by E G Manetti
For a moment there is silence as the massed associates process the remarkable result. In the front of the Hall, Nickolas and Irina leap to their feet shouting, “Blooded Dagger!” They are joined by over a quarter of the hall as the rest of Blooded Dagger rises, including Lilian and Chrys. For several moments, the associates of Blooded Dagger dominate the hall screaming and stomping in triumph.
Master Martin and his minions are hissing in their seats. After a minute Rebecca rises along with a dozen apprentices in the Cartel mufti. Glancing at her beaming black clad friends, Rebecca calls, “Serengeti!”
At Chrys’ crooked smile, Lilian nods. They join Rebecca’s cry, “Serengeti!”
The Iron Hammer First Year apprentices and associates rise and add their voices to the small group. They are soon joined by the Iron Hammer and Cartel Associates. In the front row, Nickolas changes to the new cheer and Blooded Dagger follows. In a matter of moments, the rest of the occupants join in, even those of Grey Spear. The hall shakes with sound of, “Serengeti!”
To Lilian’s amazement, Associate Master Straus is grinning.
»◊«
Milord is by the windows as Lilian enters with the midday chimes. It has become a familiar posture. Lilian does not require instruction. As milord pulls her to his chest, she views the city and the plains beyond as they shimmer with the rising heat. The Garden Center is faded, the distant hills are brown. It will be well over a month before the rains return. Until then, Crevasse City and Plains of Dominion will bake.
Milord collects Lilian’s warrior queue and tugs on the constraining nape ties. In moments, her heavy locks tumble free. Milord’s hands nest in her hair and tilt her head for milord’s intoxicating kiss. Setting her hands on milord’s waist, Lilian yields into the embrace.
The silk rug is soft. Lilian is nude, her hair spread around her head in dark red pool. At milord’s command, her knees are bent and her hands hold her ankles. Milord’s relentless assault has left her wet and aching. Her inflamed jewel pulses with need. Her breasts are hard, the nipples tight and elongated.
Milord’s eyes are heavy-lidded as he tosses his tunic on a nearby chair. His thumbs lightly skim Lilian’s thighs and nether lips. Everything south of Lilian’s navel convulses in response. Milord’s wicked smile appears. Milord scrapes his thumbnail across Lilian’s jewel. The intense sensation draws a moan from Lilian as the caress further inflames her.
Milord’s eyes darken as his thumbnail traces the hood over Lilian’s tender bud. With his free hand, milord releases his hardened sex. Lilian desperately wishes to reach for the dark length, to guide it to her. Fighting desire and instinct, Lilian tightens her grasp on her ankles.
Milord kneels between her spread thighs as he places his hands by her shoulders. Milord lowers his hips and probes Lilian’s heated sex with the tip of his erection, pressing against her swollen jewel. The teasing brings more moisture flooding as Lilian arches to the contact. Milord presses at the edge of her opening, taunting.
“Please milord, please,” Lilian whimpers.
“What is your wish?” Milord breathes against her lips and then takes her bottom lip in his teeth and tugs.
The nip of milord’s teeth reverberates in Lilian’s core. She wishes those teeth against her sex. She wishes milord in her body. “Enjoy milord’s servant, please milord.”
Milord growls with pleasure as he releases her lip. Grasping Lilian’s knees, he pushes them wider. Milord’s taunting sex pulls back then drives deep, filling Lilian, stoking her desire, her need. Milord’s hips rock and he strikes that perfect spot. Lilian arches pushing against milord, wishing for more, for milord to drive harder. Milord increases his pace, driving harder, deeper. The wild tension builds in Lilian, tightening every muscle.
“Now Lilian,” milord demands. “Take your release. Take it now.”
Milord’s command snaps Lilian’s control. The building tension breaks and slams through Lilian with the force of shock wave. For a moment there is nothing but the haze of pleasure and milord’s shaft moving strongly within her. As the haze recedes, milord convulses and then pulses within her. The sensation sets off a secondary shock that gently spasms Lilian before the haze swallows her completely.
Sliding onto the silk rug, Lucius pulls Lilian to him, holding her to his side. In response, Lilian sighs and nestles against him, placing her head on his chest and resting one leg between his thighs. It pleases Lucius that the woman knows no better.
