Nightingale

by E G Manetti

  The next chamber holds her quarry. A quick pass of her left small finger recesses the door and permits her entry, shadowed by Mr. Stefan. Blythe, Fletcher, and Nickolas are grouped together testing the final Bright Star Decision Trial for single participants.

  Nickolas raises his fist in triumph. “I enter the Thirteenth System.”

  Fletcher’s fist rises. “As do I.”

  A quick review of Fletcher’s and Nickolas’ trials confirms that Blythe has all well in hand. Leaving the small group, Lilian finds a quiet corner of the archives and delves into the complexity of the Bright Star group trial. Two periods later, a slate satchel drops onto the console next to her, breaking her concentration. Lifting her gaze up the length of the black suit jacket, she meets Chrys’ smiling gaze. “It is midday. It is time for a meal.”

  With Lilian resident in his suite, milord has waived midday attendance for the voyage. Gathering her satchel and slate, Lilian follows Chrys through the commerce complex. “Where is Blythe?”

  “She has gone ahead to claim a table in the canteen,” Chrys says. “The protégés have gone to the observation deck café, so it will be but the three of us.”

  Given Fletcher’s continued distance, Lilian is relieved. Did Chrys somehow arrange it? As they reach the doorway, Mr. Stefan rises and falls in behind them.

  Inclining his head toward the guard, Chrys asks her, “Have you word from Seigneur Trevelyan?”

  Mr. Stefan has been her guard for seasons, but only now does he follow her every move while at commerce. It is unlikely to change until after her bond proves and odds managers no longer have an incentive to slay her. That Chrys is concerned pleases her but does not surprise her. “Monsignor received word that all is in hand. Prelate Apollo sent an alert that the alcove and Jonathan’s and Sinead’s Shrines will also provide aid.”

  “Will Seigneur Trevelyan send Tabitha to Katleen’s house? She is permitted a fire-pistol and Rebecca is not.”

  Lilian stops and turns. “As it happens, Katleen and the seer are already well guarded. Seigneur Trevelyan resides at Katleen’s house in my absence.”

  Chrys’ mouth drops open as he struggles to form a question. “How long?”

  His stunned reaction is all Lilian hoped. She was not the only one oblivious to what was transpiring between the spymaster and the seer. “According to Katleen, shortly before the battle.” Lilian resumes walking. “I knew Maman had taken a lover, but I had no notion it was the seigneur until Katleen refused to prepare my chamber for Rebecca the day before we left.”

  “I do not believe you need fear for your mother’s safety,” Chrys says. “There might be an assassin brave enough to attempt one under the protection of Sinead’s Shrine, but I doubt any would wish Seigneur Trevelyan’s wrath.”

  A flood of relief washes through her. Dumbfounded by the pairing of her mother with the cartel champion, she had not realized the immense protection the liaison would provide. Those who wish Lilian harm will seek another means.

  They have reached the canteen. There will be no more discussion of her security. Making their selections, Chrys, Mr. Stefan, and Lilian join Blythe and turn the conversation to the upcoming match between Lilian and Hannah. Chrys has discovered, and Mr. Stefan confirms, that the entire crew is aware of the pending bout. All who are at liberty to do so will be in attendance, as will many of the passengers. Except for milord, the entire Serengeti contingent will attend. Except to defend his life, Lilian may not wield even a training weapon in milord’s presence.

  »◊«

  The mirror in Lilian’s chamber is inadequate. Tucking her warrior queue down the back of her training tunic, she abandons the servitor’s chamber. Reflected in the large mirror in the reception salon, her inky black tunic, trousers, and boots match the void through which the transport moves. Both the fit and quality are finer than the ones ruined in the battle of Serengeti. At the sight of her faded training garb, Apollo had been adamant. Adelaide’s colors are black and crimson, not gray and crimson. Your last was damaged in Adelaide’s service and will be replaced by Adelaide. You go to serve Adelaide’s will. You will do so properly attired.

