Nightingale

by E G Manetti

  Lucius has witnessed enough Festival Duets to perceive the pale woman’s mastery. The alcove discipline master is skilled. Yet she is no more able to mark Lilian than she would a shadow. Lilian flows in and around the other woman as if she were the wraith she resembles. Two bright red marks appear on Flavia’s midriff followed by one on each pale bicep.

  Flavia makes a wide sweep with her thorn, passing it over the warrior square’s barrier. Crevasse swallow her! Flavia has stripped her thorn of the protective sheath. She bears a live blade. It is no longer a challenge to Adelaide’s Prelate’s will, it is an attack on Apollo’s status as Lord Prelate. If Adelaide’s Thorn is destroyed, it will be taken as a sign that Adelaide repudiates Lilian as her enforcer. If the Lord Prelate’s anointing was invalid, then the Lord Prelate himself is not favored. It could lead to the forced installation of a new Adelaide’s Prelate.

  Lilian’s blade glides along the barrier, stripped to its edge.

  “Monsignor!” George is as horrified as Lucius.

  “We can do naught. It is in Adelaide’s hands.”

  The live blade aids Flavia not at all. Lilian strikes true, slashing Flavia’s left buttock, her right thigh, and the third below her left shoulder. All bleed more freely than the earlier marks due to the increased striking power of Lilian’s naked blade. With Lilian’s legs concealed by her trousers it is impossible to be certain, but she does not appear to be marked.

  Other than the marks from the battle of Serengeti, it has been months since he has viewed more than a light bruise or two on his apprentice. He has seen none of the abrasions common when she began training in Katleen’s stone courtyard. None of the marks from her practice with Blythe colored. Only one of the marks from the bout with Hannah did. Two more slashes begin to bleed on Flavia’s exposed buttocks and thighs. Did Lilian wish the woman dead, she would be dead.

  A deep red slash bisects Flavia’s mastery mark. A moment later Flavia is on the mat, Lilian’s thorn at the discipline master’s’ throat. The bout lasted fifteen minutes and concluded with Adelaide’s repudiation of Flavia when Lilian destroyed the other woman’s mastery tattoo.

  Going limp, Flavia whispers, “I yield to Adelaide’s judgment.”

  Lilian does not move. Flavia releases her thorn. The masked countenance turns to the nearest acolyte. The young man reaches into the square and collects the fallen thorn. Rising from the defeated Flavia, Lilian stands in the center of the warrior’s square, bathed in the morning light. She holds out one hand.

  While an acolyte helps Flavia from the square, the keeper enters with a square of linen that Lilian uses to clean her thorn. Taking the blood offering, he places it in the sacred fire that burns near the effigy.

  Escorted by Stefan, a man in the hunter green robes of Jonathan’s Keeper appears by the square. “Wraith, is Adelaide’s repudiation unequivocal?”

  Gilead has a hand in this? It may well have been necessary to ensure an accurate rendition of events.

  Lilian releases the fastening to her trousers and allows them to fall around her ankles. The training thong reveals the long length of her legs and sculpted buttocks gleaming unmarked in the sunlight. The crimson belt settles around the gold warbelt. Lucius, Jonathan’s Keeper, Adelaide’s Keeper, and the remaining acolyte walk the perimeter of the warrior square. Lilian is unmarked except for the passion bite adjacent to Adelaide’s mark. There is not a drop of blood on the Wraith to suggest that Adelaide will accept an act of contrition from the repudiated discipline master.

  In a heavy voice, Adelaide’s Keeper says, “Adelaide’s retribution is absolute.”

  At the keeper’s words, Lilian pulls on her trousers. As she steps from the square, Lilian holds out one hand, into which the acolyte places her wrap and gloves. Once again concealed, she walks to the alcove entrance and waits for Lucius.

  Taking her satchel from Mr. Stefan, Lilian follows milord through Jonathan’s Shrine. By the time they reach the far door, her blade is within the bag. Only then does she remove the face mask. With her free hand she pulls the gold warbelt from her trousers. It is not visible beneath her wrap, but that is not the point. Her duty to Adelaide and Apollo is complete. She is once again bound only to milord’s will.

  Milord does not immediately return to the transport. He has his own devotions to offer and it is but a short walk to Socraide’s Shrine.

