Nightingale

by E G Manetti

  Cupping the silky softness of her breasts, he strokes his thumbs across the peaks, delighted by the way her gray eyes widen. The sensation of her nipples pebbling against his fingers sends another surge of desire to his loins. The temptation to tumble her back onto the sofa is strong, but he is filthy and when it comes time to enjoy his apprentice, he intends to linger over it. Releasing her breasts, he turns for his chamber. “Come.”

  Her footfalls are soundless on the plush carpet, but Lucius knows she follows, the knowledge tightening his loins. Dropping into a chair to remove his boots, he nods at another. “Take your ease.”

  Lilian’s brow furrows with confusion. She thought he was about to bed her. As much as that idea appeals, Lucius has other plans for the evening. Hitting the controls, he recesses his chamber door. “The servitors are not truly phantoms.”

  Lilian’s frown deepens and then clears. She has no more desire to be seen half clad than Lucius desires to share the vision. “Does milord wish aid with cleansing?”

  Socraide’s sword. It would be pleasant but too brief. Shaking his head, Lucius shucks off his trousers and turns for the freshening closet, intent on a colder shower than he planned.

  »◊«

  Lucius pours sparkling green wine into flutes as Lilian fills their plates. Quail with grain and mushrooms, braised greens and artichokes, oysters baked in puff pastry with shallots and cream. Determined to lure the warrior elite, the Shimmering Horizon has hired one of Metricelli Deuce’s finest chefs. For Lucius it is enough that the extensive menu contains delicacies he knows Lilian favors.

  Greeted in the training chambers with the intelligence that Lilian had matched Blythe thorn to sword, Lucius’ curiosity was piqued. He could not imagine what benefit Lilian would gather from such an encounter. Lilian would gain more strenuous exercise from working Adelaide’s forms. When an oyster and half the quail has disappeared from Lilian’s plate, he asks, “How is it Mistress Blythe penetrated your guard? Twice?”

  Lilian swallows a sip of wine. “Two of my adaptations were ill-conceived.”

  Is she teasing him? “Adaptations?”

  Lilian’s nose crinkles and she presses her lips together. Not teasing, but she is pleased by something. “My bout with Mrs. Hannah uses a warrior square. She overreaches me and has nearly two stone on me in weight. If I am to mark her eight times, I must adapt. In our last match, I triumphed by avoiding her blows. To mark her, I must close with her.”

  Clever. “Blythe has the mate’s height and weight; with the sword she would have an advantage.”

  Lilian nods. “Yes, milord. I tried a dozen adaptations; half were useless. Only two were so ill-conceived as to allow Mistress Blythe to land a blow.”

  Lilian must mark Hannah eight times before the match ends or she is defeated. “What odds do you calculate?”

  Lilian frowns into her wine. “When I entered the training facility, Hannah was completing a match against a man with some skill with a chalk dagger. She had but four marks.” She twirls the stem of her glass. “Hannah is a formidable opponent, but she is not equal to Seigneur Trevelyan. I shall not fall. As to the eight marks, I offer no better than even odds, milord. I rarely mark the seigneur more than thrice.”

  He will do nothing so crass as to wager on his apprentice, but he will suggest to his seigneurs that they do so. She has proven against much steeper odds.

  Lilian pushes aside her plate. Half the grain remains and naught else. The lust Lucius has contained for over a bell surges. It is time for dessert.

  Milord rises, holding out a hand. Setting aside her glass, she takes his hand and steps into his embrace. A thrill rises at the wicked promise in his eyes. With deft movements, milord tugs the wrap from her and tosses it on a chair. Milord’s lips feather across hers and along her throat, sparking desire. Milord’s fingers encircle her wrist, exerting gentle pressure as he guides her to the unused section of the table.

  Milord’s hands clasp her waist, lifting her onto the surface. Stepping between her thighs, he takes her in a searing kiss that turns the spark of desire into a flame. Surrendering to her mounting passion, Lilian slips her hands inside the scarlet robe to caress milord’s hot, satin skin.

  Eased onto her back, she expects milord’s hands to wander her body. Instead, the kiss ends, and he moves away. Milord shrugs his robe to the floor. “Close your eyes, Lilian.”

  Milord’s fingers stoke her face, and then something warm and silky, scented with milord, is draped across her closed eyes. The belt from his robe. “Lift your head.”

