter with Damien by the freshening closet.” Lilian is betrayed by her sigh of contentment at the recall of blooding Damien.

  “I imagine the tech was equally well compensated by Master Fletcher.” Lucius no longer attempts to hide his amusement. The woman is devious and inventive.

  “I believe Master Fletcher is well regarded for his generous tips,” Lilian admits, her nose and lips twitching.

  Chuckling, Lucius works Lilian’s blouse fasteners as he commands, “Continue.”

  “As it happened—” Lilian’s breath constricts as her blouse finds the floor and milord’s fingers begin to tease her teal-encased nipples. “As it happened, that same day, someone accessed my accounts.”

  Damien was trapped. His conduit was clearly not his conduit. She had denied him and bled him. Her accounts showed no sign of the bribes, leaving half the bribes lost. Only the funds Damien held back could be located.

  Any attempt Damien might make to claim Fletcher’s assistance was countered by the recording at the bar. In fact, Damien’s friendliness with Fletcher, coupled with Matahorn’s reduced position in the Bright Star Consortium, suggested that information had been flowing in an undesirable direction.

  Horatio Margovian knew he had been played. The loss of Bright Star shares to Serengeti was evidence of the damage. Damien was at the center of it and he would be made to pay.

  “Events moved more rapidly than I expected.” Lilian moves lightly under milord’s hands, but intent on her tale, she is able to ignore her rising desire. “The financial records were the key. They initiated Seigneur William’s investigation. It was the seigneur’s investigation that turned up the Warriors’ Respite recordings and the lack of bribes deposited to my accounts.”

  “Well done,” Milord praises as Lilian’s bra follows her blouse to the floor.

  “If all we had in play were the recordings forwarded anonymously to Seigneur William, it would have taken longer.” Lilian ends with a soft gasp as milord tugs her exposed nipples. Focus. Finish.

  “A-although I suspect that the full investigation found all manner of transgressions about which we know nothing. Does milord wish the security-privilege on the dismissal breached?” Lilian rushes out her conclusion, no longer able to ignore her arousal. Milord’s determined touch has her wet and swollen.

  “Not at this time. This is excellent work,” milord responds as he pushes Lilian into a prone position on the couch. “I could not have asked for better on your first intrigue.”

  “My thanks, milord,” Lilian barely completes before milord claims her lips in a demanding kiss, his hands actively working her skirt fasteners. All thoughts of Damien St. Gervais and intrigue dissolve as heat flows from milord’s devouring lips and tongue into Lilian’s extremities, tightening already-taut nipples and setting her sex to pulsing.

  Milord releases her lips and pulls away, leaving Lilian bereft even as a sharp tug has her skirt disappearing somewhere near the reviewer. With the loss of her skirt, Lilian’s unrestricted thighs part, and one leg slips over the edge of the couch, seeking the floor. Shrugging free of his tunic, milord returns to her, once more ravaging her mouth as his hands insistently explore her form.

  Milord’s back and shoulders are hot satin over steel as Lilian returns milord’s heated caresses, her eyes closing, all her awareness given over to touch. The columns of milord’s thighs hold her captive. The crisp fabric of his trousers gently scrapes the tender flesh on her inner thighs, heightening her sensitivity, her passion.

  Milord releases Lilian’s mouth to set his teeth against the curve of her shoulder and neck while clever fingers roll and tug one elongated nipple and then the other. Arching into the erotic contact, Lilian’s pelvis finds the hard ridge of milord’s sex. Shifting her thighs, arching her hips, Lilian attempts to press her increasingly inflamed jewel against that promising hardness.

  Releasing her breasts and neck, milord pushes her hips to the couch. “Not yet, Lilian.”

  Eyes flying open, Lilian prepares to entreat and is halted by the dark mischief in milord’s eyes.

  Milord grasps her wrists and pulls her arms over her head to reach the armrest of the couch. “Hold this. Do not let go.”

  Obediently, Lilian grasps the armrest, the leather slick and yielding. Milord grasps her hips and gently pulls until her arms are fully extended. With a dark smile, milord pulls free the scrap of lace covering her cleft and then settles between her spread thighs. Holding her hips in place, he begins a ruthless assault on her ribs and waist with his lips, tongue, and teeth.

