Nightingale

by E G Manetti

  Five warriors take it. She left the slate open to the hostile alerts. “I beg pardon, milord. It is naught.”

  “ ‘Whore of anarchy’? ‘Impalement’?” Milord scrolls through the queue. “ ‘Entrails devoured by crevasse-crawlers’? Who sent these?”

  “I know not, milord. They are anonymous. Do I find aught of a credible threat, I will turn it over to Mr. Stefan.”

  “Credible?” He sets aside the slate to capture her wrist. “How many have you received? How many were credible?”

  “For the past year, there have been naught but two or three each sevenday.” She searches milord’s expression and finds more concern than anger. “None were credible. Since the battle, they have increased, and several were alarming.”

  “Despoilers?” Milord tugs her into his lap. “You feared they came from Despoilers?”

  “I dared not risk it,” she says, curling into him. “Most are naught but the hostile works of dark souls with no will or ability to act. But I have not had time to update the filters to seek evidence of Despoilers, so I have reviewed them all. As it happens, some appear to be from Newtonites.”

  His arms tighten. “Whore of anarchy. I thought it familiar. What is this of filters?”

  “When I entered the cartel, I lacked the bells to review them, but I could not ignore them. I developed filters to identify those with threats specific enough to be credible.”

  “Specific how?”

  “Sinead’s Keeper added shrine guards to Maman’s escort after one. I transferred Katleen’s race training from the Garden Center to the River Quarter after another.”

  Milord strokes her back. “At least now you can refer them to Mr. Stefan. But you should not review them at all. It is no wonder you cannot sleep.”

  “I plan to update the filters on Seventh Day. I will add parameters for Newtonites as well as Despoilers. Even if the threat is not credible, Seigneur Trevelyan may wish to trace them to the source.”

  “Turn your filters over to Trevelyan and have one of his operatives update them. They can update the filters on the governors’ alerts at the same time. I doubt the Newtonites will be aught but a bad jest in another two sevendays, but any hint of a Despoiler must be investigated.”

  Raising her face to his, she nods. “As milord wills.”

  His lips are tantalizingly close, a mere fingertip from hers. His hand slides from her back to her hip and lower. His mouth descends and teases along hers in a gentle kiss. Lilian’s eyes drift closed as her hands encircle milord’s neck. The delicate becomes insistent, his tongue dancing at the seam. She parts her lips, inviting him in, senses swimming under the sensual onslaught. Milord turns Lilian in his lap, freeing one large hand to roam her from thigh to breast, warming her flesh and firing her blood.

  »◊«

  Nestled against milord on the scarlet sofa, Lilian savors the warmth of the bared chest and torso against her cheek and equally nude torso.

  “How is it that Lord Prelate Apollo is familiar with your consortium?” Milord’s words are a warm rumble under her ear.

  Forcing her mind to focus, she stretches, rubbing her legs against milord’s. Apollo Acacia has been her spiritual mentor and friend since he was Adelaide’s Discipline Master at Mulan’s Temple. His ascendance to Lord Prelate of Adelaide’s sect brought him to Crevasse City two seasons gone. When did he mention the consortium to milord? It matters naught; milord wishes to know. “Douglas trains in the Inversion for demonstration at the shrine patrons’ reception.”

  Milord’s fingers stroke along her spine. “How long has Douglas been lying with Apollo?”

  Clever. Of course he reached the correct conclusion. “Around First Settlement Day, milord.”

  His fingers halt the pleasant caress. “I would not have thought Douglas so indiscreet.”

  Indiscreet? What says he? Lilian raises her head to see milord frown. “Douglas did not reveal the consortium, I did. Their liaison allowed me to request the Lord Prelate as a chaperone. It is particularly useful while the rains keep the open-air cafés shuttered.”

  Milord’s hand cups her head, the frown softening to a smile. “We know we can trust Apollo to keep secrets. Your consortium will remain hidden in obscurity.”

  Her eyes drift to his lips. So close. “Yes, milord.”

  His lips brush hers. “Well done.”