  The prelate’s argument was sufficient to overcome any suggestion of excessive consideration, and eager for new training garb, Lilian offered but token resistance. Pleased by the flattering garb, she regrets milord will not attend the match. She must also hasten if she is to have sufficient time to prepare. With one last glance at the elegant garb, Lilian turns for the door, knowing Mr. Stefan waits beyond it. Hastening through the vessel, she reaches the training facility in time to spend a half period working the forms to discipline her spirit, mind, and body.

  »◊«

  The small chamber on the balcony level has the scent of new construction. What was once a storage chamber has been cleared and refitted as a small salon. A refreshment counter and several plush chairs face the main training chamber beyond a window that, from the other side, appears as a mirror. When George follows Lucius into the chamber, Captain Gehrig stiffens and frowns. Lucius intended no insult to Gehrig’s hospitality or integrity by having his guard join them. Although an explanation of his will is not required, the captain went to significant effort to make these arrangements. Taking the central chair, Lucius says, “If Mr. George views the match from the balcony, it will signal my presence.”

  Gehrig’s frown clears. “As Monsignor wills.”

  Ignoring the byplay, George circles the chamber, ending at the refreshment console, where he waves away the servitor and fills a vial with icy vodka and a plate with small bites. Shrugging, the servitor fills a second plate and pulls a chilled water vial from storage. With the fifth bell George places vodka and plate at Lucius’ right. By the time the chimes complete, George has settled into a seat at Lucius’ back and the servitor has returned to the console. In the chamber below, a striking woman with pale, close-cropped hair, strong features, and pale skin scattered with freckles steps into the warrior square. Hannah has the well-toned frame of an experienced combatant, as well as two inches on Lilian and at least a stone and a half in weight.

  The chief engineer’s mate smiles in welcome as Lilian climbs into the square. There is a brief discussion between the two women and then a uniformed man with the insignia of an officer steps into the square. Going out of his way to avoid Lilian, the man joins Hannah. Although he appears no more than forty years, he presents the solemn aspect of a man of seventy as he announces that as the ship’s purser he has charge of the wagering and will validate the results of the match. “Our champion, Chief Engineer’s Mate Hannah, will defeat the challenger, Lilian, before being marked eight times.”

  In the square, Lilian’s shoulders tighten at the open slur. Not only has the purser omitted the courtesy of “Mistress,” “challenger” was voiced with enough contempt that even Lucius heard the intended “doxy.” Tones silken, Lucius says, “Favoritism is understandable. Insult is not.”

  Gehrig’s eyes snap with anger as he replies, “The purser shames me. I will deal with him.”

  Once again, the purser makes a show of giving Lilian a wide berth as he exits the square. Hannah whispers something to Lilian and steps back, grinning. Whatever she said, it has eased his apprentice. Her shoulders soften and relax as she dons a black face mask to the mocking catcalls of the crew at the extra protection. Due to the ink-black garb, the black mask that obscures her face, and the warrior’s queue tucked inside the tunic, only the creamy skin of her bared arms conveys that Lilian is human.

  Hannah enables the match timer. The women circle each other. Lilian feints with the thorn. Hannah laughs and does not bother to shift her stance. Lucius cannot be certain, but something about the tilt of Lilian’s head suggests she is smiling. Next to him Gehrig leans forward, his eyes on his champion. There is more than enjoyment of sport in his expression; the captain desires the lovely engineer. Hannah moves in, blows flying at Lilian. Lilian ducks and dances away, the Serengeti cheering at the chalk mark on Hannah’s thigh.
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  Lucius knew Lilian’s skills had increased since last year’s match with Hannah, but he had not realized the full extent. No wonder she had no difficulty with the loathsome Roger. Her quickness and grace have become unimaginable speed. It seems almost impossible that any champion could strike the flowing black shadow. At the sound of a blow, Lilian staggers and the crew cheers. Lilian spins away. He leans forward, certain he saw a line of white on Hannah’s shoulder. The mate’s soft gray garb is faded and marks difficult to discern at this distance.

  “I count no more than four,” Gehrig says. “There are but ten minutes left.”

  The gray and black forms circle. Lilian dives forward and there is a flurry of motion. Lilian stumbles. Another blow has landed. Leaping to the side, Lilian flows around Hannah’s back and pulls away before Hannah can turn.

