by E G Manetti
Sevenday 142, Day 3
Tiger smiles as he studies the image in The Blade’s Point monitors. The golden blonde in a tight blue dress is the picture of excitement. The silver slippers with their delicate three-inch heels emphasize the short, thigh-revealing frock. A frock designed for a woman grown, it highlights Elysia Mercio’s youth rather than masking it.
The young warrior bribing their way into the indulgence owns a sweet face and broad shoulders. He cannot be above nineteen and Mercio’s daughter is barely past the age of consent. With a sense of delight, Tiger authorizes their entrance. If it would not cost him his manhood, Tiger would have the girl into one of the dalliance chambers for his pleasure. As it is, he ensures that if the young warrior can lure the girl, he will not be hindered. The monitor recordings will be exceptionally valuable.
At the sight of Elysia so enticingly attired, Micah’s mouth ran dry. His hand went to the hilt of the warrior dagger at his waist. The rank it evidences is better protection than a fire-pistol. The gold and ruby insignia of Blooded Dagger on the hilt is unmistakable. At the entrance to the indulgence, he finds it a simple matter to bribe their way in, none willing to challenge the rank displayed by dagger and signet.
Taking his arm, Elysia swings her head left and right as she attempts to see everything. “For all it is become fashionable, I find the Resurgent Neo–Eight Systems style excessive. My mother would not have it in our home, but here it is marvelous.”
Thrilled at her delight, Micah finds them a good position, disappointed when the match proves lackluster. The Second System challenger falls within fifteen minutes.
Elysia is fascinated. “Free-boxing is far less elegant than warrior disciplines, but exciting. I wonder if there are any at Serengeti who might offer training. Nickolas says it was popular on the Fortuna transports.”
Settling his hand on the small of Elysia’s back, Micah shepherds her from the match chamber. He is not about to mention that according to Nickolas, Monsignor’s apprentice has engaged in the sport. Instead, he says, “I am certain you would excel in the form. But I cannot imagine Monsignor would permit you to engage in such a vulgar exhibition.”
With a beguiling pout, Elysia accepts that her father is not likely to allow it. “Let us see what other entertainments are offered. And I wish to try the Fortuna red wine. It is said to be exceptional.”
“One glass,” Micah agrees. He enjoyed it on his last visit but learned it is far more potent than the green and pink wines of the Fourth System. “You will not thank me if you have a sore head in the morning.”
The smile he receives as reward sends heat straight to his shaft. Oblivious to her impact on him, she flits from one entertainment to another. She pouts when her wagers on games of chance do not pay. She glows when she succeeds with a light rifle and is rewarded with a gaudy belt that she will never don but will display to her friends at Crossed Sabers. Micah finds Elysia’s uninhibited enjoyment of the indulgence fair reward for his capitulation to her manipulation.
At Bran’s insistence, Raleigh agreed to the free-boxing match at The Blade’s Point. With the fate of the Eleventh System Mercium trade in the hands of others, he has been restless and a less than pleasant companion. Bran was beyond blunt. “Find a doxy that pleases you or a fighter you would match. Do you not, I will. I will not endure another night of your ill humor.”
After the disappointing match, Bran insisted they explore the other entertainments, and Raleigh is glad enough for the distraction. Several of the house doxies are attractive, and the release might do him good.
A poke against his shoulder turns his attention to Caoimhe. With a nod she gestures to a young couple applauding a woman juggling fire. “What think you, Raleigh?”
Dragon piss. The girl is Elysia Mercio. Raleigh wishes his business on Metricelli Prime completed and to remain free of entanglements with his warrior kin. But if Lucius were no more than a commerce partner, Raleigh would not leave his sixteen-year-old daughter at risk. As he watches, her escort frowns at a man who steps to close to Elysia, fingering his dagger in warning. The other man veers away as Elysia takes her escort’s arm, urging him to the next attraction. “It is early, and the lad seems able enough. We will keep them in sight. If it grows late or the crowd unruly, we will intervene.”
Drawn by the music from a dimly lit chamber, Elysia leads Micah within. The performance platform glows in rose light and is surrounded by a dark viewing area, highlighting every detail of the performers’ elaborate costumes and false weapons. “I would not have expected a Socraide and Adelaide saga to be performed in an indulgence. I do not know why you thought this so questionable.”
