by E G Manetti
Lucius likes it not either, but he can find no cause to dismiss Jarrod. Unless Lilian has something other than suspicion. Sliding his fingers to her waistband, he releases the fastener. “Warbird wings or chimes?”
Sighing, Lilian widens her legs in invitation. “Neither the touch of Adelaide nor an insight. Only a vague disquiet. It may be no more than anxiety brought about by Flavia’s incessant examination of my cleansing products.”
The fallen prelate may be irritating to Lilian, but Lucius is well pleased that woman sleeps in the chamber next to his apprentice, door open and fireburst pistol under her hand. As for Lilian’s dismissal of her sense of disquiet, Lucius suspects she has not voiced all. Resisting the urge to explore the wet heat between her thighs, he sets his hands on her waist, turning her to meet his gaze. “Speak, woman. What would you?”
“I would greet Captain Raleigh. There is a wrongness, milord. I know not the source. I do not believe it is Deacon Raleigh, but I would be there.”
Lucius is not alone in being uncomfortable with the timing of Raleigh’s arrival. He has no reason to suspect the deacon of ill intent, but if there is aught, Lilian will see what others do not. “Stefan and Flavia, as well as Trevelyan’s operatives, to protect you?”
“Yes, milord.”
Her eyes are heavy with passion. Her lips parted. Lowering his head, Lucius claims her mouth.
»◊«
Lilian moves through the archives, seeking the protégés, her tension over the command crew melted under milord’s thorough attentions. Spotting Fletcher, she follows him to the console where Nickolas is at work. He has not noticed her, and before she can speak, he drops into the place next to Nickolas. “What think you? It is Socraide’s Cotillion this Sixth Day. Will Keeper Virgil forgo the illusionist?”
This day. Now that they have begun to speak, she can do naught but wait until they acknowledge her. Were it not the archives, she could speak; the protégés would not take offense. In this public a venue, it would be a stricture violation and cannot be risked.
Nickolas shakes his head. “If it were up to Virgil, we might face several as the keeper continues his attempts to redeem himself with Monsignor. But Lady Estella will have designed the cotillion, and she will not repeat what was done for Elysia.”
The Metricelli Prime cotillion season extends through year’s end and fiftieth Sixth Day. The private events of the warrior elite are interspersed with the semipublic subscription events of the shrines that fund the Five Warriors’ festival. With Elysia’s cotillion, the fashion for the season was set. The popularity of illusionists has provided even marginally skilled practitioners with opportunity.
“Thank the First,” Fletcher replies. “At least last year, it was saga soloists. If the sopranos’ voice were lacking, they generally offered other attributes to mitigate the performance.” With a sly grin he adds, “Did you note the attributes of our communications officer?”
Nickolas nods. “Lovely attributes, although we will have no joy there until we exit planet and she has no hope of attracting Monsignor Lucius.”
“There is truth in that. Do you think Monsignor Lucius tires of such offers?”
“Would you?” Nickolas laughs. “I must admit, travelling with Monsignor offers excellent visuals. The Dawn Sword reception presented endless delight.”
“And all those that Monsignor refused were in need of reassurance.”
“Shall we wager as to who is first to reassure our so luscious communications officer?” Nickolas suggests with an arched eyebrow.
Certain that the bantering men are unaware of her presence, Lilian is content for it to remain so. It will be awkward if they recognize her now.
“Mistress Lilian, what do you require?” Master Straus strides forward. Frowning at the protégés, he adds, “Have you no need of Mistress Lilian, allow her to be about commerce.”
Adelaide’s thorn. The associate master thought they left her standing on purpose.
Chagrin cascades over both warriors as they exchange harried glances, trying to recall what they voiced. Nickolas collects himself first, pulling out a chair. “Conservator, join us. We have much to execute. I beg pardon for our inattention.”
With a shake of his head, Master Straus moves away as Lilian mentally reviews the apprentice protocol. “No pardon is required.” What she is about to ask is effrontery, but she has no doubt it is milord’s will and the first stricture supersedes all others. “If possible, it might be well to console the lovely communications officer before planet exit. I would know her heart.”
Realizing Lilian overheard every word, Fletcher shrugs, then asks, “What would you know of the woman’s heart?”