  »◊«

  The lobby of Serengeti Headquarters bustles with seigneurs, associates, and servitors exiting with the sixth bell. Although Lilian could fill another two bells, milord has willed that she rest and find slumber or suffer Master Chin’s potions. It is not that the medic’s potions lack effectiveness, rather it is that they are too effective, leading Lilian into unguarded speech and all the dangers that entails. At the Blooded Dagger entrance, there is no sign of Mr. Stefan. He is likely at the back of the rank-ordered queue in the transport bays.

  Beyond the doors, a watery sun challenges the high clouds. The rains have eased for the moment, and the fresh air may clear some of the fog from her mind. Does she remain in sight of the militia station, she will be safe, and assault is not likely with so many of the cartel exiting for the day. The chill air is bracing, sharpening her senses and offering a surge of energy. With the walls of the cartel at her back, Lilian scans the crowded boulevard, evaluating the pedestrians and alert for the utilitarian transport that holds Mr. Stefan.

  There is a wrongness. Lilian grasps the hilt of her thorn, hidden beneath the drape of her jacket. Examining the crowd, she seeks the source of her alarm. Three years dodging the hostility of her neighbors and Seigneur Trevelyan’s stealth training have honed her powers of observation to the point of instinct. Moments gone, two men with the contained movements of trained combatants and the nondescript appearance cultivated by Seigneur Trevelyan’s operatives passed on the other side of the transitway. Lilian noted them but took no alarm. Now they are on the cartel side, attempting to approach her from behind. With the quicksilver grace of decades of martial arts training, Lilian sidesteps through the entrance and into the cartel. The men increase their pace and disappear before she can pull her slate to capture a visual.

  It is possible they were but retracing their steps for some other cause. Fatigue, review of the noxious alerts, and the knowledge that they may not have eliminated all the Despoilers could be creating paranoia. But she will not be careless. The last time she neglected to act on her unease, she was stolen by Fenrir.

  “Mistress Lilian.” Mr. Stefan materializes before her.

  “Well met, Mr. Stefan.” Lilian follows him to the waiting transport. “As soon as possible, access the exterior monitor records for the past half bell. Two men circled the cartel who may be of interest to Seigneur Trevelyan.”

  »◊«

  Pale gold light breaks through broken clouds as Lucius’ transport pulls up to his mansion. Mr. George made excellent time; Lucius will be able to enjoy the sunset with Estella. Although she has recovered from the most recent attack of her illness, she tends to retire early. Making his way to his quarters, Lucius is delighted to discover his spouse resting on the lounge, a cashmere shawl over her legs adding to the warmth of her velvet robe.

  Reaching into his slate satchel, Lucius pull out a small metal box. Handing it to Estella, he grins. “Rachelle has done it. She has reproduced flexible Vistrite.”

  “Truly?” Sapphire eyes sparkle as she takes the box, opening it to examine the grape-sized bead. For over a season, Lucius’ research and development seigneur has attempted to reproduce the remarkable substance rescued from the Desperation disaster. For centuries, Blooded Dagger has attempted to form Vistrite into spheres. This remarkable discovery not only forms a sphere, but a malleable one. The potential applications are limitless.

  “Remarkable, Lucius, truly remarkable.” Estella compresses the grape-sized sphere of Vistrite between two fingers, shaping it into an oval disk.

  “Careful, my love,” Lucius warns, tossing aside his jacket and loosening his tunic. “A lit
tle more and you will have corrosive, inky fragments scattered across your lap.”

  “You speak from experience?”

  “One of my favorite suits is stained and pitted from the residue,” Lucius admits, coiling his belt and leaving it beside his jacket.

  Releasing the pressure, Estella rolls the small object in her hand. “I will hold that investigation until I am attired in something disposable.” Dropping the sphere into its case, Estella puts it aside.

  Settling next to her, Lucius cups her face in his hands. The Her sculpted features are as lovely as the day they wedlocked, the luster in platinum locks is no longer natural but generated by cosmetics. Her porcelain skin is cool under his fingers but holds a hint of color. The improvement is offset by lines at the corners of her mouth, deepened by her recent bout with the debilitating illness that will have him a widower within the year. “How fare you? Truly?”