Knowing she has misunderstood the nature of the entertainment, Micah says, “It is not what you believe. There is naught of reverence in this saga.”
She casts him a questioning glance. “I wish to view it.”
She is of age, there is naught she is about to view that she does not know, and the temptation of a shadowed seating area is more than he can resist. As Elysia slides into the enclosed area, the Socraide’s long sword catches on the Adelaide’s battle tunic. A quick twist of the sword and a large swath of the fabric rips away from the Adelaide’s torso, baring a breast with a taut brown peak. The Adelaide returns the assault with a slice at Socraide’s back, parting the costume and revealing a well-muscled buttock.
“Oh my,” Elysia breathes.
The nature of the entertainment leads her to reassess her surroundings. The dimly lit viewing areas are mostly inhabited by couples, although some other groupings are present. The relative ages, beauty, and apparel of the pairings offer a single conclusion: doxies. The erotic entertainment is to be enjoyed by patrons and their doxies.
“Not all are doxies, Elysia,” Micah murmurs in her ear. “Some are patrons who wish to view the entertainment with those they desire. Do you wish to remain?”
Socraide and Adelaide are stripped to boots and weapons. Riveted, Elysia responds, “Yes, please.”
Micah’s arm slides about her waist, pulling her deep into the plush bench and the shadows. Her body feels as it does when she knows Micah will soon kiss her.
Socraide is disarmed and then Adelaide. It is hand-to-hand combat. The choreographed holds have Socraide grasping Adelaide’s breasts. Adelaide holds Socraide’s buttocks. A brief and wild wrestling match finds Socraide on his knees. Adelaide is pinned with her back to his chest. Her thighs spread on either side of Socraide’s. Socraide frees one hand to explore Adelaide’s breasts. She responds with a whimper and ceases to struggle.
At Adelaide’s acquiescence, Socraide sends his other hand to explore her parted thighs. In moments Socraide’s hand has traversed Adelaide’s thighs to their apex. Socraide strokes and works the folds of the woman’s sex, causing her to arch and moan in response.
Elysia’s sex aches as though Micah has been kissing and fondling her, although he has done naught but leave his arm around her waist. Elysia calls for control and fails, wriggling against the weight of Micah’s arm and the plush seat. Micah’s breath is warm against her neck, bringing forth more aching in her breasts and cleft.
“Would it please you were I to serve you in such a manner?” Micah inquires. To date he has gone no further than to fondle Elysia through the cloth of her garments. He would very much like to view and enjoy her unclad flesh.
At the suggestion, Elysia experiences a sudden tightening below her navel. She would very much like such handling. “Micah. I would. That is—”
For all she finds the notion of Micah’s hands on her skin exciting, she is not ready for what would follow. For what is following as the Adelaide shifts position to reveal Socraide’s hardened shaft. In a moment, Socraide has positioned Adelaide on her hands and knees, and then penetration occurs. “I cannot. I do not . . .”
“Peace.” Micah kisses her temple. “I will remain clad. I will please you and not require that for which you are not ready.”
“Now?” She is unable to meet Micah’s
gaze.
“Not this night, sweetling,” Micah answers. “The bells pass. Soon enough, does your desire survive past the dawn.”
“Dawn?”
“I will not take advantage of the effects of red wine and that display. You will be sober and sane if we do aught more than kiss.”
A shadow looms over the table. A large bearded man grabs Elysia and drags her from Micah. “Find another doxy,” the man says, wrapping his arms around Elysia. “This one’s mine for the next bell.”
Off-balance, her feet pulled free of the floor by the raider’s rough grasp, Elysia is stunned and then angered at the hand sliding under her skirt. Fisting a hand in her assailant’s hair, Elysia pulls him close to tear an ear with her teeth. Micah’s dagger slashes the attacker’s forearm and he releases her with a roar.
If there had been but the one thug, Micah and Elysia would have been free in a step. Two of their assailant’s friends descend on Micah and a third captures Elysia from behind, pinning her arms so that she faces the enraged black raider. A backhanded blow explodes her senses.
