by E G Manetti
Fireburst arms are as any other combat skill: unused, they atrophy. In the years since she entered her bond, Lilian was forbidden fireburst arms. When she raised a rifle in defense of Serengeti, her skills had deteriorated so that she was fortunate to strike a target at ten paces. With milord’s waiver, she has joined Tabitha and Rebecca on the firing range.
On her other side, Rebecca crows, “Nine of ten. Despoilers beware.”
“A round of moving targets?” Lilian asks. “Stationary foes are not common.”
Tabitha’s eyes shift but she nods, reaching for the controls. A few inches shorter than Lilian, the associate spy’s appearance has the flexibly that Seigneur Trevelyan prefers in his operatives. Comely without being noticeably beautiful, her lustrous brown hair can be lightened to blonde or darkened to walnut without appearing at odds with her medium-brown eyes or warm, olive-toned skin. In the seasons since she won free of Sebastian Mehta, she has regained confidence, her sharp intelligence emerging from behind the once-cowed demeanor.
Sealing her rifle, Rebecca says, “I thought you were to join Simon for the evening meal.”
“Lilian’s evening liberty is unpredictable. We should exploit it while we can.”
Adelaide’s thorn. Tabitha’s obligation to Lilian was repaid with the revelation of the Despoilers and the subsequent battle and investigation. Lilian turns the rifle to the floor. “I thought us friends. Why would you not speak?”
“I voiced true,” Tabitha replies. “You are ever calling us to battle. The greater your skills, the more like we are to triumph. Simon will understand.”
Five Warriors take it. “Does Master Simon not please you that you seek to avoid his courtship?”
“Please me?” Tabitha’s eyes are wide, a blush suffusing her cheeks. “He pleases me well. Or rather his courtship does. That is, we have not . . . Jonathan’s justice, why do you ask?”
“If you do not seek to avoid him, we are done.” Tapping the controls, Lilian ends the session. “I will never be a sharpshooter. I have not the talent or the periods to devote to the skill. I need but the ability to make my fireburst packs count.”
Slinging her rifle over her shoulder, Rebecca turns for the exit. “Now that that is settled, I am for the quarters. Clarice and I are exchanging pedicures. Blooded Dagger scarlet is all the rage with Mistress Elysia’s cotillion all over the media streams.”
After yielding their rifles to the guard at the rifle vault, the three women cluster about the reviewer by the risers. As has been the custom for days, the streams are filled with speculation about Elysia Mercio’s recognition cotillion. Central to the current speculation are the potential attire and jewels of Lady Estella and her daughter.
Lady Estella was heir to fabulous family jewels, including a set of sapphires and a set of rubies, although most believe she will don Monsignor Lucius’ gifts, a platinum collar with a matching tiara set with Vistrite and diamonds.
“What think you, Rebecca?” Tabitha asks. Of all the consortium, Rebecca is the most current on fashion.
“Lady Estella favors blue in her gowns,” Rebecca says. “She may well choose to honor the Second Warrior with an ice-blue frock. As for jewels, the Vistrite set is dazzling and will work well with Rimon’s colors.” Entering the riser, she continues, “There is some thought that Mistress Elysia will don scarlet in honor of Blooded Dagger. She has the coloring to carry it, but it seems an obvious choice. Does Mistress Elysia don scarlet, then Lady Estella’s rubies are a likely choice for jewels. They are the stone of the Blooded Dagger insignia.”
Adelaide’s grace. Lilian has avoided commenting for sevendays, but she will not allow her friends to be embarrassed by their ignorance. “Mistress Elysia will not don scarlet; she is not a servitor to be garbed in livery. As to jewels, she will have a double strand of pearls with a platinum clasp. The traditional choice will be to set the clasp with rubies in the insignia of Blooded Dagger. Whether the clasp will be set with Vistrite, rubies, or both, I am unable to guess. Pearls will also ornament her hair.”
“Pearls?” Rebecca asks. “Why say you pearls?”
“It is the traditional age-of-consent gift for warrior females,” Lilian answers. “In this I expect Monsignor and Lady Estella will adhere to convention.”
Tabitha and Rebecca exchange a glance, Tabitha flushing and Rebecca frowning. Tilting her head, aqua eyes shining with concern, Rebecca says, “We should have realized. We thought your reticence about the cotillion due to Monsignor’s security-privilege. We should have thought . . . your cotillion . . . is it well with you?”