In fact, Lucius is pleased in total. Pleased with his apprentice, pleased with himself and very much pleased with his Cartel. For the first time in his preeminence, the Associates Hall rang with affirmation of his Cartel and not the ascendency of a particular Cartouche. It has not been so since Lucius’ father was preeminence. For the first time in almost of a decade, on this day, the shade is at rest and Lucius is at ease.
Lucius suspects that his unconventional apprentice had a hand in the day’s remarkable scoring and the resulting, deeply satisfying, return to tradition. Lilian is relaxed, her formidable defenses temporarily breached. Lucius cannot contain his curiosity. He will know. Feathering a kiss along Lilian’s temple, Lucius whispers, “How were you able to affect the scoring?”
“Not difficult, aided Chrys and Rebecca, they aided the others,” Lilian responds groggily into his chest. The pliant form tenses slightly, Lilian is more alert when she adds, “There were no stricture violations. Master Straus confirmed it.”
It never occurred to Lucius that Lilian would have violated a training stricture. She has too much to lose. Nonetheless, her answers raise new questions. Turning Lilian to her back, Lucius’ probes the clear gray eyes, “Why Lilian?”
“Milord wished my skills masked,” Lilian replies appearing slightly dazed.
So simple? Lucius represses a smile, “The first stricture?”
“Yes milord,” Lilian nods and then considers a moment. “Twenty-first and twenty-ninth.
Diligence in executing her duties and defense of the Cartouche, Lucius interprets. Lucius is finding it difficult to contain his humor. Lilian is so serious in her attempts to adhere to the strictures. This once, she has missed one, “Not the thirtieth?”
After the morning’s affirmation, Lilian has legitimate claim to defense of the Cartel.
Lilian’s form tenses and she drops her eyes as she admits, “No milord. I would not offer aid to those of Grey Spear.”
Apparently Lilian interpreted the stricture to mean that to refuse aid to any member cartouche is to fail the Cartel. Intrigued, Lucius grasps Lilian’s chin and turns her to face him, “Why not?”
The gray eyes are dark with determination as Lilian confesses, “There are those of that cartouche that do not show milord proper reverence. I would not aid them.”
Lilian is trembling slightly in his hands. She believes she has erred. Releasing her chin, Lucius gently strokes the trembling form, “In this you did my will. It was to the benefit of the Cartel that Grey Spear was ranked with the Cartel associates.”
Whether due to the reassurance of his touch or his words, Lucius cannot tell, but Lilian ceases to tremble and the gray eyes brighten. Briefly Lucius considers claiming another kiss. It is not to be. The bell advances, if he begins he will not cease. Suppressing a sigh, Lucius puts Lilian from him and rises. Midday is at an end. Duty compels.
»◊«
Lack wit. Lack wit. That could have gone ill. Lilian hurries toward the Archives as she mentally reviews the last moments in milord’s office. For some reason, she has difficulty retaining her wits when in milord’s embrace. Judging from the recent interrogation, milord is aware of her weakness. Not that it matters. Fully clothed and standing at attention, Lilian is compelled to answer.
Nonetheless, it was a dangerous moment when Lilian admitted to intentionally thwarting Grey Spear. She did not reveal her hatred of Martin or her anger that Monsignor Sebastian challenges milord. Criticism of either warrior could earn her a belting, if not a caning.
Milord�
�s approval is a relief, although Lilian cannot quite fathom how her behavior benefited the Cartel. She did not dare inquire. She has walked the edge of the Crevasse as far as she cares to this day.
Lilian is no longer required in the sealed chamber on the thirty-fifth storey. The investigation and dismantling of the counterfeit scheme continues and will for some time. Lilian’s role is at an end. There are other duties that command her attention.
Under the direction of Master Nickolas, Lilian has begun the systematic evaluation of the vast holdings that are Lucius Mercio’s. It is likely she will be set to the evaluation of the Cartouche holdings once this exercise completes. By the time year closes, Lilian will have amassed an impressive understanding of the Cartel and Cartouche. It is all she had hoped.