“Idiot doxy. Tiger’s anger at your refusal will dwarf any gift the boy can offer.” Whoever this man is, he thinks her a sex worker in the employ of this Tiger. Before she can speak, the raider grasps the slender straps of her dress, yanking her bodice to her waist and exposing pale, pink-tipped breasts. Lifting her knees, intending to drive her heels into the attacker’s groin, she is abruptly freed. As she stumbles, a woman drags her from the melee that is forming. Micah appears before her, his face bloody from a split lip and battered nose, his dagger in his left hand.
Her unidentified rescuer shoves Elysia to Micah with the command, “Get her out of here.”
Micah throws a protective arm around her, leading her past a woman curled on the floor, blood seeping between her fingers where she holds her middle.
As Elysia rights her gown from within Micah’s protective embrace, he spares a glance into the dim chamber. Two men and a woman are leveling a half dozen of the most dangerous predators in Crevasse City. Micah knows naught of his battle companions. He vows to correct that situation.
Sevenday 142, Day 4
The command crew has taken well to the training and is a half day ahead of schedule. Exiting the riser, Lilian turns for milord’s commerce suite, mentally rehearsing eighth-bell status. Naught yet from the Eleventh Systems on the Mercium raids. She enters through the double doors. Seigneur Trevelyan’s operatives are reporting that within Desperation Refinery, the guild is spoken of with disdain.
“Well met.” Mistress Marieth looks up from her techno array. “Monsignor is engaged. You are to wait.”
“Well met, indeed, Mistress Marieth,” Lilian replies and receives a nod of acknowledgement. Something is amiss, but milord’s redoubtable and discreet executive servitor will reveal naught.
Settling next to Rebecca, she does not have a chance to speak before the blonde says, “You are likely to be a few minutes. You may wish to check your alerts.”
The chimes sound and Rebecca disappears into the spymaster’s office. Pulling forth her slate, Lilian begins to tap.
»◊«
Micah forces his eyes to remain on the dire countenance across the massive expanse of ebony. His Preeminence is displeased. One need not be an accomplished infiltrator to discover anger in the rigid frame, harsh expression, and steepled fingers. At Elysia’s insistence, Micah carried her home rather than to a medic or a healer. It neared dark of night when they entered the mansion and her parents had retired to their quarters. The servitor on duty clucked at Elysia’s appearance but yielded to instruction. Micah saw Elysia to her chamber with an ice pouch and an embrace. Neither was under any illusions. By the time they rose for the morning, Elysia’s parents and Micah’s mother would know of the events of the night.
Micah has erred, and Monsignor’s rage is justified. It is an anger that Micah recognizes, for it has simmered within him for months. Micah believes not one word of the tale that his father fell in a battle over commerce rights. The truth is ill, and it is being withheld. His mother has insisted to the point of hysteria that he not challenge Monsignor Lucius for the truth. Micah’s honor and sense of duty enable him to comply, but that does not eliminate the resentment that has simmered into rage over the past months. For the moment, his rage at being kept in ignorance is subsumed by his guilt that Elysia was endangered while in his care.
Master anger. Lucius leashes his rage. Micah has proven reliable and loyal within the cartel. His steadiness of character is consistent with Solomon’s. That his aspect holds grimness unusual in one so young is to be expected given the sudden, violent loss of his father. That Elysia, with her quicksilver wit and volatile nature, is attracted to the dour young warrior has come as a surprise. Lucius was pleased enough, discerning that the young man’s restraint tempered Elysia’s unruliness as her liveliness lifted the grieving Micah’s spirits. Should Elysia choose the young man, Lucius would consider it well done. Until last eve.
As is his custom, Lucius reviewed his morning alerts from the comfort of his bed. Sabri appeared on schedule and set his morning meal on a side table. Sipping tea, he opened the alert queue to discover Trevelyan’s mark of urgency on the first item. Lucius has cleared the queue since then. He has also reviewed the monitor recordings from the indulgence. That Malcon and Trevelyan will soon be addressing Tiger is the only factor mitigating the blend of anger, relief, frustration, and compulsion for revenge that rages within him. That and the knowledge that Elysia’s split lip and bruised countenance are being treated by Chin.