“The nature of its loyalty and aught it may reveal about the Nightingale’s captain.”
Sevenday 140, Day 6
Settlement Day traffic clogs Jonathan Boulevard, slowing their progress and leaving Lilian longing for the stricture-defying navigation Mr. Stefan used in their transit to warn Serengeti of the Despoiler attack. This day, she is all that is circumspect, keeping close to the transport that holds Malcon and extra guards. With Flavia in the front with Stefan, Lilian is far more tightly guarded than ever. As grateful as she is for milord’s care, the constant presence of guards is making her feel claustrophobic.
As the transport approaches the Sparkling Vistrite, Rebecca cranes her neck to peer out Lilian’s window, exclaiming at the elegant façade glittering with large windows and plant-decked balconies. Pulling back into her seat, Rebecca says, “It is far grander than I realized. I thought it meant the deacon had naught to hide when he accepted accommodations in the Sparkling Vistrite, as neither Matahorn nor Leonardo have done so. But now, I think it may have been the lure of such luxury.”
“Mayhap,” Lilian replies as the transport glides to a halt behind Malcon’s. “Or it could be that his delayed arrival limited his options. With the cotillions in full surge, many of the Third System elite have chosen to combine commerce and entertainment. Every guesthouse in the city is booked to capacity until the new year.”
Stefan and Flavia flank Lilian and Rebecca through the entrance as guesthouse guards come take charge of the transports. With Malcon leading, they pass through the lobby to the risers, whispers rising in the wake of the procession of uniformed guards and black-clad Ravens. At the fourth storey, Malcon leads them down the corridor to the suite. Mentally reviewing the schematics, Lilian knows the suite has four bedchambers off the central reception chamber, commands a view of the gardens, and includes a modest but well-stocked kitchen. At Malcon’s chime, a handsome, dark-skinned man with close-cropped black hair and black eyes above prominent cheekbones opens the door. Tall, broad shouldered, Deacon Raleigh is a compelling figure.
Gesturing them within, he introduces them to his security and militia chief, Mrs. Caoimhe, and his senior navigator, Mr. Bran. A woman of middle years and average height with a well-muscled figure, Mrs. Caoimhe has dark brown hair, light brown eyes, and caramel-colored skin. Comely without being noticeable, with very little effort, she could disappear in plain sight. When she greets Malcon, the air of the chamber becomes charged as like recognizes like.
Gray streaks the navigator’s sandy hair, and crow’s feet bracket his amber eyes. In another face, they might be laugh lines, but given the erect and unyielding militia posture, Lilian suspects they are the marks of a man who has spent bells frowning in concentration.
It is not lost on Raleigh that the entire party is of Blooded Dagger. He may not have been raised among his elite warrior kin, but he has spent his life in the warrior-dominated society of the Twelve Systems and he is not a fool. The geologist is an assassin and, given his guard over Lucius Mercio’s notorious Raven, one high in Trevelyan’s organization. The spymaster’s blonde apprentice is beguiling, the restrictive Raven black a message he may enjoy the view but have no contact.
Another might be offended by the appearance of a low-rank escort, but he is fascinated. His Preeminence’s conservator is
Adelaide’s Thorn; she is not sent on casual errands. Nor are minor servitors attended by guards. An older woman in black and one of the guards have been left outside the suite to guard the door. The fierce and powerfully built guard by the door has his weapon hand resting on his thigh, near the pistol.
Once he has his visitors seated and offers of refreshment are refused, he decides on direct confrontation. As the faux geologist is the leader of the group, he addresses Malcon. “Lucius Mercio has not sent Adelaide’s Thorn to discuss my comfort or what I wish for entertainment.”
The assassin says naught but takes on the stillness of a viper waiting to strike. Knowing Caoimhe will mind Malcon, he turns to Lilian. Caoimhe was able to learn much about Mercio’s doxy and all of it interesting. Raleigh is delighted that Lucius has sent his apprentice to try him. “What is your purpose here, Adelaide’s Thorn?”