  The chime sounds, and the women separate to the north and south corners of the warrior square. Hannah braces her hands on her knees, breathing hard. Lilian pulls the mask free and uses the back of her hand to brush sweat from her forehead, the rapid rise and fall of her chest evidence of exertion.

  The purser returns to the square, Fletcher on his heels. It is a wise choice; the moon racer is popular throughout the Third System and could charm Vistrite from the Crevasse. He will insure that the purser’s judgment is true. The purser approaches Hannah, who steps forward with her arms extended. As Hannah pivots so that all may view, the purser collects exact visuals of the marks on her battle garb. The unobstructed view and slow movements reveal what Lucius thought: there is a mark on Hannah’s shoulder. It is one of eight.

  To Lucius’ growing annoyance, the purser double-checks several of the marks, his lips pursed, seeking to refute the evidence. At a gruff sound from Fletcher, the purser steps back. Without a glance at Lilian he says, “Eight. There are eight marks and the challenger has not fallen. The match is the challenger’s.”

  Turning his face away from Lilian’s corner, the purser stalks from the square.

  Lucius’ annoyance turns to ire at the open disdain. “Your purser appears to have overwagered.”

  “Overwagered?” Gehrig’s eyebrows rise. “Oversensitive, more like. I believe he may be ill-suited for his office.”

  Mollified by the knowledge that Gehrig will attend to the purser, Lucius turns his attention back to the warrior square, where Lilian and Hannah are engaged in animated discussion. They are joined by his protégé, who appears intent on comforting the defeated, and Chrys and Blythe, who are intent upon Lilian. At the entrance to the square, Mr. Stefan and a Serengeti militiawoman politely, but firmly, halt any not known to them. Marco and Aristides enter the square followed by Rachelle. That Grey Spear’s Seigneur Gwyneth and her protégé are nowhere to be seen is not a surprise. He knows they disdain Lilian.

  Deidre has joined the Serengeti Militia guards in protecting access to Lilian. Lucius scans the crowd, searching for the balance of the Serengeti contingent. Fletcher is with the purser, accepting a handful of commerce tokens. Pocketing his winnings with a nonchalance that belies the amount, Fletcher lashes out with equal casualness and breaks the purser’s nose. Gehrig chokes. Without turning his head, Lucius says, “Ask what fine you deem appropriate. Serengeti will pay it.”

  “Do I levy a fine, Monsignor, it will be because your man has robbed me of my privilege,” Gehrig replies.

  The throng around the warrior square has grown too large and exuberant for the Serengeti guards to control. It is time to remove Lilian. Reaching the main training chamber, he finds that Chrys has joined the guards. Trevelyan is correct. Rachelle’s Raven is deceptive. In his boxy black commerce suit, the young man appears nondescript, but there is something in the set of his shoulders, the quiet manner, and the nonthreatening smile that encourages the crowd to disperse. He knows Rachelle’s apprentice is a gifted technologist. He is also fierce in battle and has proven discreet and loyal to both cartouche and cartel. If he were not an apprentice, Lucius would add him to Lilian’s security detail and send him to Malcon for counter-stealth training. As it is, perhaps Rachelle will permit Deidre to give Chrys some instruction. Now that Lilian is aware of her danger, there is no reason not to alert those around her.

  Lucius cuts a path to the warrior square, Gehrig and George on either side. At the square, Marco, Aristides, and Nickolas join Chrys and the militia guards. In the square with Lilian and Hannah, Rachelle rests her hand on her warrior dagger. At the other end of the chamber, Kemeha and Fletcher are exerting considerable charm to draw away others.

  »◊«

  Gehrig examines Hannah as he follows Monsignor Lucius into the square. Her eyes sparkle and her skin glows as she says, “I would I had the honor to be tried by Seigneur Trevelyan. He is clearly a most able instructor.”

  “The seigneur has given me cause to visit the dispensary regularly for two years,” Lilian replies. “I regret not a single blow or throw.”

  Hannah stiffens as they approach. Gehrig cannot fault her for being intimidated by the Serengeti preeminence. That man is daunting even to one of his rank. Whether sensing their approach or signaled by Hannah’s shift in stance, Lilian breaks off and turns, coming to attention before her lord.

