by E G Manetti
I am the sum of my ancestors. The heat and concern in milord’s eyes is oversetting her nerves. If she were not in her cycle, milord would disrobe her and examine her until he was satisfied. It is contact Lilian desires and may not have. Forcing aside her fascination with milord’s lips, Lilian replies to his question. “With a blade, I would triumph. Unarmed, were it not an exhibition, it would have ended quickly. I am unable to voice with certainty which of us would have triumphed. Mistress Caoimhe is formidable. I learned this day that she survived captivity by Sadico during the pirate actions.”
Milord’s eyes darken. “She was in the stronghold when it was liberated?”
When milord’s forces burned the stronghold, over two score captives were rescued. It was one of the few times they found survivors. Lilian shakes her head. “No, it was a free-trader settlement. Deacon Raleigh’s forces drove off the pirates and saved her from death. She was the only survivor.”
Milord’s eyes hood, and his lips tighten. “The more I learn of my hedge kinsman, the more I find him worthy.” Lips softening, he asks, “How fare you?”
“I will not use the auto-racers this sevenday, milord,” Lilian admits with a wry twist of her lips and a glance at her demurely crossed ankles.
“And no training match with Trevelyan, I believe,” milord returns, his eyes caressing her legs. “You will not be mended by the morrow.
This day. Do not dwell on the tingling milord’s gaze has evoked. What said he? Training. “In this, the seigneur is of a mind with my mother. Foes will not delay when injured; they pursue an advantage. I am like to train on my knees on the morrow. It is well for me that the Serengeti training chambers are well padded.”
“Chin permits this?”
“Only under the seigneur’s supervision. Other than that, I may not train until after he examines me on Third Day.”
Milord smiles, reaching an arm across the armrests to trace her jaw with his fingers. “I may wish to view that.”
Smile fading, milord drops his hand and reaches for his slate. “While you were defeating Caoimhe, Malcon had Rebecca and Tabitha interrogate our agents on Contrition. They possess evidence that the black raider’s intelligence had its source in Matahorn.”
Piracy is a black crime. It is one of several black crimes that sent Remus Gariten to the Final Draught and his family to ruin. For one of Horatio Margovian’s rank to suffer such a fate has not been seen in over two centuries. Nor does Lilian believe it would suit milord’s purpose to have it so. “Milord, am I permitted to know? How will milord serve Monsignor Horatio?”
“I can prove corruption, not conspiracy,” milord says. “A public accusation would end in fines and scandal. There are better purposes for such intelligence.”
Lucius cannot prove that the pirates were chartered by Matahorn, only aided. The scandal of Matahorn commerce with pirates far exceeds that of hedge kin with free-trader affiliations. Horatio will gain no advantage in this. Neither will Lucius. Lucius will yield his claim against Horatio to keep his kinship with Raleigh submerged until Elysia enters Mulan’s Temple.
Lilian is satisfied. It is well worth a few days’ discomfort and limited training to have Monsignor Horatio’s intrigue overset and the Mercium trade safe within the Eleventh System. At her last thought, another question surfaces. “Does it end for certain, milord? Will Deacon Raleigh’s Mercium trade be untroubled?”
Milord’s gaze hardens, his features settling into familiar harsh lines. “Horatio will vow to it. He will not be foresworn does it require Omar’s signet.” Catching her chin, he adds, “This is the second time the Dark Axe Cartouche has threatened what I value. A third such attempt will bring Blooded Dagger and Dark Axe to armed conflict. Such a development will not serve Horatio’s ambitions any more than mine. Omar will be contained.”
Sevenday 143, Day 2
With a sigh of relief Lilian stretches out her legs, easing her sore ankle. Seigneur Trevelyan’s training did not have her on her knees. It did have her injured leg strapped to a stool, forcing her to defend and avoid from a position of immobility. The throbbing in her ankle is naught to the pain she will feel on the morrow when her arms, shoulders, and torso rebel against the strain of the session. Pulling her midday meal close, she makes space for Tabitha on one side and Rebecca on the other, limiting the risk of her extended legs encountering either Douglas or Chrys.