Lilian tilts her head, the gray eyes serene. “I am not present as Adelaide’s Thorn, Deacon Raleigh. The timing of your arrival is unfortunate. Of those engaged in Mercium, I am one of the few at liberty to convey proper greetings and address your concerns. I assure the deacon, Monsignor intends no insult.”
Clever. The woman is worthy of her reputation. But he will not be deflected. “I acknowledge that no insult is intended. As to the rest, you have failed to respond to the question. What is your purpose here?”
Lilian’s eyes narrow and her chin lifts. She is not intimidated. From the corner of his eye, he notes the blonde is biting her lip against a smile. Has he prodded the wrong viper?
“Deacon Raleigh,” Lilian says, her diction dripping warrior disdain, “it has generated some curiosity that although your mission is urgent, you have not made all haste to arrive on Metricelli Prime.”
Dragon piss. Is that what this is about? He had hoped to solve the black raider challenge without the aid of Serengeti. Failure left him no option but to arrange to leave his commerce well tended while he made the long journey to the Third System. Knowing there was little hope he would leave the system without his kin tie to Mercio being discovered, he used the opportunity to break his journey on Sinead’s World and pursue family legend. He will not reveal his genetics if they are not known, but the rest is no secret. “My commercial interests may be minor by Serengeti standards, but they are not trivial to me. I could not depart the Eleventh System for well over a month without making arrangements.”
Lilian ducks her chin, her tone pleasant as she apologizes. “I beg pardon, Deacon Raleigh, I have offered offense.”
Nodding his acceptance of her apology, Raleigh feels the hairs on his neck rise. For all their pleasant expressions, there’s something expectant in the Serengeti visitors.
As Lilian’s fingers toy with her conservator’s seal, her eyes capture his. “Pray tell, Deacon. Did your trip to Sinead’s World achieve its purpose? Have you discovered the identity of your great-great-grandsire?”
Jonathan’s justice. The woman is as dangerous as rumored. His kinsman is known to be both ruthless and prescient. Lucius’ choice of weapon in this encounter is intriguing. Relaxing back in his chair, Raleigh considers the serene countenance of the woman who challenges him. “I present no kinship claim to His Preeminence or the Blooded Dagger Cartouche. Lucius Mercio need not fear the shame of commoner kin.”
Lilian’s expression lightens. “Monsignor holds no shame at blood ties with those of the common order. There are any number within the cartouche and cartel.” Echoing his posture, she relaxes back in her chair. “The timing of the discovery of Lady Gertrude’s hedge line is inconvenient. It would be well for it to go unacknowledged for another year or so. Beyond that, does the deacon will it, the resources of Blooded Dagger and Serengeti are available to aid in the search for the sire of your hedge line.”
Raleigh does not try to repress his smile. He has something Lucius desires. “How inconvenient, Mistress Lilian?”
At the deacon’s words and expression, the bright clarity of Lilian’s countenance fades and she straightens.
The beguiling blonde speaks first, savage in tone and expression. “You would bring cruel attention to a minor who has offered you no harm?”
“What say you, Raven?”
Lilian’s hand is on her thorn hilt for all her tone is even. “Mistress Elysia enters the cotillions this season. Should the tale of Lady Gertrude’s waywardness become public, Monsignor’s daughter will not enjoy the resulting attention.”
Raleigh is rarely confounded and does not care for the sensation. A movement from Caoimhe draws his attention from the angry blonde. His security chief does not care for Lilian’s grasp on the thorn. “Peace, peace.” Raleigh holds up his palms, keeping Caoimhe in her place. “I had no idea my kinship tie could bring trouble to the child. Warrior cruelty has defined my line, casting out my great-grandmother for her commoner blood. I will not visit it on another.”
At his words, the two black-clad figures exchange a glance. Rebecca nods and Lilian lifts her hand from her blade. Turning to him, Lilian says, “My research indicates that your great-grandmother’s birth threatened Monsignor Gertrude’s wedlock alliance and Mercio control of Blooded Dagger. That is why Monsignor Gertrude’s child could not be acknowledged. The sire’s bloodlines would not have entered into it.”
Although interesting, this new information changes naught. “The Mercios threw away my great-grandmother. Does the justification matter?”
