by E G Manetti
Eyes shining, Horatio says, “Reset the trial and we go again. This next attempt will reach the Thirteenth System.”
Behind the podium, Lilian’s face shutters. Demon shit. She does not wish to be the one to thwart Horatio, nor can he blame her.
“The trial is locked,” Hercules says before Lucius can speak. “After three periods of training, there is no more benefit to achieve. It will not reset for this team until the morrow.”
“Beaconless expanse,” Cesare exults to Lorelei. “It required two full sessions for the command crew to proceed so far.”
The young man’s delight cuts through Horatio’s frustration. Turning to Lucius, he demands, “Lucius, how fared your command team in a similar execution?”
With a laugh, Lucius concedes, “Not as well. But you had advantage in this. Your navigator and chief engineer are experienced. Mine were not.”
»◊«
Release slams through Trevelyan, curling his toes and swamping his senses with ecstasy. Helena shudders and cries out, her thighs clenching his waist, her core clamping on his shaft, setting off another explosion of bliss. Closing his eyes, he floats on a cloud of pleasure lined with joy. Clasping Helena close, he rolls to his side, pulling her over and next to him. Sliding a thigh between his, she curls against him, feathering a kiss on his chest as she sighs in contentment.
It is an emotion he shares, and one that has eluded him for so many years. The woman drowsing in his arms is astounding. Decades of discipline have sculpted her into muscled grace. Spiritual trial beyond imagining has marked her face with wisdom. When she smiles, it dims the sun. Pressing his face to her hair, he scents herbs and passion. When she is Universe-strummed, or Shade-touched as the warriors name it, light battles darkness and each time she emerges undaunted. Somehow, she contains and survives the violent forces that balance the universe.
Helena gives an inarticulate murmur, her knee sliding further between his thighs, her blunted nails scraping along his ribs in a tender caress. Dropping his head against the pillows, Trevelyan watches golden streams of late-day sunshine fall through the latticework that protects the windows. The light is dappled green, red, and blue from a skylight worked in the image of Sinead at judgment. Smiling up at the ancient warrior, he wonders what she would think of her descendant’s choice of lover. Certainly, her keeper, Waiman, approves, as evidenced by their use of one the finest guest chambers.
We began as cosmic dust. Had it been suggested to him when he was outcast that he would end where he is, with this woman, he would have laughed. We are formed of stellar glitter. When he chose to join Mulan’s avatars, he did not expect to live long, but he was convinced that the forces of balance demanded his sacrifice and his service. The stellar is within and without. He had no notion how dark that service would be.
“They are always a step ahead of us.” Lucius Mercio slams the console in the warship command center. “Somehow they always manage to disappear as we get close.”
After a month of hunting Sadico, they are no closer than the day Lucius and Trevelyan met. Thorvald shoves aside his slate. “None of the prisoners could offer aught of their hidden base. Their intelligence is useless.”
We are ephemeral and eternal. For all their battle training and weapons, the warriors lack subtlety. “Not completely. We know how they recruit and where.”
“What of it?” Thorvald turns on him. “So, we capture a few recruiters. It is not likely they will have the knowledge we seek.”
We end as we began and begin again. “Not capture, join.”
Thorvald opens his mouth, but Lucius halts him with a gesture. “Infiltrate?”
Cosmic dust. “Aye, Monsignor. All we need is one to reach their base and signal.”
“Someone able to act as a pirate long enough to reach the base?” Thorvald asks. “Do you understand what the infiltrator must do to earn their trust?”
“And what the pirates will do if they discover an infiltrator?” Lucius adds.
Trevelyan has expected to die since he left Mulan. After what he has done to defend his people, his soul is forfeit; there is naught left to lose. If his sacrifice will bring down the pirates, so be it. “They name their leader ‘the sadistic one.’ It is an apt description. I will do whatever the universe demands to restore Balance.”
“I know naught of Universal Balance,” Lucius says. “But the Order of the Twelve Systems must see these pirates ended.”