The young man has much to answer for. “What say you?”
Micah’s eyes are fixed on Lucius’ steepled fingers. From the shadows under his eyes, he has not slept. “I deeply regret I did not slay the Servant of Anarchy that misused Elysia. Had I to do it again, I would not stay my hand.”
“You do not regret escorting my daughter into that notorious indulgence?” The notion of Elysia within Tiger’s black web continues to fuel Lucius’ rage.
“I beg Monsignor’s pardon. The Blade’s Point is notorious but not known to be dangerous before dark of night.” Micah halts himself. “It is not well done. I should not have agreed. I find it difficult to refuse Elysia.”
The young man’s chagrin is evident, as is the justice of his defense. Lucius also finds it difficult to refuse Elysia. He no longer attempts to refuse her mother. “What stayed your hand?”
“I thought him naught but a drunkard. I was armed, and he was not. A blade slice should have reminded him of his place and lessoned him.”
For all the acceptance of violence in the warrior society, the taking of a life is not a common experience. Warriors own a great deal of license, but the casual taking of life is frowned upon. A severe enough infraction, as that by the infamous Gregor Matwan, is treated as the murder it is. At nineteen, few know what it is to slay another. Lucius did not. That he has come to since does not trouble him. It offers him no delight. Micah displayed appropriate warrior control given his understanding at the time. The commerce repercussions of both Tiger’s and Raleigh’s involvement in the matter cannot be charged to Micah’s account.
“Very well,” Lucius says. “Report to Seigneur Thorvald.”
That Lucius has ceded Micah’s discipline to Thorvald is a measure of the depth of his rage and his uncertain control. He will not risk exacting greater retribution than is warranted. That the one Lucius truly wishes to destroy is resident in Rimon’s dungeons and beyond Lucius’ reach is not aiding matters. The black raider who misused Elysia was slain by Bran in the ensuing melee.
There is a slight widening of Micah’s eyes and a minor relaxation in his muscles. Lucius does not fail to note the signs of relief as he continues, “Mistake me not, kinsman. Another such lapse in judgment will not be so lightly dismissed. Return her to me marred again, and it will not be well for you.”
Micah returns to attention. “Yes, Monsignor.”
Lucius has two sons. Mi
cah’s obedient stance is masking more than relief. Something else is amiss. Pressed for time and patience, Lucius would prefer to leave it to another to discover and manage. He cannot neglect Solomon’s son. “Voice what concerns you.”
“Monsignor?”
Settling back into his chair, Lucius lowers his hands to the armrests. “No insult will attach. Voice what you will.”
It is a magnificent offer. Micah may hurl the vilest of insults at Lucius and Lucius will be bound to take no offense. It frees the rage Lucius suspected lurked beneath the surface of the contained young man.
“My father fell in service to Blooded Dagger and Serengeti. I am heir and fed naught but evasions and half-truths.” Color rising, voice tight, Micah clenches his fists. “My father did not yield his life for a commerce contract. Is it my father’s honor that is found lacking or mine that I am not given the truth in this?”
None of Lucius’ children know the truth of the matter, although Lucius suspects Cesare may be close to guessing. That the Despoilers reemerged and did so with the aid of a cartel governor is not information that he wishes known. It will damage Serengeti and hamper the ongoing efforts to identify and locate the rest of Sebastian Mehta’s vile adherents.
Nor does Lucius wish to expose his children to the details of the Despoilers’ foul practices. Recall of the testimony of the captured Despoilers, and the condition of the rescued captives, chills his blood. That his careful management of the information would lead Micah to such an error in reasoning was completely unforeseen.
Lucius considers his options and the nature of the young man before him. At the onset of the rains, Micah will reach his majority and be able to commit blood oaths. It was then that Lucius intended to reveal the truth to him. The delay would also provide Micah time to recover from his grief before facing the horror of the Despoilers. It remains the correct course of action. “Your father’s honor is unquestioned. I regret that the true nature of his sacrifice may never be known beyond these walls. Until you have passed your majority and can be bloodsworn, content yourself with the knowledge that your father fell in service to the Five Warriors as well as Serengeti.”