by E G Manetti
“As would I.” Milord’s cool silk tones promise violence.
The medic casts an impatient glance at milord, the annoyed flush coloring his golden complexion accentuating the sharp cheekbones in his broad-featured face. “The compounds I used to cleanse her system are also powerful. Her metabolism remains unpredictable. Combined with the stress of witnessing the scourge . . .” Chin shrugs. Releasing the reviewer, he turns to milord. “Passion was a good notion. The potent chemicals it releases in the brain likely purged whatever toxic substance brought on the odd reaction.”
Master desire. Lucius is pleased beyond belief by Chin’s assessment. Although Lilian would pretend otherwise, the episode of this morning held naught of her customary insights. For a few heart-stopping moments, he feared she would not wake.
Master fear. If the morning’s episode is not due to misaligned chemistry, that leaves only Shade influence. She once voiced she feared her insights would lead to her mother’s madness. The notion that Lilian’s extraordinary intelligence could be reduced to the seer’s tendency to wander in fantasies of the Five Warriors fills him with horror. “And the bleeding in her eyes?”
Tipping Lilian’s head to his instrument, Chin hums as he examines her eyes. “There is no evidence of hemorrhage. It was most likely a pricked eyelid, already healed. Easily enough accomplished in the effort to transport her into her house.”
Although eager to embrace the explanation that Lilian’s trance was chemical and not Shade induced, Lucius is not yet satisfied. “There is naught amiss with her? You are certain?”
“No more than usual. We have had this conversation. Her chemical profile has some minor abnormalities, most likely part of whatever genetic anomaly produced her exceptional intellect. Beyond that, she is exceedingly healthy except for her lamentable tendency to omit meals in favor of training or other duties. It would have been better had she remained abed for the day.”
This once, Chin’s criticism has no basis. “You cannot fault me in this. I saw her fed in the transport to the cartel. As for a day in bed, is one sufficient?”
Lilian’s eyes flash to his. The woman detests being idle, but he will not risk her. Finding no hope in his expression, she turns to the medic. “Master Chin, I am well. Truly, I am fit for commerce.”
Chin smiles but shakes his head. “You may return home or spend the day in the dispensary under observation.”
Shoulders slumping, Lilian nods. “I will return home.”
Why Lucius finds her so appealing in her dejection, he cannot fathom. It matters not; he will not be moved. “Woman, it is but a day. Come, I will escort you to the lobby.”
»◊«
Her lips tingling from milord’s extended kiss in the riser, Lilian slides into the transport. Milord’s concern for her well-being fills her with joy but does not change that she would be happier within the cartel where she would be able to enjoy his presence throughout the commerce day.
This day. Foolish longing will yield her naught. At the thought of a day abed, she sighs. Or must she be abed? Master Chin said she must return home; he did not specify she remain in bed. The rains have lost their grip on the city. It is a good time to retract the courtyard covers. Spirits lifting, she watches the Garden Center flow past, noting the pale greens lacing the foliage, the first stage of new growth. One season. There is but one more season to survive.
Sevenday 133, Day 7
Bright blue eyes lock with hers. His expression is fierce, but his eyes smile as they shift left. Her arm comes up to meet his, palm to palm. With a minor alteration in beat, this dance of balance would be battle. His attack is blocked by her defense . . .
The blue eyes are warm with approval. He tops her by but an inch but holds two stone on her. His lips are firm. What would they be like to kiss . . .
Ronan.
Eyes wide and staring, Lilian sits up in bed. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she clutches her thorn with both hands. How long has it been since she dreamt of Ronan? Ronan of the bright blue eyes, brilliant mind, and open heart? When Dean Joseph sent her to learn the Universal Way at fifteen, she thought it naught but another lesson in the diversity of the Twelve Systems. A decade later, she understands that he sent her there to find a peer group she would not intimidate. Her youth isolated her from her university peers, and the heir’s seal at her waist made her a target for the exploitative. The Universalists cared naught for her rank or her prodigy. She was but another awkward teenager attempting to attain balance.