  The smile Monsignor offers his apprentice is almost affectionate. “Well done.”

  Pleasure at the praise brightens Lilian’s eyes but is soon replaced by confusion. She can have no idea how Gehrig arranged for Monsignor to view the match. Without another word, Blooded Dagger turns and strides from the square, Lilian following.

  Bemused, Hannah shakes her head. “Truly remarkable. He says nothing, yet she knows she is to follow and goes as if pulled by a string. How is it possible for one so fierce to be so compliant?”

  “Whatever motivates the thorn woman is powerful,” Gehrig replies. “Her skills have increased to an exceptional degree. Know you what demons she battles?”

  She nods at the retreating figure. “I know the rubies on that golden belt represent defeated enemies—warrior-class enemies.”

  “What say you?”

  Hannah shrugs. “I have naught else. Beyond that, the beautiful Nickolas will not speak.”

  At mention of the protégé, his heart aches. He knows he is neither young nor handsome. It is no wonder she prefers the protégé. Pushing aside envy, he considers her words. Three warriors defeated by a disgraced apprentice who lacks her thirtieth year. “Demons indeed. Your skill and ferocity are beyond exceptional to perform so well against one who claims such victories.”

  Although it pains him, he adds, “You have until midday at liberty. Enjoy your warrior.”

  »◊«

  I am the sum of my ancestors. How is it that milord witnessed the match? Milord would not endanger her bond proof to ease his curiosity. That Lilian was unaware of milord’s presence would not mitigate the severe stricture violation of being armed in her master’s presence.

  I am the foundation of my family. Milord will enlighten her when, and if, he pleases. There is no value in speculation.

  The door to milord’s quarters recesses behind Lilian, leaving Mr. George and Mr. Stefan on the far side. Within the bell they will be at liberty and other guards will stand watch. Halfway into the salon, milord turns and Lilian halts. Milord’s eyes hold heat and mischief as he stretches out a hand. Lilian walks forward into milord’s kiss. It is a teasing, explorative kiss that has her closing her eyes and holding milord’s waist to anchor her. After several enjoyable moments, milord releases her. “Remove the evidence of combat and rejoin me. Do not cover yourself. I will view the damage.”

  Washing the sweat of combat and the labor of the day from her skin, Lilian relives milord’s kiss. The slide of the sponge between her legs sets off a throb of desire. She must not linger. Milord will be waiting.

  Lilian’s heavy locks caress her back when, clad in naught but the warbelt, she enters the salon. Wrapped in a scarlet robe, milord is standing by the window, intent on the passing void. He opens his arms and she steps within his embrace, her
back gathered to milord’s chest, his arms loose about her waist.

  Relishing the warmth of milord’s torso as his arms enfold her, she closes her eyes. Mind floating free, she awaits milord’s will. Bits and pieces of memory drift past. Chrys’ broad back blocking the River Quarter Alcove entrance at her consecration. Apollo’s joyful greeting at the alcove. Katleen’s solemn welcome when milord entered her house. Tabitha and Simon emerging from the elevator banks. Milord laughing as he spins her around his office. Spinning in circles in the falling snow on Mulan clad in naught but a sundress.

  Milord’s soft voice rumbles against her back. “There is an observation chamber behind the mirror on the second level in the training facility.”

  Clever. Devious and clever and very much milord. She was not in milord’s presence for she was not within the same chamber. Stricture was observed, and milord’s will fulfilled.

  “What think you, Lilian?”

  “Milord is beyond clever,” she replies. “May I be permitted to know, has the chamber always served observation?”

  Milord’s chuckle reverberates against her spine as the arms enfolding her shift to her hips. “It was formerly a storage chamber.”

  Milord’s lips quest along her neck, setting off a physical thrill to match her emotions at the knowledge he went to considerable effort to view the match. His lips withdraw, and he steps back. “I will view the damage.”

  Swallowing disappointment at the lost contact, she raises her arms and pivots for inspection. The damage is slight. No more than three reddened areas that will bruise, mayhap only two. She will be stiff in the morning, but it is no worse than what she regularly experiences from her own mother and Seigneur Trevelyan. If she could locate a match partner, she could spar again tomorrow.