This day. They believe her distressed by glorious memories of reaching the age of consent. For a moment Lilian considers a polite refusal to engage, but Tabitha and Rebecca are proven friends. They deserve reassurance. “I am not distressed by the discussion of Mistress Elysia’s recognition cotillion. As you will not inquire, I will answer. Yes, Remus Gariten gifted me with the traditional set of pearls. They were beyond vulgar, intertwined with emeralds and more suitable for a courtesan than a sixteen-year-old. I sold them as soon as I reached my majority. I did not experience a recognition cotillion. I exited planet to return to Mulan’s Temple the day after my sixteenth birth anniversary.”
Tabitha and Rebecca exchange another glance. This time it is Tabitha who speaks. “My father abandoned us when I was ten with promises he would return and we would be safe and well kept.”
“I have no knowledge of mine,” Rebecca says. “And you know that Dean Rupert is shadeless scum.”
A tight knot loosens in Lilian’s midsection at her friends’ support. This day. “I lack Rebecca’s flair for fashion but rose becomes Mistress Elysia and will complement the rubies that may be present in the clasp of her pearls.”
4.
Cotillion
To combat the prevalence of rape during the Anarchy, when youth was no protection against vile assault, Rimon’s governing protocols included strict prohibitions against compelling passion or procreation. Both Jonathan’s and Socraide’s Canons suggest that the protocols originated not with the Second Warrior, but with Adelaide Warleader. It is a matter of record that when Adelaide rose to be Jonathan Metricelli’s warleader, the penalties for rape were increased to include annihilation if the victim was under the age of sixteen. In the centuries since, the protocols have evolved, the legal age of procreation rising to twenty when that age became the age of legal adulthood. Although the mingling of genetics without a formal wedlock alliance puts order at risk, the Governing Council has hesitated to create strictures prohibiting passion, instead giving control of conception to the female, as she bears the burden of conception. As such, custom treats her more harshly than the male. ~ excerpt from The Foundations of Order, a scholarly treatise.
Sevenday 134, Day 6
Grabbing a sweet bun, Lucius says, “Elysia’s cotillion could not be better timed.”
Estella’s eyebrows rise as she sets aside her morning tea. “How say you?”
Demon shit. He has been gauche. “Micah is resident planet and I have what I need to sever his grandmother’s regency.”
Estella’s eyebrows soften, and her eyes brighten. “Well timed indeed. I have loathed that woman for decades.”
“As did Solomon.” Lucius spoons eggs onto his plate. “I vow he wed Chloe to rescue her from her mother. He knew when he agreed that if that crevasse-crawler were regent to his heir, she would be a disaster. Your mild rider that in the event the regent was unable, a regent of Blooded Dagger’s choosing would prevail, was brilliant.” Lucius raises his tea. He is Blooded Dagger.
Returning the salute, Estella replies, “She thought the sun rose out of Tiberius’ hindquarters. She never imagined she would have to deal with you.”
Forking eggs, Lucius says, “My sire was conventional, not a lackwit. It might have taken him another season, but he would have removed a regent so negligent.”
With rare appetite, Estella spears a sausage. “Negligent? Abusive is a better word. She wis
hes Micah cowed to her will.”
“Micah?” Lucius swallows hard to avoid snorting tea. “He is Solomon’s son. Sweetness on the outside, unrefined and unbreakable Vistrite core on the inside.”
»◊«
Tabitha rests her head against the soft leather of the hired transport, Simon’s hand large, warm, and reassuring around hers. Not since her mother passed in Tabitha’s seventeenth year has anyone held her hand. A year gone, when he first offered his hand for holding at the puppet play, she was so surprised she did not take it. The flush that warmed his cheeks made her feel meager and yet confident. Not confident enough to take his hand, but enough to slide her fingers over his jacket-covered forearm and hold. The smile that rewarded her was dazzling. His pale brown eyes glowed amber, the somber, narrow countenance taking on a fascinating appeal. Of late, she has begun to seek that rare, uninhibited expression and to calculate means to lure it free.