At twenty, Ronan was young for an instructor. In retrospect, Lilian wonders what that conclave was thinking. She was not the only one in her Balance Way training group in love with him. That he viewed her as naught but a child did not alter her affection.
This day. She does not dare to dwell on the past, either its sorrows or its joys. She cannot imagine why she dreams of him now. Even before the ruin, she thought of him infrequently, a bittersweet memory of a time long gone. Mayhap it is Katleen’s approaching birth festival. She will soon be the age Lilian was when Gariten’s evil took form, first selling Lilian to Fenrir and later driving Maman into madness.
There is only this day. She must not dwell on the past. Pushing off the bed, she ignores the chill tile floor and pushes open the balcony doors. Above the open courtyard covers, a pale broken sky promises a mild day. The stone floor of the courtyard is damp but holds no puddles. For a century, only essential maintenance and upgrades have occurred in the drainage system intertwined with the foundation of the house. The expensive and minimal repairs executed during the heavy rains of a year gone held for the past season and will do so for at least another rainy season. It is all Lilian requires. By then her bond will have proved and she will have the funds to relocate Maman and Katleen if the drains cannot be salvaged.
A shadow moves and takes form. Mrs. Zdenka, the night guard, looks up and waves. Returning the salute, Lilian returns to her chamber.
I am the sum of my ancestors. Lilian glides into the first movement of Adelaide’s Discipline.
»◊«
Lucius wakes with a start. What bell? The sky is pale but visible beyond the broken clouds; dawn has but passed. Rubbing his eyes, he grapples with the lingering images from his dark dream. A dark memory.
Solomon’s black eyes lock with his. “They are all dead. What was not stolen was destroyed. They did not burn the warehouse. They wanted us to find the remains.”
The remains. A decade later, the images of the slain and mutilated militia and warehouse staff haunt him. He had always admired Solomon. Eight years Lucius’ senior, he was experienced and wise. That day, when they learned of the pirates’ savage raid on the Eleventh System Vistrite warehouse, Solomon had been at a loss.
Why is this returning to him now? Residual grief from Solomon’s death? Concern for the Nightingale and Bright Star? Taking a deep breath, he faces what he would not: it is another manifestation of his sorrow at Estella’s approaching death. Without her ruthless cleverness and strength, he might have lost the cartel.
Her platinum locks glowing in the green season sun, Estella stalks past the fountain, one hand on her dagger. “A hundred cores’ worth of refined Vistrite and controllers.” Whirling, her sapphire eyes flash. “Summon Marco and Solomon. They need to remind Grey Spear that Vistrite security is their responsibility once it leaves the Crevasse.”
“They are on their way,” he replies. “I called them for counsel, but I had not thought it possible. Sebastian will use this against me if he can.”
“Use it?” Estella’s eyebrows arch. Sitting on the fountain ledge, she holds out her hand. “My love, if the fallen were not so many, I would suspect he planned it.”
Raising her fingers to his lips, he marvels again that she accepted him as spouse. She could have had any warrior in the Twelve Systems. Her honor demanded she reveal her genetic malady, but even then, he was but one of a thousand who met Chin’s criteria. Joining her on the edge, he considers her words. The pirates were troublesome w
hen they bedeviled the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems; now that they have attacked the Vistrite, he must act. As for Sebastian Mehta, “Plan such an atrocity? He is ambitious but not so foul. Although . . .”
“Although?” Estella leaps on the half-spoken thought.
“I need to engage Keffrey. Sebastian may not have planned this, but he might have left the outpost that supplies the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems vulnerable to encourage attack.”
Lips curving in approval, she nods. “Clever. He is just devious enough and selfish enough to plan such a play with no thought to the loss of life.”
Sebastian Mehta.
Lucius rolls from the bed, waving away Sabri. His personal servitor’s lips purse but he knows better than to speak. Reaching the freshening closet, Lucius splashes water on his face and spits, desperate to cleanse away the taint of what he has realized.