  The shrine keeper appears at the entrance, eager to tend to Socraide’s Lord Patron. It is but a moment before milord faces the effigy of Socraide Omsted, carved in black marble, arms crossed, dual swords across his back, dual fire-pistols holstered at his hips. Using his preeminence dagger, milord pricks his thumb for the blood to anoint the shrine coins. Not dressed for combat, milord foregoes the forms and offers a prayer from the First Warrior’s canon.

  The price of glory is exceeded only by the cost of darkness.

  The face turned to the future will view victory.

  The face turned to the past will discover despair.

  Honor knows not fear.

  Darkness knows not honor.

  The flame flickers and flares.

  The strong do not falter.

  Memory stirs at the ancient text but fades before Lilian can grasp it.

  Milord’s observance complete, the keeper escorts His Preeminence to the entrance, Lilian following at milord’s left shoulder and flanked by Mr. George and Mr. Stefan. When they reach the threshold, the two guards move forward to flank milord. In the center of the ring, a disorganized crowd of two to three score has gathered with several media rigs at its edge. The milling crowd coalesces and from its center erupts a rotund man of average height and middle years dressed in Rimon’s robes. Newton.

  Raising his arms, Newton exclaims, “Bright Star is anathema. Rimon condemns it. That sector of the expanse is interdicted. The Luck of the First will not breach it.”

  The crowd rumbles with agreement as Newton strides forward, ranting. “Abandon the scarlet whore of anarchy. She calls blood and destruction to all who embrace her.”

  Mr. George and Mr. Stefan grasp the hilts of their fire-pistols.

  Milord laughs.

  The crowd is silent. Newton stands with mouth agape.

  Milord’s humor ebbs, his voice smooth as silk. “Bright Star is the first opportunity for the advancement of the Twelve Systems in over two centuries. It shall not be abandoned in deference to a primitive media play and a fool’s adherence to fable. You may well be indicted if you offer another word of insult to my conservator.”

  Lilian opens her wrap, displaying the crimson belt of Adelaide’s Thorn and the gold warbelt with its conservator’s seal.

  Jonathan’s Keeper steps to Lilian’s side. “I will see you indicted for blasphemy if you do not cease your slander of Adelaide’s Thorn.”

  Something significant has shifted in Third Hill Warrior Ring politics. A year gone Jonathan’s Keeper was closely allied with Adelaide’s Keeper, who in turn repudiated Lilian and has attempted to do so again. The depth of the shift is clear when Socraide’s Keeper, who viewed Lilian’s trial against Sinead’s Master, speaks out in support of the Fourth’s Keeper, who has long been his rival. “Sinead has blessed Bright Star, as does the First Warrior. The Second’s interdiction is a fantasy, Newton. Depart or I will indict you for blasphemy and all those in this company who insist on sharing your delusions.”

  At the threat of commercial and religious retribution, Newton’s followers disperse, forcing the lunatic prelate to retreat. The glance he casts toward Lilian is filled with cunning and speculation. The lunatic no more believes this fable than his Euphrates sponsors. He has another purpose in this.

  Sliding into her seat next to milord, Lilian reaches for her slate.

  “What do you?” Milord raps out, rigid with anger.

  This day. She is not the source of milord’s justified rage. How dare Newton accost milord so. Lilian will see that insult answered. If her suspicion is correct, it will take but a moment or two with her slate. “Se
igneur Aristides must have the Euphrates media management player, milord. Newton never devised those phrases. Douglas would be in awe.”

  Milord’s expression lightens. “Scarlet, indeed.”

  The use of scarlet to invoke Blooded Dagger implies his cartouche is also in service to anarchy. The suggestion that he should cast Lilian from his embrace is an overt indictment that he is in thrall to his servant. The challenge to the Luck of the First is a blatant challenge to Lucius’ success. Every word is designed to make Lucius and his house appear corrupt and weak and, by extension, Serengeti and Bright Star.

  “It is well scarlet does not favor me,” Lilian says. “There are no visuals to support the image. By the morrow, it will be ‘blackened, shadeless whore of anarchy’ or something similar.”

  “You are not overset?”

  “I am appalled that Newton dared to speak so to milord,” she replies. “I would not have considered laughter. My thanks for the instruction.”

  Milord shrugs. “I could not throttle the lunatic in public. Ridicule had to suffice.”