In the end, it was worse than any of them expected. For six months, Trevelyan travelled with a pirate horde, witness to acts of vile depravity that he has long sought to forget, fear of discovery his constant companion.
“What chills you?” Helena lifts her head from his chest, her gray eyes clouded with concern.
“I was lost in the past.” He traces the arch of her brow with his thumb. “It is naught.”
“Dark times are never naught,” she replies with a sad smile. “And surviving them is a Shade gift. Do you wish to speak of it?”
Yes. “No.”
Her mind holds enough ills without taking on his.
Helena’s eyes go vacant. “Rats and cats. Flame and blade.”
Demon shit. He has brought on a seeing. Trevelyan rises to sit, pulling her close.
“Lambs. Lost and found.”
Trevelyan rubs circles on her trembling back, feathering kisses on her forehead. “Sweetheart, it is done. Gone. We slew them all. The lambs are safe.”
“Saved, rather.” Helena’s eyes clear and she pins him with her gaze. “You saved them. But it hurt you.”
The woman in his arms is all warrior, her gaze as demanding as Lucius’. He will not share what he did to reach the pirate base, but this he can voice: “It was more than two seasons before I found the pirate base. They had scores of prisoners kept as slaves. I dared not withhold the signal, as Sadico was known to be within the fortress. But once it was sent, I had a day, mayhap two to rescue the prisoners. If they were not killed in Monsignor’s attack, they would be slain by the pirates. If I freed them too soon, we would be recaptured before the fleet arrived. It was the longest thirty-seven periods of my life.”
“What did you do?”
“When the fleet was two bells out, I set off an incendiary device in the armory. In the confusion, I was able to release the slaves and send them to hide in the wilderness. It was another day before the pirates were defeated and they could emerge. Most survived.”
Helena slides over his lap, straddling him, her hands firm and warm against his face. “It was in all the media streams. The destroyed compound was burned black and glowing red in places. The captured pirates cursed the Five Warriors. The rescued wept and laughed at once. When you fall into the past, remember the faces of the rescued and ignore all else.”
Turning to kiss the palm of her hand, he murmurs, “When I fall into the past, I will think of you. It was a strange and dark path that brought me to this day and place, but I cannot regret it for it brought me to you.”
“I regret that it required a dark path, but not that you walked it to me.” Helena’s eyes shine with tears he knows she will not shed. “The Shades reward the valiant.”
»◊«
Lilian glances at her slate and then the reviewer as Chrys taps out a command and the projection changes. It nears commerce end and they have but two more analyses to execute. The variants lab is all but empty, only Master Simon in the experimental chamber with Master Magnus. Neither will take offense at Lilian’s sprawled legs as she finishes the task.
“Monsignor was indulgent of Matahorn,” Chrys says as the projection forms. “Was there a purpose other than entertainment in this morning’s Bright Star trial?”
She flexes her ankle. “Monsignor Horatio does not care for being second in Bright Star. Monsignor yields in minor matters to ease victory in major ones.”
Sometimes, to achieve victory, you must first forfeit. The soft words echo from her soul and tighten her throat. Ronan. Due to Raleigh and the Mercium pirates, the
old memories have been close to the surface for sevendays, but she will not yield. This day.
“What troubles you?” Chrys regards her with concern.
Ronan. She cannot. There is only this day. “Naught.”
Chrys’ eyes darken as he leans in. “Does it distress you, you need not voice it. I wish only your comfort. It comforted me to speak of the Genji scholar’s granddaughter.”
At the reminder of that long-ago day and Chrys’ admission that he loved where he knew he should not, the ache in Lilian’s heart cannot be contained. “Ronan. His name was Ronan. He was twenty and had been an instructor in the Universalist Balance Way for but a season.”
Chrys nods. “I recall you mentioned the training. You suspected that the dean sought to find you friends of your age.”
“Instead, I found Ronan.” Lilian can still recall the first time she saw him, how her heart pounded and she became lightheaded. “It was the first time I felt as a woman feels for a man. I was but fifteen and a warrior. It was ludicrous.”