  “As well as Chin’s potions can make me,” Estella replies. “I will stand beside you at Elysia’s recognition cotillion.”

  Scheduled for the month after Elysia reaches the age of consent, the formal event will mark his daughter’s passage from child to adult. By a quirk of history, custom demands that celebrations for female children be far more elaborate than those for males. Estella and Elysia have been planning the festival for nearly a year. Estella’s expression of blade-edged determination would turn back the Shades. He has no doubt she will survive to see their youngest through the important rite of passage. “How fare Cesare and Elysia?”

  Curling against his side, Estella rests her head on his shoulder. “Better now that they are no longer confined to the estate.”

  In the aftermath of the battle, his children were confined to the estate until he was certain they had eliminated the Despoiler threat. Wrapping his arm around her, he asks, “Cesare did well in this?”

  “It was difficult. Elysia is at a challenging age.” Estella sighs. “His play with the mud battle was beyond brilliant. It settled them both for days.”

  “Mud battle?”

  “We have not spoken. You do not know. It was most diverting.” At the amusement in her voice, his heart lifts. “Cesare staged it so I could view all from the terrace. Both he and Elysia were becoming impatient with being confined to the estate by the Despoiler threat, and to the house by the rains. I suspect Cesare was also desperate for some relief from Elysia’s moods.”

  He controls the impulse to snort. He adores his daughter, but she is in the transition from child to adult and the chemical changes in her body make her as predictable as a lightning strike and nearly as devastating.

  “You are not attending.” Estella taps his hands.

  He raises her fingers to his lips. “I was dwelling on Elysia’s moods. It is a fruitless task. Please continue.”

  “The first afternoon when the rains did not fall, he staged a reenactment of the battle between the elf king and queen and the sea-demons.”

  “The elf king and queen?” He is incredulous. “Does not Elysia reach the age of consent within three months?”

  “And Cesare is almost two years past it,” Estella replies. “It is a battle between the forces of Order and the forces of Anarchy. It has strong appeal at the moment.”

  “Indeed.” He relaxes. Even altered by Aristides’ clever fable, the battle of Serengeti has captured the imagination of the Twelve Systems, a modern battle of good against evil.

  “Cesare had no difficulty in recruiting his friends. Elysia had even less difficulty with hers,” she says. “In the end, we had over a score and a half of Crevasse City’s warrior young massed in the garden. They drew lots to determine the roles of elves and demons, except Elysia, who claimed the role of valiant elf queen by right of territory.”

  He laughs. His daughter may be difficult, but she is all warrior. “Good for Elysia.”

  “It was well done of her,” Estella agrees. “Cesare ended up on the side of the sea demons, as did Rachelle’s son and Tristan’s daughter. Hercules’ favorite nephew won the role of the elf king to the boy’s delight and Elysia’s annoyance.”

  “Hercules’ nephew is not handsome?” He tries to imagine Hercules’ features on a child. It is not an impressive image.

  “He is twelve and smitten with Elysia. She considers him annoying.”

  He chuckles. “Indeed. And how did our mismatched royals fare in this battle?”

  “The king had a weak arm, but Elysia might have prevailed if it were not for the daughter of one of the Matahorn seigneurs. She is enamored of Cesare and yielded rather than battle.”

  “The sea demons won?”

  “After two periods of muddy battle, Cesare declared a draw,” she replies. “By then, the armies were more interested in having a meal. Cesare’s arrangements were well considered. He had them bring a change of garb, which awaited them in the kitchens. Once they were divested of their muddy garments, they were sent to the bathing chambers. By the time they had cleansed and returned, there was a meal waiting. They ate everything in sight while debating the battle.

  “It is a sevenday gone and the battle is still argued at every warrior school on the Central Continent,” Estella finishes. “And there is not a parent among the Crevasse City elite who does not owe us a boon.”

  At his light squeeze, she explains, “Ours were not the only progeny in danger of excessive parental discipline. Between the confinement of the rains and the excitement of the battle of Serengeti, every warrior between the ages of ten and majority has been impossible for the past several sevendays. With Cesare’s play, even those not in the mud battle have a focus for their attention and energy. Mud battles have become quite the fashion, to the relief of both parents and militia throughout the Garden Center District.”