  “Milord, Newton is not mad. He believes not one word that he utters.” She is well experienced with madness. Does she not find it in Newton, it is not there to be discovered.

  “If he is not deranged, he has another play in this.”

  “I have a suspicion.” She raises her slate. Milord nods.

  Bending over the device, she taps out her need. Knowing what she seeks, it is not difficult to find. Triumphant, she raises her eyes to milord’s. “Newton wishes a shrine and he is not a master of canon or discipline.”

  “He has family connections.”

  While many positions in the sects are hereditary, many others are not. For a commoner to rise to shrine keeper, mastery of canon or discipline is essential. For warriors with powerful family connections, the requirement is often waived. Newton is a prelate without a shrine, a senior acolyte at best, and he wants more. “He appears ambitions. Perhaps he desires a shrine more prestigious than the backwater the governor’s influence could offer one without mastery.”

  “Perhaps. The Euphrates preeminence is Lady Patron of Rimon’s Fourth System sect, which would explain why Rimon’s Lord Prelate has not denounced Newton.” Tapping the edge of Lilian’s slate, milord continues, “Alert Seigneur Aristides. He is to collect this morning’s media recordings before the Euphrates have opportunity to alter them.”

  Finishing the alert as they reach the guesthouse, Lilian follows milord into the suite. Turning for his chamber, he says, “Make yourself comfortable and rejoin me. I would a morning meal.”

  »◊«

  Picking up his tea, Lucius battles back rising lust. Lilian knows he favors the sea-green wrap. Does she seek to distract him? Entice him? Post-battle euphoria often ignites passion and she has been in battle this morn. The eggs and mushrooms turn to ash in his mouth as anger returns. Apollo will regret endangering Lilian. If he cannot order his sect without the aid of an overtried woman, he does not deserve to hold his position. To that end there is much Lucius would know. Controlling lust, anger, and curiosity, he sips tea and pretends to examine his slate until Lilian pushes aside her plate.

  Rising, he beckons her to join him on the couch facing the windows and purple bay. It is a familiar arrangement. Lilian leans against the arm of the couch, her legs across his lap, his hands able to assess her reactions while he has a clear view of her face. “For what purpose did Apollo Acacia send you into a death match?”

  Honor acts as duty commands. “It was not intended to be so, milord.” She knew this would come and she will withhold naught. Milord should not have been drawn into this. Milord will not be left in ignorance. “If milord pleases, this will be some moments in the voicing.”

  One of milord’s hand toys with her collarbone while the other strokes her thighs. “I am listening.”

  “As milord is aware, Lady Judith was failing her last year as Adelaide’s Prelate. Apollo was elevated to preserve a place for Lady Judith’s chosen successor, her daughter.”

  Milord nods encouragement.

  “Much of this only became known to me after the battle of Serengeti.”

  Honor is my blade and shield. Lilian’s gaze drifts from milord to the purple bay beyond the windows. Her vision is even more distant. “Fifty years gone, Lady Judith was elevated to Adelaide’s Prelate by her near cousin in preference to the Lord Prelate’s son and daughter, both of whom desired the position and were dissatisfied with their sire’s selection of a cousin. At the core of the issue is dissension within the sect that has been fomenting for over two centuries.”

  Milord’s hand squeezes her hip. “Two centuries? That is a long-lived intrigue, even by shrine standards.”

  “Its origins are ancient,” she replies. “The dissension has its roots in Adelaide’s return to the Third System after Socraide Omsted passed from the then Seven Systems.”

  Milord’s eyes hood. “I thought that when Socraide’s consort returned to the Third System, she retired to the Garden Center and spent her final years in scholarship. Socraide’s canon makes a point of it, that although she was distant kin to Sinead, Adelaide’s closest friends and allies were of Jonathan’s house.”

  “The full tale is more complicated,” Lilian replies. “The Warleader did not return alone; with her went her elite fighting force, Adelaide’s Warbirds, which became Adelaide’s Wraiths. As Adelaide had no issue and no genetic heirs, she felt no need to advance her wealth or claim territory. With the consent of the houses of the Five Warriors, Adelaide scattered her Warbirds throughout the Seven Systems, setting up spartan outposts to maintain Adelaide’s Discipline.”

  Milord’s hand moves from her hip to her waist. “Why would she scatter her forces?”