The Archives are crowded with associates humming with energy in response to the results of the Final Scoring. For once, Martin and his court are nowhere to be seen. Rebecca is standing in the queue for aid from an Archives’ Associate. Joining Rebecca, Lilian quickly determines that she can provide Rebecca what is required. Ten minutes later, Rebecca nods her understanding of Lilian’s demonstration.
“My thanks, Lilian,” Rebecca smiles. “I would have been at least half a period waiting for the Archives’ Associate.”
Time is currency within the Cartel. Finding the bells to execute one’s duty and forward one’s ambition is always a challenge. Certainly Lilian is finding it so. She should not tarry longer. She cannot contain her curiosity, “Rebecca, have you any notion why Master Straus was grinning so at the Scoring?”
At Lilian’s question, Rebecca’s smile broadens, “It’s been years since the Cartouche call was answered with the Cartel call. Not since Monsignor Lucius’ became Preeminence.”
“Truly, Rebecca?” Lilian is stunned. If milord altered the tradition, why was he so pleased? And Rebecca, she started the Cartel call. The lovely blonde is not telling all she knows. “Rebecca, what are you not voicing?”
Leaning in to whisper, Rebecca explains, “After Monsignor Lucius became Preeminence, Grey Spear refused to join the Cartel call. Then Iron Hammer fell silent. After that, Blooded Dagger ceased and the Cartel Associates dared not.”
Milord’s delight is now understandable. The refusal of Grey Spear to join in the Cartel affirmation was another intrigue designed to undermine milord’s control of the Cartel. Initially, the petty intrigue would have gone unanswered because milord had larger challenges. The longer it endured, the more difficult it became to overcome.
This season, Blooded Dagger’s dominance of the scoring and Grey Spear’s position at the bottom provided the impetus to finally answer the intrigue. Blooded Dagger is rising as Grey Spear is falling. The balance of power is firmly with milord.
Lilian voices none of this. Instead, she explores a suspicion, “The Associate Master holds Cartel traditions in great reverence. His delight is explained. What is more interesting is why you chose to start the Cartel affirmation.”
With a casual glance around, Rebecca confirms that the nearby area has cleared with Lilian’s presence. The face Rebecca turns to Lilian has lost its bright smile. The blue eyes hold steel. “Dean Rupert was going to reject my bond proof. He didn’t want to give up his asset. I knew the only way he’d release me was to one of the top cartels.”
At Rebecca’s explanation, Lilian nods. A record of placing apprentices in one of the five dominant cartels would increase Rupert’s standing and the bond prices he could command. “Why Serengeti?”
“I was failing,” Rebecca confesses. “I couldn’t get anyone to take me. Master Straus was visiting the University. I begged him to take me. I offered him anything he wanted.”
“You did not!” Lilian is shocked by Rebecca’s wild scheme. The stern Associate Master would be appalled by both the attempted bribery and Rebecca’s willingness to betray her bondholder.
“It was in one of the finer Indulgences,” Rebecca explains. “I was well known there.”
Now Lilian is beyond confounded. Even with her limited training, Lilian knows the bonded do not frequent the popular night spots.
“When I passed my eighteenth year, I no longer appealed to Dean Rupert or his regular patrons,” Rebecca reveals. “I was only half educated. If Dean Rupert passed me on, I was headed right back to the slums I’d come from. I had to find other patrons.”
“It was a double-edged blade,” Lilian muses. “You found the patrons necessary to keep the Dean from dismissing you. You did so well, he did not wish to release you.”
With a sharp glance at Rebecca, Lilian questions, “You voiced this to Master Straus?”
With a shadow of her former smile, Rebecca shakes her head in negation, “I didn’t need to. Master Straus is a clever one. He put it together from my presence at the Indulgence and my familiarity with the staff.”
“And your offer to yield the Associate Master anything he desired?” Lilian is beginning to understand the morning’s events.
“Master Straus’ will is clear. I’m to serve Serengeti without reservation,” Rebecca says.
And Master Straus’ will, Lilian mentally aids. She has no difficulty understanding the blonde’s commitment. She and Rebecca are not so different. Without milord’s acceptance of her bond, Lilian would be dead. Helena would be confined to the Shrine. As for Katleen, the life expectancy of Shrine beggar would not see Katleen to her majority. Lilian is milord’s to command and grateful to be so.