“It often is.” Chrys’ lips curve. “Is that the cause of your sorrow?”
“I wish it were so.” Lilian fingers her conservator’s seal. “He died. Slain by pirates.”
“Jonathan’s justice!” Chrys leans in, fist clenching. “When? Where?”
“Where? Somewhere in the Eleventh System, a Universalist settlement.” Swallowing against the prick of tears, she says, “None know of this. Not even Dean Joseph.”
“Lilian,” Chrys breathes. “Voice no more if you cannot bear it.”
“No, it is time.” Time and milord have muted her grief and Ronan deserves his story be told. “Ronan thought of me as a child but cared naught that I was a warrior. When I left for Crevasse City the month before my sixteenth birth festival, I was beyond excited. When I returned I would be a woman and I was certain he would view me as such.”
So much hope. So much promise. She has not felt it since. “When I returned to Mulan’s Temple, the pirates had attacked and destroyed four Universalist settlements in the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems. Ronan was grief-stricken and enraged. He joined the dissenters and took up arms. He promised to return, and if my desire remained when I was older, revisit my interest. There was only one kiss, one I initiated.”
Chrys nods. “You were but sixteen and he twenty and bound for danger. It was well done of him.”
She shakes her head. “At the time, my grief was devastating, although of late I have come to realize that while he was fond of me, he did not view me as a woman.”
“You must have some memories of joy, to recall sorrow after so long.”
As always, he is wise. “Of late, I have been able to recall the joy as well as the sorrow. For a long time, all I could recall was his leaving. Two hundred from Mulan, along with twice that from the other sanctuaries, went to relieve the settlers. They were few. Ill armed. Ill trained. They died.”
“I remember this. My parents feared the Ninth System would be next. They were surprised when the Universalists sent a militia.”
“Not a militia, outcasts.” Anger leavens sorrow. After a decade, that has not faded. “They wore gray robes to mark themselves as having turned from the pure path. The conclave declared them anathema. When they fell, they did not return to stellar glitter to be reformed and reborn, but became inert, falling through the void for eternity.”
Ronan of the merry blue eyes forever cold and abandoned. She does not believe it, but he did.
“They saved the free-trader worlds,” Chrys returns, his eyes fierce. “They slowed the pirates until Monsignor and the Governing Council were able to mount the counteroffensive. The Five Warriors welcomed him with open arms.”
At the image of her gentle, teasing Ronan being greeted by the Five Warriors and Adelaide, Lilian chokes. “If it is so, Ronan has them tied in knots. For one who revered Balance, he had a gift for mischief.”
“You once voiced the Shades are kind,” Chrys replies. “In this I agree. Whether he returned it or not, if he was worthy of your love, he is worthy of the Shades. For truth, I envy him. I wish I had known you then.”
“I am not certain you would have liked me,” she admits. “I could be willful and was often oblivious of others. Ronan teased me for it often.” Taking a deep breath, she adds, “But you would have liked Ronan and he you. You are both valiant and wise.”
»◊«
Foot propped on a kitchen stool, Lilian chops greens for the salad while Flavia stirs the stew under Katleen’s supervision. For all Flavia’s insistent protection can be irritating, Lilian cannot regret the woman’s diligence. She has relieved Katleen of the full burden of food preparation and both sisters of many household maintenance tasks, as well as attending the market, the launderers, and whatever other small commerce the household requires.
After the prior day’s episode with Maman, Flavia has been even more protective, not accepting Lilian’s reassurance that as there is naught of flames, nor any change in Helena’s vision panels, no danger threatens the household. At the moment, Lilian is glad for the distraction of the woman’s presence. Speaking of Ronan has eased her grief but left her spirit raw.
A hopeful chirp from the floor reveals Gloribelle has abandoned Katleen and Flavia in favor of Lilian and the scent of chopped greens. Knowing she should not, Lilian tosses the little creature a slice of vegetable. With a happy chortle, the creature disappears under the table with her prize with but a hint of iridescent green in her coat.
Turning from the stew, Katleen asks, “Has Monsignor Lucius agreed? Are you to attend the Inversion as Adelaide’s Thorn?”