  “The historical record is murky, but from the events that followed, I believe it was at the request of the Five Warriors.” Milord’s eyes narrow but he does not interrupt. “As milord knows, the fortunes of the Seven Systems had improved since the Code of Engagement and the Governing Protocols were sealed almost sixty years before Socraide’s passing. However, the systems were yet rife with war, criminality, and all manner of anarchy. Some of the retainers who had been given governance of the newly settled systems were quick to abandon the Code of Engagement and Governing Protocols in favor of their ambitions.”

  Milord nods, the fingers at her waist twitching in a signal that she should get to the core of the matter. She continues, “The Warbirds’ service was to order and not to warrior or cartouche or commerce. Where the Code of Engagement was neglected or dismissed, the Wraiths appeared to exact retribution from the foresworn. When the Shrines rose in the Third Century, it was Jonathan’s sect that provided the Warbirds with an alcove for ritual observance. To the current year, less than half the sect’s income comes from the devoted. The majority is derived from a tithe on the Shrines of the Five Warriors.”

  Milord makes a hum of acknowledgment. “Virgil complains about it constantly.”

  Yet another reason for Lilian to dislike Socraide’s Garden Center Keeper. “He is not alone. Many of the shrines resent the payments and attempt to minimize them.”

  “How did the Wraiths become known as Thorns?”

  “Their success in establishing and enforcing the order they served eliminated their purpose. The warrior sects developed their own disciplines and discipline masters as well as their own enforcers. The cartels and system governors developed their own militia. Adelaide’s devoted diminished into a small, obscure sect that adhered to an ancient and esoteric discipline. By the tenth century, the wraiths became the Thorns.”

  Milord’s fingers press against her collarbone, his eyes narrowed. “How does all this explain why Apollo put you at risk? The dissension that is at its root?”

  “When the other sects began to begrudge their financial support, there were those among Adelaide’s devoted who argued that the alcoves should do as the shrines, pursuing commerce and power, cultivating cartouches favorable to Adelaide. The
traditionalists were opposed to what they saw as the destruction of Adelaide’s legacy and will.”

  Milord’s thumb strokes her collarbone. “Apollo is a traditionalist.”

  “Yes, milord.” Her fingers find her conservator’s seal. “I did not know until we were engaged in hunting the Despoilers that there were two other candidates for elevation to Adelaide’s Prelate. Both are from the line of the cousin who elevated Judith. They favor abandoning strict adherence to Adelaide’s canon in favor of increased prestige and commercial leverage for the sect.”

  Milord’s hand wraps around hers, rubbing her knuckles until she releases the seal. “What distresses you in this? It is but another variation of shrine politics.”

  This day. “Apollo’s position is weaker than it should be because Lady Judith did not declare me anathema.”

  Milord’s arm tightens about her shoulders. “Did Apollo have a hand in that?”

  If Lilian had been declared anathema, cast out by Adelaide and the alcoves, naught would have spared her the Final Draught. “Sinead’s sect was the only one that offered open support. Jonathan and Socraide’s sect were public in their demands that Lady Judith repudiate me. I do not know it for certain, but I believe Apollo made my support a condition of his accepting the temporary role of Lord Prelate. I do know that many were shocked when Lady Judith issued her declaration, ‘Adelaide’s thorn is designed to prick. Does it prick her own, Jonathan’s, or Socraide’s, so be it. Adelaide serves the Order, not the Five Warriors. Her dedicated, Lilian, will not be denied the alcoves. Thus is the will of Adelaide.’ ”

  The terror of her protocol review will haunt Lilian for the rest of her life. Remembered relief at Lady Judith’s decision leaves her shuddering. Milord pulls her close and she wraps her arms around him, pressing her face into the hollow of his throat. The silk tunic is as soft and inviting as she suspected. Milord’s voice is a reassuring rumble. “It was not a popular decision.”

  She rests her head against his shoulder. “The traditionalists did not protest as the modernists did, but there were those who were unhappy. It weakened the Lady Prelate’s position. As she began to fail, challenges went unmet, encouraging greater boldness among the dissidents. By the time Lady Judith elevated Apollo, some alcoves in the more distant systems were in open defiance of the governance of Adelaide’s Prelate. Apollo Acacia inherited a house in disarray. His position is further weakened by the distrust of those traditionalists who disagreed with his standing for me at the protocol review.”