  The makeshift blindfold tightens against her lids. A fingertip eases under the edge. “Too snug?”

  “No, milord.”

  Milord’s fingers trace her collarbone, his warm breath tickling against her lips. “What is your halt word?”

  What does he? A frisson of trepidation laces through her desire. “Red gems.”

  Milord moves away, the withdrawal of his body heat leaving her chilled. There is a quiet clinking of dishes, and then milord’s bare thighs are between hers. Milord’s mouth descends on her breast, hot and wet. Not milord. Liquid, heavy and thick, trickles over her nipple and down her breast, driving away chill and setting heat pulsing between her legs. A familiar scent—chocolate. The sauce for the unconsumed dessert.

  Warm, heavy liquid spills over her other breast, and her sex clenches in excitement. Milord’s tongue drags across a nipple, the firm stroke creating a sweet ache in the tender peak. His tongue dances along her breast, swirling and lashing in exquisite torment. Her hands shift against the tabletop, seeking purchase, a means to manage the increasing demands of her arousal. She discovers milord’s arms braced on either side of her and traces their length to his shoulders. The sudden pull of milord’s mouth on one pebbled nipple shoots hot need through her, arching her back as she searches for touch where she desires it.

  Milord rumbles his pleasure, his hands pressing her hips against the table. The pull of milord’s mouth ceases as his tongue swirls along the side of her breast, collecting the overlooked chocolate now cooled. The warm tongue cutting through the cool liquid draws a whimper from her, her hands urgent on his shoulders and back.

  The tongue flicks her nipple before milord’s mouth closes on her. With a small moan, Lilian’s hands tighten on the shoulders she cannot see as she arches again, her belly grazing milord’s stiffened sex.

  Milord releases her breasts, his tone rasping. “Not yet, woman.”

  His scent and the heat of his body retreat, albeit not far. She feels the hard thighs between hers as she rubs her legs against them. Warm liquid trickles from her navel to the edge of the red curls, causing her breath to catch and her stomach muscles to contract. Milord’s tongue works a long line from curls to navel, hands holding her hips motionless. Her thighs loosen and spread, her sex hot, wet and aching. The laving tongue continues, stoking her desire to the point of desperation.

  One hand releases a hip as he murmurs against her abdomen, “Be still.”

  Milord’s finger strokes along her opening to her jewel, leaving a warm, wet residue. She gasps, forcing herself to remain unmoving under the restraining hand. His hands slide to her thighs. Warm breath against her sex is quickly followed by a ruthless tongue that works her opening, approaching but not contacting her throbbing nub. “Please, milord, please.”

  Her pleas are rewarded by tongue, then teeth assaulting the inflamed jewel. “Milord, milord.”

  His lips tighten and pull hard, pushing Lilian to the edge of release. The abrupt drive of milord’s sex into her body sends her plummeting into ecstasy. Rising to his pounding thrusts, she wraps her legs around milord’s waist, her climax blossoming into a series of explosions as his shaft works that spot deep inside her. Senses swimming, she drops through clouds of bliss as milord cries out and spasms within her.

  5. Bright Dawn Horror

  Founded to retain the wisdom and lore of the Five Warriors and Adelaide, the warrior sects constructed the first shrines as repos
itories of relics and archives for the canons and discipline practices. The original warrior rings were fortresses, designed to protect the sacred knowledge and provide sanctuary for the devoted in times of conflict. As Anarchy retreated and war and civil unrest receded into history, the sanctuary of the shrines became spiritual rather than physical. The devoted entered the shrines to redeem transgressions, offer gratitude and devotion, and find comfort after physical, spiritual, or emotional trials.

  In the modern era, there is little the shrines do not know or cannot discover about the devoted. To be denied the shrines is to be severed from the grace of the Shades and from honorable interaction with warrior society. Only the most heinous or blasphemous of criminal acts carry the penalty of anathema, to be cast out from the shrines and forbidden the sanctuary of the Five Warriors. ~ excerpt from The Foundations of Order, a scholarly treatise.