  Milord’s weight and the sensation of his mouth working her increasingly sensitive skin set Lilian’s jewel throbbing. Her swollen breasts and contracted nipples tighten further, desperate for the contact milord lavishes on her navel, her ribs, and then, tantalizingly, the undersides of her breasts. With each stroke of his tongue, each press of his lips, each graze of his teeth, milord increases Lilian’s need and the tension mounting in her limbs. The chamber, the couch, all reality fades. There is naught but milord’s caresses and Lilian’s need.

  Glory of the Shades! Milord’s tongue lashes one distended nipple and then the other. The exquisite sensation sets Lilian panting and moaning. She wishes it to stop. She wishes it to never end. “Milord!”

  Milord sucks hard and Lilian’s vision flashes red. Milord blows gently on the tender peak and Lilian can breathe.

  “Soon, Lilian, soon,” milord promises as Lilian’s eyes regain focus.

  Milord strokes one hand firmly from her neck to her navel as the other releases his shaft. The promise of the hard length accelerates Lilian’s heart, brings moisture flooding, and further widens her loosened thighs. A desperate whimper breaks through her control. “Please.”

  “Oh Lilian, yes, I please,” milord offers in a throaty growl as he once again presses her hips into the couch, this time to hold her motionless as his tongue, teeth, and lips explore and taunt her thighs and pelvis. Once again, milord neglects the parts that ache for the intimate contact. Circling but never quite reaching her nether lips, her swollen, wet, and throbbing crease, or the tight hard morsel that has become the center of her universe.

  “Milord!” Lilian’s entreaty turns to an explosive cry as teeth scrape along her nether lips and then her jewel. Once again, Lilian’s vision flashes red. Milord sucks hard and Lilian’s vision bleeds white, an explosion is imminent. Milord blows on her sex and the explosion retreats.

  “Now, Lilian.” Before Lilian can react, milord is deep within her. Her knees caught up in milord’s arms so that each thrust penetrates her deeply while milord’s pelvis strikes her needy jewel. It is intense. Extreme. Milord moves, his shaft unerringly stroking the spot within Lilian that sets the fuse. Milord thrusts hard. Fast. Lilian ignites. Her vision flashes white, then gold and then breaks into a bursting galaxy of stars as Lilian rockets into oblivion, safely anchored by milord’s presence deep within her.


  »◊«

  Lilian’s sensual stretch along the length of the smooth, slick scarlet leather eases her tingling skin as she savors the heavy ticking deep within her. The residue of milord’s passion. It will be a few minutes before she must abandon the cocoon of serene well-being that envelops her in the aftermath of milord’s pleasure.

  Lilian has reconciled to the notion that when within milord’s embrace, she loses control. Initially, it was an experience Lilian found disorienting and a bit frightening. Now she eagerly awaits milord’s attention and the few, all too brief moments when she need have no concern for stricture, unfathomable custom, or avoiding the next snare in her trial. It all disappears under milord’s touch.

  The sound of the freshening closet door signals milord’s return and that the moments of respite are ended. Gathering control, Lilian rises from the sofa to seek her scattered apparel, her customary reserve settling into place like well-worn armor.

  »◊«

  Savoring the view of Lilian’s trim form exiting his office, Lucius lightly stokes the gouges her fingers left in his sofa. Briefly he entertains the notion of instructing the maintenance staff to leave the marks. It will not serve. For all her abandoned response, Lilian exhibits an odd discomfort with any outward indication of their passion. After some consideration, Lucius has come to the conclusion that it is somehow linked to her formidable reserve, perhaps hardened by the disaster of her liaison with Damien.

  You pamper your doxy, Tiberius’ voice snorts in Lucius’ mind. His demanding sire was as conservative as Horatio Margovian. As a result, Tiberius was frequently at odds with his unconventional son. In this instance, Lucius readily dismisses his father’s shade.