Sebastian was a Despoiler as long ago as the pirate actions. He would not have quailed at the savage murder of thirty-seven militia and staff. From what he learned from Lilian, Sebastian and Damocles would have delighted in it. Damocles. Keffrey. Demon shit. Lucius thought Keffrey ineffectual. In hindsight, the man was corrupted. Once Sebastian obtained the leverage to demand the position of Serengeti security-privilege seigneur for Grey Spear, Keffrey’s glider failed him in a routine inspection run. At the time Lucius thought it ill fortune; now he wonders if there was a more sinister source. Not that it matters. Sebastian is held by the Shrines and Damocles is dead. There can be no further retribution extracted from either villain.
In the mirror, Lucius meets his eyes, water streaming down his face. Is that the source of his dream? His sleeping mind weaving the knowledge gained in the past desperate season with the events of those two desperate years a decade gone?
Stepping into the shower that Sabri has set to the perfect temperature, he shrugs off his dream. Naught can change the past, and the future needs his attention.
»◊«
Katleen races down the stairs, black eyes flashing, her tail of red-gold curls flying. To Lilian’s amusement, her mother skips down the stairs with almost the same enthusiasm, her gray eyes, so like Lilian’s, sparkling with anticipation. As they descend, Lilian notes that Katleen’s resemblance to Maman is becoming more pronounced, her sister’s elfin features but a shade narrower than Maman’s, both their complexions milk white with a dusting of freckles. When her mother was Katleen’s age, was her hair as red gold? All three women are marked by trim athleticism, with Lilian the tallest, her creamy complexion unmarked by freckles, her dark red hair appearing almost black in its warrior’s queue.
Sealing the front door, Lilian reaches the transport as Seigneur Trevelyan emerges. Tall, with close-cropped hair and a military bearing, the one-time Universalist is an intimidating figure, as is appropriate for the cartel champion and milord’s spymaster. The seigneur’s transport is not as large as milord’s but it is luxurious and spacious enough for the four of them. Without question it is a vast improvement over using the public transport to reach the River Quarter for Katleen’s Seventh Day race training.
That Maman accompanies them justifies the seigneur’s consideration; Lilian need not concern herself about an indictment of excessive consideration. With but a season left in her three-year bond and Trial by Ordeal, she must be hypervigilant to avoid any stricture violations, no matter how minor. For all milord’s confidence that only a major transgression could put her at risk, she must not become complacent. Remus Gariten’s foul crimes created many enemies who would enjoy visiting destruction on his surviving family.
As the door closes, Seigneur Trevelyan winds an arm around Helena and pulls her close. Her mother’s lips curve and a delicate blush rises on her cheeks. It is strange and wondrous to see her mother happy. Had the spymaster not already won Lilian’s loyalty a dozen times over, he would have it now.
Meeting her eyes, he asks, “Are you well? Any ill effects?”
Knowing he refers to her strange insight the day gone, Lilian shakes her head. The odd dream of Ronan could not be considered ill. “No, Seigneur.”
“Lilian is fine,” Katleen says. “She even retracted the courtyard covers. It was so nice to wake to sunshine this morning.”
The seigneur frowns. “You were to spend the day abed.”
Adelaide’s thorn. He knows that the ancient courtyard covers require manual retraction, an activity that requires Lilian don a harness and hang from the roof edge. Attempting a casual air, she says, “Master Chin wished me to return home and rest. He did not order that I remain in bed. It took but a period to deal with the covers and I did naught else.”
His eyes narrow. “And Monsignor’s will?”
I am the sum of my ancestors. She is not an apprentice in her first season. Milord would not have approved of an activity as strenuous as opening the covers. “I beg pardon. It was ill done of me. Monsignor will not be pleased when he learns of it.”
“Universe scatter it.” Trevelyan braces his arms on his knees. “You need not be so distressed. Your bond proof tally is not threatened by a minor infraction.”
This day. Lilian’s commerce tally proved two seasons gone, and she has more than returned the value of her bond price. Her honor tally was secured at the battle of Serengeti. She need only avoid public offense for the remaining season and she will prove her bond and complete her Trial by Ordeal. She is losing focus. I am bonded. There is only this day. Forcing the words past a tight throat, she says, “Monsignor deserves better than to have his will flouted. Nor am I the ill-trained apprentice I was my first season. If I cannot adhere to the apprentice protocol in minor matters, how will I succeed in the great ones?”