  Sevenday 130, Day 4

  The dim chamber echoes with Lilian’s soft footfalls. Wrapping her arms around herself for warmth, she discovers her gown lacks sleeves and much of its back. The heavy skirts drag, hindering movement. Voices whisper in the distance and rise to the hidden ceiling. The whispering increases. Not whispers, bird wings, coming closer. Dark shadows in the dim light . . . calling . . . singing with a strange pinging lilt.

  Ping. Ping. Ping.

  The insistent chime of her slate shatters the dream. A bunk. The transport. Milord. Silencing the slate, Lilian stretches, enjoying recall of the prior evening, and then indulges in the image of trickling chocolate around milord’s nipples, along the well-muscled torso, and upon the head of milord’s shaft. Deciding that since she is indulging in impossible fantasy she may as well be thorough, Lilian substitutes strawberry jam. The pleasant tingling in her sex has her sliding fingers over her sensitive jewel. It is naught compared to the release she finds with milord, but it is a bright start to the day.

  »◊«

  Lucius sips his tea, scanning the slate propped next to the plate with his half-consumed morning meal. Glancing up at the sound of a door recessing, he examines Lilian’s black clad form, noting the grace of her movements and relaxed shoulders. The night gone, sticky from contact with Lilian’s chocolate-coated flesh, he had been tempted to have her shower him but decided to release her well before tenth bell. From her rested appearance, it was well done of him.

  Setting her slate on the table, Lilian fills her plate and collects the teapot. As she refills his cup, Lucius takes advantage of her distraction to nudge a small covered jar to her place. Pretending to glance at his slate, he waits while Lilian settles to her meal. Third System strawberries are the finest in the Twelve Systems, and the little container of jam should delight her.

  With a curious glance, Lilian lifts the lid. Her eyes widen, and she gasps, color rising to her cheeks.

  What ails her? The wide gray eyes hold shock and . . . embarrassment?

  She blinks, and the delight Lucius expected surfaces. Her eyes sparkle, her lips curve in a hint of smile, and the color suffusing her cheeks is from pleasure. “My thanks, milord. I have a weakness for strawberries.”

  As if he did not know. Picking up his tea, Lucius considers probing for the cause of her odd reaction. Observing the eagerness with which she covers a roll with the glossy jam, he holds his tongue. As she takes a bite of the jam-laden roll, Lilian’s eyes half close in bliss, an expression he more commonly views during passion. Suppressing a smile for fear his amusement will hinder her enjoyment, he turns his attention to his slate and meal. If the voyage continues as it started, she will return to Metricelli Prime rested and having regained flesh.

  A small sound from Lilian catches his attention.

  “Is all well?”

  Looking up from her slate, Lilian nods. “Adelaide’s Prelate has responded about the odds managers. The alcove will watch for strangers, but there is more. The devoted will be warned that that there will be Shade vengeance on those who would assist the odds managers in manipulating the results of my trial. Jonathan and Sinead’s Prelates have agreed to do the same.”

  With three of the sect prelates taking such a stance, Lucius will meet no resistance from Socraide’s and Rimon’s Third System sect leaders. Mulan’s ancient and ineffectual Keeper will be of little aid, but the sect is small in the Third System and of limited use. It occurs to Lucius that Apollo and Jonathan’s Lord Prelate, Gilead, dare not permit such a weak system prelate in a region that has been rife with Despoilers. It will not be long before they see him replaced.

  Pushing aside the distracting thought, Lucius voices another that has stung at him for some days. He may not be given the answer he seeks, but Lilian’s response will reveal much. “Prelate Apollo is careful of you. Why does he require such an early trial at Adelaide’s Alcove?”

  This day. Lilian licks the taste of strawberries from her lips. As Adelaide’s Thorn, she may hide behind her temporary prelate status and answer it is an alcove matter. Milord deserves better, although she does not expect him to be pleased. Honor endures. “The time is of my selection, milord.”

  Milord’s face stills and his eyes narrow. It is but a breath before the fingers steeple.

  Honor acts as duty commands. “Adelaide’s Prelate is unhappy that the alcove discipline master refused my petition the year gone. The Lord Prelate received similar resistance from the Garden Center discipline master. Prelate Apollo would lesson those among Adelaide’s servants who place their will before Adelaide’s.”

  In fact, Apollo had been adamant. The woman must be disciplined. She serves Adelaide’s will, not her own. She may not refuse any who are not anathema.

  Milord’s lips tighten, his words clipped. “You are to lesson the discipline master.”