  Lucius’ unconventional investment in Gariten’s tainted offspring and subsequent elevation of Lilian to conservator has already reaped unexpected benefits. Benefits that gave rise to Mercium and will enable Lucius’ next bold move in his duel with Grey Spear. It is a play Lucius thought would be several more seasons in development. Mercium has accelerated both Lucius’ need to act and his ability to do so.

  With that thought, the doors ping, heralding Trevelyan’s arrival. As Trevelyan takes his seat, Lucius pushes a small object across the conference table. “Trevelyan, I have something for you.”

  Reflexively, Trevelyan reaches out and collects the gold lozenge with the Blooded Dagger Cartouche worked in black enamel. It is a seigneur’s signet, the black enamel signifying commerce kin, a senior retainer. Family members have the cartouche worked in scarlet enamel or rubies, depending upon their rank.

  “Monsignor honors me unduly,” Trevelyan responds properly as he twirls the signet between his fingers. Decades of practice allow him to school his features to neutrality as he attempts to absorb this astounding event. Although Trevelyan commands the wealth for the license fees, he is well aware that the elevation of a commoner to warrior is beyond exceptional. He would have sooner expected to sprout wings.

  With the system rocking beneath his feet, Trevelyan instinctively reaches for serenity. We began as cosmic dust.

  Monsignor Lucius has accepted him as commerce kinsman. It is a significant honor for one of the warrior class to receive a signet from other than his or her cartouche. It is a profound gesture of trust to bestow it on a commoner. Monsignor must have a deep purpose in this. He requires his spymaster to hold warrior status and seigneur rank.

  We are formed from stellar glitter. Trevelyan no longer shares the Universalist belief that warriors are barbarians. He has walked this path for a dozen years. There is no retreat, only advance. He will embrace this next branch in the journey.

  “Trevelyan,” Lucius breaks into his spymaster’s inner musings. “In addition to Blooded Dagger security-privilege, you are to be responsible for the security-privilege of Bright Star and Mercium.”

  The stellar is within and without. We are one. Staggered once again, Trevelyan grapples with the magnitude of Monsignor’s words.

  Although controlled by Blooded Dagger, both Bright Star and Mercium are Cartel interests and within the oversight of the Serengeti security-privilege seigneur, Damocles. Trevelyan was to transfer oversight of security-privilege for both endeavors to Damocles before the year’s end. Monsignor Sebastian would certainly have protested Lucius’ retaining the security-privilege within Blooded Dagger. Monsignor Elenora must have stood with Monsignor against Sebastian.

  Lucius would risk neither Bright Star nor Mercium simply to challenge Sebastian. There is more here than Lucius’ desire to answer the ongoing insult of Grey Spear breaches of Blooded Dagger security-privilege. Trevelyan will know the deeper purpose to his advancement. “Monsignor, what is it that concerns you about Seigneur Damocles?”

  “Nothing specific to Seigneur Damocles, the concerns are greater,” Lucius replies. That Lucius detests Damocles is not, in and of itself, an indictment. “We know there is a traitor we have yet to identify. Sebastian Mehta’s organization leaks like a sieve. Monsignor Sebastian himself is becoming increasingly erratic. I have cause to believe his own seigneurs are conspiring against him. Bright Star and Mercium are too important to risk in that unstable brew. Could I, I would pull all Serengeti security-privilege into your shadow, but for that, I would require Grey Spear’s agreement.”

  Trevelyan continues to finger the signet as he sifts Lucius’ comments for meaning. “Are Monsignor Sebastian’s seigneurs contributing to his instability? Is there aught I should do there?”

  “I have observed one instance of Seigneur Garwynn pouring oil on the flame of Sebastian’s ire. I cannot say how much else might be in play. Of more concern is that the oil Garwynn used was Lilian.” The harshness in Lucius’ voice is matched by the hardness of Lucius’ gaze.

  “Mistress Lilian?” Releasing his fascination with the signet, Trevelyan attempts to comprehend how the apprentice could be of import in this.