Eyes dancing with excitement, Douglas says, “The Inversion is ready. Lord Apollo has promised places for Lilian’s consortium. They will be in the back with the junior acolytes, but it matters not, you will be able to see all.”
Adelaide’s Prelate has decided that he will introduce the controversial Inversion not in the shrine ring but in the formal gardens of the alcove quarters. Accessible from the warrior ring, the quarters offer a level of privacy and security that the more public shrines do not. It also provides him with the ability to provide superior refreshment to the rarified guests who will view the spectacle.
Chrys and Rebecca share excited smiles as Tabitha asks, “Would it be possible to add Simon?”
Lilian swallows hard to keep her iced water flowing in the correct direction. Rebecca claps and Douglas laughs. “I am sure it can be done.”
Frowning at the table, Tabitha demands, “What ails you?”
“You and Simon,” Rebecca replies. “He has won your favor?”
Pressing her lips together, Tabitha looks away. Turning back, her cheeks hold a slight flush and she offers a sheepish smile. “Yes.”
“It was Mistress Elysia’s cotillion, was it not?” Rebecca asks. “You stayed behind and joined him on the terrace.”
Blush deepening, Tabitha shakes her head. “Not that night. Not long after.”
This day. Lilian wishes she could embrace her friend. After Sebastian Mehta’s abuse, she had doubted Tabitha would ever find pleasure in passion. When Master Simon set out to win Tabitha, Lilian took hope. Soft-spoken, awkward when not involved with technologistics, Master Simon is honorable and tenacious. After the battle of Serengeti, she respected his fierceness. She could not have designed a better antidote to Sebastian’s poison. “Master Simon is all that is honorable. I am happy for you.”
“I am happy for Master Simon,” Chrys says. “I thought him brilliant when I met him. In the past month, he is a wonder.”
Douglas slaps the table. “By the honor of the Shades, enough of apprentice decorum. Tabitha, we are glad for you and I am beyond delighted by my winnings. This festival, I will fund the respite at Hidaka’s Café.”
“You beast.” Tabitha tosses a napkin at Douglas. “You wagered on my yielding to Simon?”
Douglas catches the napkin and tosses it back. “Me and half the cartel. Had Lilian the license to wager, she could have furnished half of Katleen’s house.”
Unable to resist, Lilian says, “Not half the house, but one of the reception chambers.”
In the ensuing laughter, the small group attacks its meal. Swallowing an impressive bite of meat pie, Douglas says, “As Adelaide’s Thorn, Lilian can command a place with the senior prelates. Does anyone else have someone to add?”
I am the sum of my ancestors. Lilian knows she should speak, but she does not wish to ruin the moment.
“What is it?” Chrys says.
He has ever been attuned to her moods. “Only that I have not yet Monsignor’s agreement to attend.”
“Monsignor would deny you in this?” Douglas’ eyes narrow. “You are Adelaide’s Thorn and it is an important alcove rite.”
She can all but hear Apollo in Douglas’ near accusation. “Monsignor has not forbidden my attendance, only insisted that the security arrangements meet with Seigneur Trevelyan’s approval.” At Douglas’ frown, she adds, “It is an open-air performance and I will be a tempting target. That there have been no attempts since the poison changes naught. Five million are incentive.”
“Five million are naught compared to the safety of Monsignor Lucius, his family, and that of the other Ser
engeti governors,” Rebecca says. “Add in Monsignor Horatio and his family, and a gnat will not pass without scrutiny. When Serengeti and Matahorn approve the security measures, Lilian will have hers.”
Frowning, Chrys puts down his fork. “Those measures are focused on important warriors and prelates.”
“Lilian will not be unguarded,” Tabitha says. “Flavia, Stefan, and I are able enough and we will all be armed.”
“Which will serve well for any who approach, but do the three of you truly have the ability to scan a crowd of such size for a distant threat?” Chrys asks.
“There will be many among the security forces focused on distant threats,” Rebecca returns.
“They will be focused on the elite,” Chrys counters. “Lilian is not considered an important target. Potential threats aimed in her direction are like to be overlooked.”