  It is as Lilian feared: milord is not pleased that she does Apollo’s will. Her service is to milord’s will first and always. That it is Seventh Day and an alcove matter protects her from stricture violation but not Milord’s displeasure. “Yes, milord, thus my insistence on the early bell. I may not refuse the Lord Prelate”—in this, Lilian need not dissemble—“but I have no wish to participate in a spectacle.”

  Milord’s mouth softens, his eyelids hooding dark eyes that regard her over peaked fingers. “What is amiss in the alcove that the Lord Prelate sets this task to you?”

  Again, Lilian can refuse an answer. She will not. Milord’s apprentice should be a convenience. There is naught convenient surrounding shrine and alcove politics. “Adelaide’s former Prelate, Lady Judith, expected to serve Adelaide another decade, milord. The illness came upon her suddenly. It was almost a year before Lady Judith and her lieutenants understood she had been taken with the mind disease of the elderly. Lady Judith’s chosen successor, her youngest daughter, requires another decade before her child rearing completes. Until then, the rigors of service as Adelaide’s Prelate are not possible.”

  Unlike the other sect prelates, Adelaide’s does not have a primary seat. Adelaide’s Prelate divides his or her time between Socraide Prime and Metricelli Prime in a two-year rotation. As with all Lord or Lady Prelates, Adelaide’s must also make scheduled visits to the other major shrines in the Twelve Systems. It was but the Luck of the First that Apollo was resident for the Despoiler attack. He is currently in the Seventh System.

  “Lord Prelate Apollo is great nephew to Lady Judith. When an interim prelate was required, Apollo was appointed. He is the only one Lady Judith trusts to step down when her daughter is ready,” Lilian concludes.

  Lucius is stunned by revelations that must be sealed to alcove privilege. That she breaks privilege for him and places his will before that of her sect sends a thrill through him. It is far more than her bond requires and evidence of her loyalty and commitment to him. Keeping his face impassive, he asks, “Will he step down when the time comes?”

  Lilian’s face and shoulders tighten, her voice absent inflection. “Yes, milord. Prelate Apollo has sworn to it.”

  Demon shit. He returned her proof of loyalty by insulting her spiritual
mentor. “Apollo is a prelate of exceptional honor. Few would be able to hold to such a vow.”

  Shoulders softening, Lilian nods. “Many were shocked when Apollo was named. It was well known that Lady Judith and he disagreed on matters of canon and custom.”

  Although Lilian’s revelations explain how Apollo came to be Adelaide’s Lord Prelate, they do not explain why Lucius must send his apprentice to enforce alcove discipline. “Is there no other the Lord Prelate can set to this task?”

  “There are others, milord.” Lilian’s gaze drops, and one hand disappears beneath the table, no doubt reaching for her conservator’s seal. “None will cause the humiliation that a defeat from one of my station will engender. I believe Lord Apollo also enjoys the symmetry of the matter.”

  He nods. He might do the same in Apollo’s place. “I will accompany you to the trial.” He did not attend her Garden Center trial this past green season to avoid calling attention to an event he wished conducted with discretion. A seventh-bell trial on Seventh Day, in an obscure shrine in a secondary system, will draw little notice.

  »◊«

  At tenth bell, the commerce complex is as crowded as Lilian predicted, the archives and small conference chambers filled. Most are of Serengeti, but not all. Lilian recognizes senior members of several Crevasse suppliers, but not others. Seigneurs Marco and Aristides, along with Mistress Deidre, are in milord’s suite. In Seigneur Trevelyan’s absence, Mistress Deidre is proving an able security lead with Seigneur Marco’s support.

  In the first conference chamber she passes, Chrys and Seigneur Rachelle are focused on a reviewer. Lilian’s imagination adds the softly waved brunette hair of the absent Irina between the two technologists. Shaking the ghost from her gaze, Lilian moves on. Grey Spear’s replacement for Seigneur Ayesha, Gwyneth, is in the next chamber with her protégé, Jasper. Neither looks up at her passing, nor would they acknowledge her if they did. When compelled by duty to interact for Bright Star, they offer the minimal courtesy due milord’s conservator and are quick to remind her she is naught but an apprentice, and a disgraced one at that. This day. They have little contact and she has other matters of concern. I will not fail.