  “A difficult decision for Cesare.” He chuckles. “Allow defeat or lead the forces of darkness to victory? That indecisive result speaks well of his judgment and his manipulative abilities. “

  “Had Elysia drawn a more able elf king, matters might well have been different. And the betrayal by the Matahorn girl did not go down well. Elysia declared the girl a traitor and promptly plastered her with a mud ball. I had not realized Elysia is so skilled.”

  “We should begin her training with firearms,” he responds.

  It is an unusual decision. Warriors do not normally train with firearms before they achieve competency with their discipline. That event is a year distant for his daughter. As Estella shifts in unspoken question, he adds, “A long sword is little defense against a fireburst rifle. If Crossed Sabers refuses to instruct her, I will have Thorvald do it.”

  Considering his own words, he modifies his stance. “It will be better done by Thorvald. I will have Cesare instructed as well. The academy instructs for demonstration and sport. Thorvald will instruct them for battle.”

  Her fingers gripping his, Estella nods against his shoulder. “It is difficult to imagine another such battle, but it will comfort me if they are so skilled. Particularly Cesare, once the declaration is made.”

  When Lucius returns from Fortuna, he will declare Cesare his heir. By the time Raphael and Cesare were fourteen and twelve, he and Estella had determined that Cesare was better suited to the role of preeminence. With Elysia but ten, they decided to wait on a public declaration until she neared the age of consent. By temperament and inclination, Cesare remains the best choice. All their children are intelligent and gifted, but Cesare demonstrates the self-mastery and deviousness essential to control Blooded Dagger and Serengeti. “Aristides recommends the declaration be made within a sevenday of our return. Between the public announcement and Elysia’s cotillion, the media will remain focused on Serengeti and Bright Star through the green season.”

  After a murmured agreement, Estella’s eyes drift closed.

  Sevenday 126, Day 2

  Tiger examines the busy thoroughfare at the border between the River Quarter and the Commerce District, where residences yield to boutiques, clubs, and the specialized offices of experts in
everything from interstellar imports and exports to the complexities of consort alliance contracts. Not as exalted as the Garden District thoroughfares, the location is refined without being restrictive. A four-storey structure, The Blade’s Point indulgence will open at the next Settlement Day and become the jewel in Tiger’s crown. If it succeeds as he predicts, it will be the model for a string of indulgences throughout the Third and Sixth Systems.

  Mounting the stairs, Tiger frowns at the discreet metal plaque with The Blade’s Point incised in bright blue enamel. It does not do his indulgence justice.

  “Elegance, Tiger. Exclusivity,” Hilda reminds him.

  For all she lacked judgment as an odds manager, Hilda is proving a valuable commerce partner. It was her advice that dissuaded Tiger from a sign on the roof in flashing lights. It is not a Refinery District doxy house, but a rarified indulgence to entertain the most refined of the Twelve Systems’ society.

  Tiger has sufficient commerce experience to know that refined is code for exclusive. Exclusive means that none will balk at extravagant fees. Tiger knows this. Yet he enjoys the lights. With a resigned shrug, he crosses the threshold.

  Twenty minutes later, Tiger has the kitchens contractor by the throat. “Dung-eating beetle! How dare you attempt to extort higher fees?”

  Purpling with the loss of airflow, the contractor croaks, “You changed . . . order . . . tile not crevasse stone . . .”

  “I know tile is more expensive than crevasse stone!” He shakes the contractor. “It’s not five times the price!”

  “Tiger.” Hilda places a hand on his wrist. “If you slay him, we’ll never be ready in time.”

  “This is your fault.” He turns on Hilda, dropping the contractor. He mimics in a falsetto, “ ‘Tile is all the rage. It doesn’t stain like crevasse stone and is easier to clean. We can get it dyed to match the walls.’ ” Dropping the falsetto, he snarls, “Who gives a crevasse-crawler’s ass about the kitchen floors!”

  “The media,” Hilda retorts. “The media tour will show that The Blade’s Point has only the finest quality throughout, not only the public spaces.”