  “Precisely, Trevelyan,” Lucius nods. “Why should Sebastian Mehta have any interest in Lilian at this point? Yet when she joined the governors’ review, Sebastian’s rage increased. I could almost see the blood boil in his veins. I am certain that Garwynn expected that reaction. As Lilian would say, there is a wrong thing. Find out what you can, but take no chances. We cannot afford to give Sebastian Mehta a legitimate cause for complaint.”

  “Yes, Monsignor,” Trevelyan agrees, closing his fist on the signet.

  At Trevelyan’s gesture, Lucius relaxes in his chair and stretches his legs. Trevelyan represses a grin. Was his lord so uncertain of Trevelyan’s reaction? Dismissing the thought for another day, Trevelyan focuses on the moment. “Speaking of Mistress Lilian and her ability to identify the wrong thing, I would like her assistance with our traitor pursuit. In six months, there has been no further attempt on your personal logs or any of the Cartouche files, nor have we been able to determine the goal of the two breaches. It is possible Mistress Lilian can uncover a pattern the rest of us have missed.”

  The Luck of the First. Lucius could not have designed a better opportunity for his next play. “Lilian cannot absorb another significant task without assistance with what is already assigned. As it happens, there is an answer to that. Blooded Dagger must acquire Mistress Rebecca’s bond from the Cartel. Will you do it or shall I ask Marco?”

  Trevelyan would be less horrified to be asked to commit murder, and more willing to do so. The gold ornament swells in his fist. “You wish me to take Mistress Rebecca under indenture, Monsignor?”

  “Someone of Blooded Dagger must. She has been involved in a number of sensitive endeavors, and her friendship with Lilian is well known. Should Grey Spear think to attach her, they will use the apprentice bond to force from her whatever may be of value. Can you stomach it or shall it be Marco?”

  We are ephemeral and eternal. More than a decade gone, Trevelyan broke with Universalist orthodoxy to serve his certainty of Universal Balance. Since then, Trevelyan has struggled for balance, his inward certainty at war with his training and belief.

  For t
he past eight years, Trevelyan has hidden in the warren of Serengeti, serving his private sense of justice as he served Lucius. A warrior’s signet will rip away his comfortable obscurity. To take an apprentice will complete his separation from the Universalists and his past.

  We end as we began and begin again. Rubbing the gold lozenge, Trevelyan dwells on the ancient music of enlightenment and opens his mind and heart to the energy of the Universe.

  Lucius waits patiently as his spymaster’s gaze turns inward. This is not the first occasion Lucius has watched while Trevelyan called on the Universe for guidance. After almost a decade of service from the outcast Universalist, Lucius continues to find the teachings strange, though he no longer holds the common warrior opinion that the ancient faith is ludicrous.

  Cosmic dust. Prayer yielding to the ancient rhythms, Trevelyan finds serenity. As the well-remembered music swells, Lilian’s bright gray eyes fill his vision. The fallen warrior has given rise to Mercium and holds a purpose for Bright Star that is not fully revealed. She has endured trial upon trial. From within her desperation, she has repeatedly reached out to aid the lowest of cartel associates. Her fate is inextricably bound with Lucius and Serengeti.

  The music changes pitch, and gray eyes shift to Rebecca’s blue, sending a shiver along Trevelyan’s spine. It is cold and warming at once. The Universe has spoken. Meeting Lucius’ eyes, determination in his own, Trevelyan commits, “I will take her.”

  »◊«

  With a sniff of distaste, Tiger steps from his luxurious transport into the narrow alley redolent with unprocessed recycling and the decay of an even less pleasant sort.

  Tiger was born in the slums of the Refinery District. Within it he owns unsavory Indulgences, decrepit tenements, wager parlors, and a number of supposedly legitimate vendors who augment their barely subsistence existence with decadents dealing.

  He enters the miasma of extreme poverty with a disgust that has not altered since childhood. This unlovely section is bounded on the south by the warehouses and fabrication facilities that support the Vistrite refinery. To the east, near the Garden Center, are the warehouses that purvey furnishings and appliances to the ever-expanding Crevasse City. In the north, the stellar transport depot provides planet exit. Here at the edge of the city, ignored by all with the means to do so, is an ancient warren of the worst slums in the Third System.