Sevenday 9, Day 3
The R&D review is today. Lilian has considered every possible approach. There is but one solution. She likes it not. She must present the problem to milord. Once again, as the eighth bell attendance completes, Lilian queries, “If milord pleases?”
Prepared by experience, Lucius casually grants permission. “I am listening.”
I am the sum of my ancestors. “Milord, I believe Seigneur Rachelle’s apprentice, Chrys, is aware of the link between the scrubber technology and the counterfeits.”
“What say you?” Milord is no longer casual. Milord is annoyed.
“Milord, I did not break privilege,” Lilian hastens to defend herself. “It was the media. They named Desperation Refinery and the three collaborators. My inquiries were sevendays past and began when we were training and researched a wide array of topics. Master Chrys would have forgotten the matter entirely if not for the media reports. He has voiced naught. I am certain he has made the connection.”
Is it enough? Will it serve?
“You were correct to speak, is there aught else?”
Clever, too clever. She did not volunteer. Milord knew to ask.
“Master Chrys is both clever and curious. He is attentive to detail. Milord, I believe it likely that he will suspect the synthetics effort. He is loyal, and will remain obedient to the strictures. I do not believe he will give voice to any of this.”
»◊«
“Monsignor, this is astounding,” Seigneur Rachelle exclaims. Near milord’s age, Seigneur Rachelle is a tall woman. Her strong features are covered by flawless skin in deep mahogany. Her cap of inky black hair is so dark the highlights are blue. Her well-toned, well-curved shape is encased in a beautifully tailored suit of Cartouche scarlet.
The conference chamber opposite the scarlet threshold boasts a panoramic view of the Garden Center and the cityscape. For two periods, the view has been ignored in favor of the information contained in the wall reviewer.
The R&D Seigneur is seated with Lucius, Trevelyan, and Magnus Bolivar. Master Magnus is a chemical engineer from a second level family who is very anxious to join the Cartel and not at all anxious to attend a protocol review.
“It is indeed, Rachelle. What think you? Can it be done?” Milord inquires of the striking woman.
“Possibly,” Rachelle returns thoughtfully and then turns to the chemist.
“Master Magnus, speak truly, or it will go ill with you. What is your maximum success threshold?” The seigneur’s husky voice has a compelling musical quality.
/> Master Magnus may well be the oddest looking person Lilian has ever encountered. Standing behind milord’s left shoulder, she carefully studies the chemist. If Mr. George is a tree-troll, Master Magnus is a rock-gnome.
Short of stature, with a complexion the color of wet ashes, his stooped shouldered, gangling armed torso tops short stocky legs. Magnus’ face is mostly nose. The small eyes on either side of the nose (or maybe they only appear small in proportion to the nose?) peer nervously around at the assembled company. The voice that comes out of the strange figure is strongly certain, “As of today, fourteen months.”
“What say you Master Magnus? Our records indicate failures at six months. How is that you claim fourteen?” Seigneur Rachelle is regarding the rock-gnome with a great deal of distrust.
“To the best of my knowledge, there have been no reported failures of counterfeits in the past three sevendays. Several of my inventions remain in service.” The rock-gnome is oddly dismissive of the important seigneur.
“What type of functions?” Rachelle did not earn her place by being unwilling to examine the strange and unknown.
“Basic functions,” Magus shrugs. “Illumination controls, premises access. Anything more complex and it will fail in no more than six months.”
The casual tone and lack of formal address is not intended to offend. The man clearly knows no better.
“The resources required for your counterfeits are all documented here? The only difficult to obtain component is the compound used to break down the residue?” The R&D seigneur’s tones are disinterested. Lilian does not believe it for an instant. Seigneur Rachelle is intent.
“Yes, yes. True enough. Although saltmarshes mayhap, not sea water. Conducts just as well,” Magnus mumbles, “not so much corrosion. Must execute some trials.”
The strange man’s meandering response makes little sense to Lilian. It causes a very happy smile to appear on Seigneur Rachelle’s face.