Although open hostility against Lilian and her family has eased over the years, she is still naught but an apprentice. Few among the security forces of the governor, shrines, or Serengeti will regard her safety as of the same importance as that of the warrior elite and the prelates.
“Chrys is right,” Tabitha says. “In such a gathering, the vigilance of three may be insufficient. Does Seigneur Trevelyan assent, will the consortium aid in this?”
Without hesitation, Chrys voices his agreement. It is but a heartbeat before the others concur. None doubt that Clarice and Verity will also prove willing.
Sevenday 143, Day 3
Lilian feints and ducks, striking Katleen’s thigh with the flat of her hand. Katleen yelps and dodges away. Not trusting her balance, Lilian elected unarmed training for this day. Her light jabs and slaps are enough to train Katleen without true harm. Katleen takes advantage of her greater mobility, dodging over benches and around pillars, forcing Lilian to give chase. The training match deteriorates into a game of tag, the sisters laughing as they tumble over a bench.
“Peace, Katleen, cease.” Lilian holds up her hands. “My ankle throbs. If the master medic discovers this ill-conceived game, he will send me to bed for a sevenday.”
“Fear not the burning.” Helena steps into view, wrapped in a green robe, her hair loose about her shoulders. “The flames will yield.”
“Maman?” Lilian pushes from the bench.
Ignoring her, Helena reaches for Katleen. “Fear not the burning.”
Flavia appears from the shadows, her eyes filled with concern. Shaking her head, Lilian dissuades the woman from interfering.
“Follow the flames.”
“I will follow the flames,” Katleen agrees.
Mollified, the seer drops a kiss on Katleen’s forehead. Looking up, Helena turns to Lilian. “You must hasten and ready for the cartel. Flavia, her ankle is weak, if you will aid her with the stairs.”
Glad for the support of Flavia’s arm, Lilian climbs the stairs without pressing the ankle. At the halfway mark, Flavia finds the courage to ask, “Is the house to catch fire?”
“I doubt it,” Lilian replies. “Maman once warned me to fly away from a wolf. It was not a true wolf but an evil warrior. Other of her prophecies cannot be deciphered. I have periods of senseless ramblings I have collected in recent years. If she is taken with a seeing, accede to her wishes and worry not. If there is aught of truth, it will become known when it is known. Otherwise, it is but Shade madness. This episode was most like brought on by my injury. It is often so.”
»◊«
Chrys glances at her outstretched ankle, eyebrows raised in question.
“It improves but throbs and swells if tucked beneath my chair as decorum demands. I did not think you would take offense.” They are alone in a variants analytics chamber, Seigneur Rachelle, Master Simon, and several others visible through the windows to the experimental chamber.
“Of course not,” Chrys says with a smile. “Nor would Seigneur Rachelle. The seigneur did quite well on her wagers.”
There is only this day. Monsignor Lucius’ apprentice does not sprawl her legs before her, even to ease her aching ankle. If the seigneur or any other of rank enters, she will embrace decorum. The error with the courtyard covers was not so severe, but it is a warning of the risks of laxity.
As if summoned by the apprentice protocol to test her, Master Nickolas drops into the chair on her left. “Mistress Lilian, your bout with Mrs. Caoimhe was better entertainment than offered by this season’s cotillions.
“Mistress Lilian, cease,” Nickolas says as she begins to shift. “Jonathan’s Honor, enough,” he continues as Lilian settles into a properly decorous position. “Does Seigneur Rachelle not indict you, I will not. Your match enriched me and served Monsignor.”
“It is not seemly,” Lilian returns. “What is your wish of us?”
Chrys’ lips tighten but he says naught. He knows as well as she that they must maintain their apprentice discipline even as the days of the bond grow short.
Nickolas winces inwardly. They have known combat together, discovered and defeated cartel and cartouche enemies, and established marvelous commercial advantage for Monsignor Lucius. Yet Lilian will not be easy with him. Pushing aside regret at his initial cruelty to a woman he has come to respect, he says, “Monsignor Horatio wishes to command the Nightingale in the group trial. Will it require much effort to configure the trial to allow the monsignor in Captain’s Jarrod’s place?”