Emotion flares in Lilian’s eyes and disappears. “Naught can be done to alter the past. Monsignor’s offer of aid in discovery of the sire of your line remains unaltered.”
She is right. There is nothing to be gained by debating the past. “I will consider Monsignor’s offer.” He is not certain he wishes Mercio’s aid. He wishes the counsel of Bran and Caoimhe. He will not have it in this venue. The day is bright, and as they are here, he will hold his visitors to the pretext by which they gained entrance. “If there is naught else, what would you suggest for Settlement Day entertainment?”
Rebecca’s smile is dazzling. “What know you of Adelaide’s rituals?”
Willingly beguiled by that smile, Raleigh acknowledges his ignorance of ritual. He is not ignorant of the fact that the shrines are not monitored, as doing so is considered sacrilegious. He will have his wish to consult his companions.
»◊«
The mild day and the bright blue sky remind Raleigh of Redemption, but the scent of the city holds naught of the sage and saffron of Mohawk, the green and rose city that is his home. When he learned that the journey to the warrior ring was but a mile and a half, he embraced the activity of a walk, although he wondered at Rebecca’s elegant heels. Even Lilian’s practical pumps seemed inappropriate. When the female guard pulled two sets of ankle boots from the waiting private transport, he laughed out loud. These warriors are a bizarre blend of self-indulgent and practical. Even now, the transports follow them, militia guards at the helm.
The fierce one from the suite is Lilian’s bodyguard, as is the older woman in black. Nodding as Rebecca points out places of interest, he wonders at the strange couple. He has finally placed the man as the guard who followed Lilian into the cartel the day of the siege. The woman remains elusive, although he can tell from the voiceless interaction between the two guards that they are one in their determination to protect Adelaide’s Thorn. It is a dynamic he knows well; Caoimhe and Bran exhibit similar communication, including the almost parental air of suffering his humor.
“Lilian!” The glad cry comes from a redheaded sprite who alters her trajectory to intercept Raleigh’s party. The young girl is accompanied by a tall, virile young man with sandy hair, another man who resembles a stork, and a comely woman with light brown hair and the graceful movements that suggest something feline.
Three steps shy of the Serengeti group, the lively redhead stops short, stammering an apology, “I beg pardon, I did not realize. I saw Rebecca and Stefan and not the others.”
Mohawk’s blessings. Lucius’ weapon is torn. Lilian’s eyes go
from the girl who must be her sister to Malcon. Affection and duty at war. The visual Caoimhe was able to acquire of the festival brawl is two years dated, but the sandy-haired man is Chrys. Although the visual record was blurred, proximity to Chrys and Lilian suggests the other man is Master Simon, the genius behind Mercium. The day is proving enlightening beyond all his expectations. “Adelaide’s Thorn, would you make this charming young woman known to me?”
Katleen blinks up at the tall man. The deep tones that reverberate against her ears and at the base of her spine are as sweet as honey. There is no doubt that the handsome man insisting on an introduction is the focus of Lilian’s duty. Had she any doubt, the smoky sound of cartel intrigue permeates Lilian’s voice as she complies.
Although Katleen is embarrassed by her intrusion, she cannot regret encountering Lilian. She fought for discipline to mask her disappointment when she learned that cartel duty would keep Lilian and Rebecca from the rehearsal of the Inversion. Both sisters, as well as the consortium, look forward to each Settlement Day with high expectations. For Katleen, it was to be a double delight. She would have Lilian’s attention for half a day, and Chrys as well. And Rebecca. When Lilian reassured her that Chrys would escort her to view the Inversion, her spirits lifted. Having the handsome technologist to herself was an unexpected treat.
Discovering Lilian on the path to the warrior ring in the company of Rebecca, Katleen assumed their duty had discharged early and raced to meet her sister. Only when she neared did Katleen sort that the crowd approaching the ring was not due to the expected green-season crush, but part of Lilian’s party. They may not be bound for the alcove at all.
When Lilian confirms that is their goal, Katleen cannot contain her delight. She cares not that she must share Lilian’s company with these strangers from the Eleventh System. Eager to determine if her first impression of Deacon Raleigh’s voice holds true, she gladly engages him, pointing out objects of interest as they work their way through the gardens.