“Peace, Daughter.” Maman reaches for her lover’s hand. “Socraide ever protects Adelaide, but you would be wise to heed his will.”
There is naught of the singsong that enters her mother’s voice with a vision. The gray eyes that match Lilian’s hold only affection. She releases the seigneur’s hand to pat Lilian’s knee. “Had you heeded it the day gone, you would be well rested and not so readily overset by a minor matter.” As the transport glides to a halt, Helena adds, “I will direct Katleen’s race training. You will sit by the river and rest. If you nap, Trevelyan will see you are safe.”
»◊«
For all he loves his children, Lucius is pleased Elysia and Cesare are slow to rise this Seventh Day. After Elysia and Cesare’s unprecedented dawn ring walk two sevendays gone, he had Trevelyan discover the nature of the “obscure shrine ritual” that had lured his youngest. He was not pleased to discover she had gone to observe Katleen Faesetili enduring Sinead’s switch. It seems impossible that Lilian’s sunny young sister would warrant such correction, but he has experience enough with his own offspring to know that even the most angelic have lapses. For all Trevelyan’s report was circumspect, it appears Cesare all but dragged his sister from the shrine before they could witness the child’s humiliation. If Estella’s passing were not imminent, he would send Elysia to labor in the citrus plantations for the dry season.
“You are far away.” Estella runs her fingers along his knuckles. Her once-vibrant coloring is pale, the translucent skin stretched thin over high cheekbones. If it were it not for cosmetic intervention, her platinum locks would lack luster. Only the sapphire eyes are unaltered by her illness, sharp with intelligence.
He will not distress her by revealing Elysia’s transgressions. “I was recalling Flavia’s contrition. Apollo has a strong arm and she neither called out nor wept.”
“Your Lilian?” Estella prompts. Her plate of fruit and smoked fish is barely touched.
“Three bites of fish.”
Nose twitching with annoyance, she forks up three bites. She will eat more before he is done, but it is enough for now. “Before we get to that, I would you know that all the discussion about how to introduce the seer to me was for naught. She broke away from Trevelyan, came straight to me, and addressed me as Socraide.”
Estella’s eyes wide
n, and she gasps a laugh. “She is as deranged as reported.”
“The seer’s mind may be disordered, but she lacks not wit. Her open mockery of that silly fable all but broke my control.” Recall shatters it, and he joins his spouse in laughter. For years it has been rumored that Lucius traded his soul to the shade of Socraide Omsted in return for commerce success. Until the day gone, none dared voice it to his face.
Laughter fading, Estella asks, “How did you respond?”
“I named her Sinead and asked if she wished to brawl or get the event done.”
“Did you?” With a wide smile, she leans in and collects a kiss. “You are more devious by the season. After such an auspicious start, how did all proceed?”
“Two bites of fruit.”
“And ruthless. Did I mention ruthless?” She is smiling as two slices of pear disappear from her plate.
And so it proceeds. When he has her enthralled, he demands a few bites. At his description of Adelaide’s Thorn descending the stairs and the illusion that she drew fiery justice with her, Helena halts the recounting. “It is not a clever ploy by Apollo to protect her? Lilian is truly Adelaide’s Thorn?”
“Enough so that I would not wager on the survival of one who discovers that black shadow approaching framed by the light of a rising sun.” If Chin is mistaken and there is more to Adelaide’s eyes than an involuntary response to stimulus, Lucius can well imagine Lilian in service to the Shades. She has proven tenacious, remorseless in pursuit of order, and astonishingly incorruptible. At Estella’s urging he finishes the tale, listing the price of Flavia’s redemption. “She is to enter Lilian’s home as servitor, dedicating herself to preserving Lilian’s life and well-being and serving the family in any manner required. If Lilian survives to prove her bond, Apollo will rededicate Flavia to Adelaide.”
“Apollo is proving beyond interesting,” Estella remarks. “I confess I thought him naught but an inadequate substitute for a true prelate a year gone. I find I was mistaken.”