The transport slows, and she glances out the window. She knew that his club was in the River Quarter, not far from its warrior ring. She had not realized the club was one of the ancient townhomes that front the river, its street façade windowless on the first level, the upper-level windows narrow and defensible. The side facing the river will be bright and elegant.
Handing her from the transport, Simon raises her fingers to his lips. The gentle brush is full of sweetness but no demand. He has made no secret of his desire, but he has also made it clear he expects naught. Demands naught.
Returning his smile, she curls her fingers against his. The old fear rises, cooling her affection and interest. She tugs her hand free, ignoring Simon’s flicker of disappointment. My will. My will alone. There is naught but my will. The shrine healers’ meditation centers her. The day may come when she will welcome a man, but it will be her desire, her will, and hers alone.
Simon finishes speaking with the driver and steps back. His eyes flow over her, a hint of amber communicating he finds her emerald frock beguiling. Placing her hand on his extended forearm, she enters the club. Once a private residence, the interior is all as she expected. On the main level, gracious chambers that open to the river have been converted into the common dining and lounge areas. The private chamber on the second storey offers both a large reviewer and a terrace overlooking the river. Simon is a master technologist with the wealth, genetics, and cartel status to make use of the opulent warrior clubs. That he prefers the understated atmosphere of the intellectuals’ club his father favored increases her admiration.
The master servitor comes forward to greet Simon, confirming the arrangements for the evening. Having naught to offer, Tabitha wanders over to the double doors leading to the terrace. It is beyond generous of Simon to host Lilian’s consortium for the media coverage of Elysia Mercio’s recognition cotillion. The sevenday gone, Katleen was despondent when she learned they could not enjoy the spectacle at Hidaka’s, but it would have been cause for comment and mayhap scandal if Monsignor Lucius’ apprentice and conservator were discovered gawking at him and his family.
Pushing open the doors, she steps out onto the patio that overlooks the river. The crisp evening air fills her lungs and energizes her mind. Leaning on the balustrade, she watches the river turn from navy to black. Is she happy? It has been so long. She is not unhappy. She is not in pain. She is not afraid. She is— Enough of not. The healers are correct. She is safe. She has friends. She is valued by Seigneur Trevelyan. She is admired—nay, desired—by Simon.
“There you are,” Douglas says, placing his forearms next to hers but apart. It was a trick he mastered when they were Grey Spear apprentices. Comfort by proximity. “The reception chamber fills. Is it well?”
Is it well? For almost two years, Douglas alone asked. She could not answer, but it eased her that he asked. Pushing up, she smiles as she holds out her hands. “Did you ever imagine we would rise to this?”
“Yes. I did.” Douglas takes her hands and turns her to face the reception salon. “So soon? With these companions? No. But yes, I knew we could do it.”
Lilian arrives with Katleen, Lady Helena, and Sinead’s Keeper Waiman. It is time to join the gathering. Accepting a glass of sparkling green wine from a servitor, Tabitha greets the seer and keeper while Simon engages Sinead’s Discipline Master. According to Lilian, her mother used Waiman’s remorse over the shrine’s lax security-privilege to acquire a chaperone for this gathering. However, the keeper seems content to be here, engaging Lady Helena in a discussion of the cotillion season and the plans for Sinead’s Cotillion in two sevendays, the first of the five shrine-sponsored cotillions. The seer has remarkable command of the intricacies of hosting such an entertainment for all she refuses to attend, as she refused to attend Elysia Mercio’s cotillion with Seigneur Trevelyan. Lilian’s delight that her mother would venture to an unfamiliar River Quarter club is another reason Tabitha has to be grateful to Simon. While Lilian attributes the seer’s improvement to Seigneur Trevelyan’s influence, Tabitha suspects it is due as much to a natural recovery in the wake of Gariten’s demise. Everything she has learned of Lilian’s sire indicates he was one such as Sebastian Mehta.
With a happy cry, Katleen races to the reviewer. “It is beginning.”
Lilian and Rebecca follow, encouraging Katleen to take a seat and leave the reviewer unblocked as the group gathers.
The Mercio mansion is ablaze with light, the surrounding gardens sparkling with multicolored lights strung throughout the trees and shrubbery.
Examining the scene, Lilian says, “Beautiful, and there are no concealing shadows to allow a stealth approach to the house or its guests. From the angle, the media have been confined to an area near the gates.”