“It would be the effort of moments, but it is ill-advised,” Lilian replies. “The command crew is making excellent progress as a team. It is not well that it be disrupted by involving others who will establish different patterns.”
“You are suggesting that we offer Monsignor Horatio his own trial?” Nickolas asks. “It required a half day to set the trial for Monsignor Lucius. Will you require the same?”
Horatio Margovian is not known for his patience when his whims are thwarted.
“Mayhap not,” Lilian says. “It will depend upon how many of Monsignor Horatio’s retainers the monsignor wishes to employ in this. If Monsignor Horatio consents, and Monsignor Hercules and Seigneur Rachelle agree to participate again, it could be configured within two periods.”
Nickolas nods. When Monsignor Lucius executed the trial, he served as captain and Marco as first officer. Monsignor Horatio and Seigneur William will wish those roles but may be willing to allow Hercules to act as navigator and Seigneur Rachelle chief engineer if it means having the trial they wish. It is well past third bell. “It will not be until the morrow?”
“As you voice,” Lilian says.
“Lilian is on restricted duty,” Chrys adds.
“I am aware of that.”
“Master Nickolas, are you also aware that Lilian and I are another bell engaged with evaluating the Nightingale Mercium quality tests and that she must dedicate several bells to the affairs of Desperation before tomorrow’s midday?” Chrys’ tone is deferential but his squared shoulders and hard expression convey resistance.
“I was not,” Nickolas says, annoyed at the other man’s attitude but unable to contest the validity of his concern. Nor is it entirely ill that there is sound cause to make Matahorn wait on Serengeti convenience. “Monsignor Horatio may no more naysay Master Chin than Monsignor. Monsignor Horatio’s entertainment must wait upon the morrow.”
Both Chrys’ and Lilian’s expressions lighten at the understanding that the powerful Matahorn preeminence’s desires are to be thwarted by an apprentice’s weak ankle. Nickolas’ grin admits that he, too, delights in this small, if petty, victory over milord’s rival.
Sevenday 143, Day 4
Waiting for her slate to signal that Monsignor Horatio’s Bright Star trial is ready, Lilian tries to ignore the excited chatter that fills the Associates’ Hall. In the front row, Monsignor Horatio’s daughter, Lorelei, flirts with Cesare. The Mercio males seem to prefer older females. The tavern keeper’s daughter was three years Raphael’s senior, Lorelei has six on Cesare, while Lady Estella exceeds milord’s years by nine. A wedlock alliance between Blooded Dag
ger and Broken Blade is a predictable arrangement, though it requires at least a decade before milord and his heir entertain such overtures. A festival liaison between the two warriors, however, would be a commonplace indulgence.
At the chirping from her slate, Lilian gathers her straying thoughts. The preparations are complete. At a sharp glance from the master medic, Lilian settles into the chair at the podium.
I am the sum of my ancestors. Lilian swallows her discomfort at seating herself behind Master Straus’ podium. With reluctance, Master Chin yielded to her pleas and reduced the binding at her ankle to two adhesive straps, but not without threats that he would return her to the binding if she failed to coddle the injured joint. Although the ankle does not trouble her, she is not about to test the master medic’s will.
The large reviewer will depict the simulated flight of the Nightingale. The command crew stations are controlled by Horatio as captain, William as first officer, Rachelle as chief engineer, and Hercules as navigator. The rest of Horatio’s contingent, including Lorelei in Nickolas’ place, require two additional lieutenants to complete the roles. Milord gave Fletcher’s and Jasper’s places to Cesare and Micah.
Seated with Elenora and Tristan, Lucius is eager to discover how well Horatio does as captain of the Nightingale. Scattered throughout the chamber, seigneurs, protégés, and master associates converse in hushed tones, waiting for the trial to commence. Lucius was not surprised when Liger and Straus asked to attend, nor was he surprised to discover Simon and Malcon clustered with Nickolas and Fletcher. Half the cartel would be in the chamber were it not for the strict security-privilege surrounding the Matahorn contingent.
The trial executes for the full three periods Lilian’s protocol permits. The Nightingale is destroyed twice. Its crew has died thrice. At the end of the trial, the edge of the beaconless expanse appears on the reviewer.