Lilian scrapes the greens into the waiting bowl. “Monsignor has given his permission, although the thorn will need to remain out of sight once the Inversion is complete.”
Milord would have approved a fire-pistol if he could. As it is, he agreed that at such a well-secured venue, she was in little danger. The warrior festival ring walk is proving a more challenging issue. Five million is enough to purchase the blasphemy of murder within a shrine or alcove.
Turning from the stew, Flavia reaches for the loaf and a knife. “I will have a fire-pistol. The Lord Prelate does not wish fire-rifles within the pavilions and Seigneur Trevelyan believes it would call too much attention to your location.”
That Flavia would be there along with Mr. Stefan helped sway milord. The security is already as tight as that of the Nightingale hull launch due to the presence of the Serengeti and Matahorn leadership. The risk to Lilian is lower than that in her own home.
Katleen sets the table for the meal. “It is a pity my new training garb is inappropriate. It is beyond fine.”
Her sister’s casual tone does not mislead Lilian. Of late, the teenager has begun to examine Lilian’s limited wardrobe with avarice. Katleen has reached Maman’s height and although she lacks Helena’s curves, Lilian expects another few years will correct that deficiency and add a few more inches. Truly, she cannot imagine what Katleen would claim. Anything left from her university wardrobe that is suitable for the warmer climate of Crevasse City has long since been scavenged for their use. Other than training garb and black suits, she has but three outfits suitable for such a gathering. Resigned, she says, “Voice your will.”
Eyes bright, Katleen skips to the storage closet. “I hoped you would say that.”
Reaching within, she pulls forth an armful of gold silk, evidence that she planned this discussion well in advance to have brought the garments from Lilian’s chamber. The tunic and pleated skirt are the ones that Lilian acquired for the Fortuna Bright Star summit over a year gone. The garment is lovely and remains fashionable. The deceptively modest cut clings to every line.
“It is completely inappropriate. Return the garb.” Appalled at her sister’s selection, the cold words drop from Lilian’s tongue before she can exert her discipline. At Katleen’s crestfallen countenance, Lilian reaches for control. Honor is my blade and shield. Attempting to soften her harshness, she says, “Sweetling, the c
olor and style will suit you well in several years, when you have passed the age of consent. Until then, it is too adult a fashion.”
Despondent, the teenager drapes the silk over a chairback. “It is to be my festival garb then.”
At Lilian’s hard glance, Katleen quickly adds, “It is lovely, and Monsignor was generous in his gift. I am self-indulgent to wish a different garb for the Inversion. It is not as though any will note me.”
When Lilian was Katleen’s age, an event as important as the Inversion introduction would have seen her to the finest boutiques in the Garden Center. The heir to Remus Gariten’s signet, and of the line of Sinead’s Seers, she would have been garbed in the finest fashions. She would have been in no manner unnoticed. That her sire allowed the house to fall to ruin while insisting on extravagance in public is beside the point.
There is only this day. Forcing aside recollection, Lilian accepts the inevitable. Since the family was brought to ruin, the pale green tunic and skirt of flowing linen and silk is the only garb Lilian has acquired for personal use that was not intended for commerce or training. The gold frocks and gowns are livery and intended to enhance the honor and prestige of Blooded Dagger. Her only others are were acquired with milord’s funds; the teal knit she wore the day he gifted her with the Mercium, and the turquoise he provided after she survived Fenrir’s kidnapping. “Don the mist green. It is a bit dated but lightly used. The color will suit you.”
With a glad cry, Katleen wraps Lilian in a hug.
She presses her lips to red-gold curls. “I am glad you are pleased. Please me and return the gold to my chamber. Hasten, Maman will return any moment.”
12. The In
version
Constructed by Adelaide Warleader late in the first century, the alcove keeper’s quarters are modest by the standards of the Third System’s premier warrior ring. In addition to the main structure, there are two smaller additions that cradle the gardens. The new wing was constructed in the third century, the garden wing in the seventh century.