Rebecca nods. “Seigneurs Trevelyan and Aristides knew the media could not be avoided, so they have been corralled.”
Tabitha joins Simon in insuring that all the guests have filled plates as they settle to view the emerging pageant, pleased by the evidence that Lilian has benefited from Malcon’s stealth training. When all are comfortable, she and Simon find their places. She may lack Rebecca’s and Clarice’s obsession with fashion, but she is as interested as her friends in the display. The fashion choices of the elite arriving for the event will define formal wear for the next two seasons, and the color choices will filter into all levels of attire.
The fashions for men have minimal variations, colors ranging from pearl gray to the dark midnight Trevelyan wears, his midsection slashed by scarlet. The gold-and-ruby signet, insignia, and dagger hilt are rimmed in the black of commerce kin. Aristides’ pale gray shimmers in the night, cut with the peridot sash and marked with the gold and peridot insignia of the extended Mehta clan. On his arm, his daughter and heir, Marisa, is garbed in bronze, a double strand of pearls at her throat, pearl combs in her hair.
At the entrance to the mansion, Monsignor’s mother, Lady Orpha, greets the arriving guests, escorted by a distinguished man of mayhap ninety years. A delicately built, elegant woman in her eighties, Monsignor’s mother bears him little resemblance.
Unable to place Orpha’s escort, Tabitha asks, “Who is that with Lady Orpha?”
“That is her consort, Socraide’s Keeper Driscoll,” Lilian replies. “He is the senior Socraide prelate on Metricelli Deuce, and she resides with him. They have arrived only this past sevenday for the cotillion.”
“That is odd,” Clarice says. “Where are Monsignor and Lady Estella? Do they not greet their guests?”
“It is an ancient custom,” Lilian replies. “Lady Orpha is the eldest surviving in Monsignor’s direct line of descent. He honors all his ancestors by honoring her.”
The parade of elite follows, the men displaying their insignia, the women in a variety of styles, all full-length but ranging from tight sheaths to billowing gauze. Without exception, the women under twenty are ornamented with pearls, only those of adult age displaying sparkling gems.
Jonathan’s justice. Lilian was correct. Tabitha’s wagers will make a nice addition to her accounts. Unabl
e to contain a smile, she turns to Lilian. “Pearls.”
Familiar faces appear in the throng: Master Nickolas, Seigneur Marco, Seigneur Solomon’s Lady Chloe, and the nineteen-year-old Seigneur Micah.
“He has the look of his sire,” Simon says. “A few inches taller, I think. Like the seigneur, I suspect that slight build is deceptive.”
Assessing the young man, Tabitha agrees. Micah does have his father’s sweet features: dimpled chin, fair brown hair, and dark brown eyes. Turning back to Lilian, she finds her friend’s face has slipped into the stoic mask she uses to hide deep emotion. Lilian held Seigneur Solomon in high regard and no doubt regrets his loss. As one of the few seigneurs to treat Lilian with the courtesy due Monsignor’s conservator, he had Tabitha’s respect. She cares less for Jurian with his pompous and conventional attitude.
With a nod, Lilian says, “From what little I know of Seigneur Micah, he inherited his father’s steadiness of character.”
“That should please Monsignor Lucius,” Rebecca says. “Since he shares Master Raphael’s pied-à-terre at Mulan’s University, he can be a steadying influence.”
Lilian’s eyes sharpen. “What say you?”
Rebecca’s aqua eyes widen in mock innocence. “Master Raphael spent the last dry season working in the fisheries. I doubt he was on the wrong side of Monsignor’s will for excelling at his studies.”
Simon makes a choking sound, his heightened color indicating amusement and not affront. Lilian’s stiff posture loosens at his lack of censure and she shakes her head in resignation. “That was a year gone. As for Seigneur Micah and Master Raphael sharing quarters, it is a common arrangement, for they are close kin as well as friends.”
Katleen points at the reviewer. “There is Lord Prelate Gilead.”
Escorting Lady Governor Moira, the lord prelate reaches the mansion entrance as Monsignor emerges with his family. Lilian loses all interest in the topic of Micah and Raphael, her gaze fixed on the reviewer. Is her fascination with Monsignor as obvious to others as it is to Tabitha?