by E G Manetti
Exchanging a glance with Jenica, Elysia flops back in defeat. “Never mind. There is little to be enjoyed in a dawn rising on Seventh Day.”
»◊«
Leaning back in the transport, Lilian cares naught that the austere interior lacks the comfort of milord’s opulent vehicles. It is enough that she can be alone with her thoughts. But three days back at the cartel and the demands of commerce and intrigue are escalating. For the transit from Serengeti Headquarters to Katleen’s house, she will indulge in recall of the Fortuna voyage. Milord’s liberality with slumber and respite bells. The companionship of the shared morning meals. Milord’s delight in her backless gowns. Milord’s laughter at Pippa’s intrigues. Milord.
“It is secure,” Mr. Stefan says from the open door.
Stepping from the transport, Lilian scans the street. She knows it is not necessary. Mr. Stefan would not allow her to exit the transport if the area were not secure. Yet the habit of over two years cannot be broken. Mayhap having the transport pull into the mews would be better? No. Seigneur Trevelyan vetoed that notion. Access to the mews is sealed with the same heavy shutters as the first-storey windows. Securing the few steps to the front entrance is safer than unsealing the mews and leaving the entrance vulnerable. Nor would it be wise to add the guards’ need to secure a mews entrance and risk a charge of excessive consideration.
None wander the block but her neighbors. None of her neighbors turn their faces her way. Disdain, or fear of Seigneur Trevelyan? Climbing the stairs, she hopes it is the latter. They will not dare bedevil Katleen if they know enough to fear the spymaster.
Mr. Stefan seals the door behind her, hanging his satchel over the kitchen chair relocated to the entry. “The seigneur is within. He takes the evening meal.”
Halfway to the stairs that rise to the second level, Lilian turns. Seigneur Trevelyan has been her mother’s lover since the battle of Serengeti. Since her return from Fortuna, he has arrived for the evening meal and departed by ninth bell. While she is bonded, he cannot remain the night. His presence the first night she returned from Fortuna was allowable because due to her poisoning there was an acolyte in her chamber watching over her. Lacking such extremity, Lilian slumbers alone and Seigneur Trevelyan may not remain the night.
This eve, she will find him in the kitchen with Maman and Katleen. Heels echoing in the stone courtyard, she hastens to the back wall and the servitors’ door that opens on the walkway to the garden and the kitchen structure. Behind her, Mr. Stefan’s heavier tread turns for the eastern wing and the sealed chambers. He will confirm all is sealed and then examine every corridor and chamber of the four-storey structure before Mrs. Zdenka arrives for the night.
The gardens are damp but not flooded. The ancient drains have not failed, the expensive repairs of the last season holding. There is no sign of Katleen’s pet. The clever creature will be curled in the warmest corner of the kitchens or under the table, intent on scraps.
The kitchen is as bright and warm as the gardens are gloomy. Maman, Katleen, and the seigneur are within, Gloribelle curled about her ankles. The smell of the evening meal fills the kitchen, savory and mouthwatering. Maman grasps the wine carafe and fills the glass at Lilian’s place. The tight knot that formed in her belly at the caning begins to soften.
Seigneur Trevelyan explodes from his chair. “How can you condone this travesty?”
Travesty? The knot hardens and a dull ache forms behind her eyes. “I beg pardon, I do not understand.”
The seigneur bites out his words. “On the morrow. Sinead’s scourge.”
Now? They have only now informed the seigneur of Katleen’s slander against Monsignor and the shrine-mandated contrition? Katleen ducks her head and rubs Gloribelle’s ears. Maman returns to her seat and sips wine.
I am the sum of my ancestors. She may not sit while the seigneur stands. Locking her spine, she asks, “Has Katleen informed the seigneur of the nature of her offense?”
“Aye. It was ill done.”
Katleen yielded to personal pique and accused milord of being foresworn. That she made the charge to Lilian and none else is but minor mitigation. Such false witness is also considered a form of oath breaking. Although Katleen no longer owns warrior status, as with Lilian she is dedicated to one of the Shades. Her honor is their honor. She has shamed herself, her family, and Sinead with her ill-governed temper.
Although not of the age of consent, Katleen has entered her woman’s cycles. Deprivation of pleasure or an increase in chores is insufficient contrition for such an offense. Tired, distressed, Lilian resists the urge to snap. Seigneur Trevelyan was Universalist raised and has not yet been two years a warrior. “Katleen was offered a choice by the Sinead’s Discipline Master: accept Sinead’s scourge or confess her transgression to Monsignor and accept Monsignor’s discipline.”
Trevelyan rubs the back of his neck. “Monsignor would not be so harsh.”
Lilian agrees, but in this it is not milord’s will but Katleen’s. Her sister prefers the harsher physical punishment to the shame of admitting she distrusted Monsignor, and Lilian cannot fault that. Resting her hands on the nearest chairback, she says, “It is Katleen’s choice. Truly, it is well she is so young. A few years older and our blood tie would not overcome my sworn allegiance to Monsignor. I would be compelled to address the insult with fist and thorn.”
“Universe scatter it, sit.”
When Lilian does not move, he drops into the chair next to Helena.
Adelaide’s grace. She takes her seat and reaches for the wine. Maman has sipped, and her rank equals the seigneur’s.
The spymaster frowns. “I dislike the notion that a child’s tantrum can carry such penalties.”
Katleen straightens. “I am not a child. I have had my woman’s cycles for a year.”
Reaching out, he tousles Katleen’s loose curls. “You are years from consent, and more from legal adulthood. Do not be in such a rush.”
Lilian’s heart seizes. She does not disagree with the seigneur. He knows, as she does, that at her tender years, Katleen’s contrition will hold more humiliation than pain. His concern pleases Lilian no end, for it shows a father’s concern for his child as much the Universalist’s abhorrence for corporal punishment.
Helena reaches for his other hand. “Be not aggrieved, lover. These are lessons all must learn. Katleen will be well. She will not find her future forfeit for being on the wrong side of a festival brawl.”
Sighing, Seigneur Trevelyan picks up his wine. “As Katleen chooses. I will stand with her.”
“As do Lilian and I,” Helena replies.
Katleen pulls the cover from a dish. “It was ill done of me. Monsignor has always been honorable in his dealings with Lilian and as careful of her as the trial permits. I should not have been so quick to break faith.”
“Emerald fish!” Lilian reaches for the delicacy. She need not ask to know its source. “My thanks, Seigneur.”
“A delayed homecoming meal,” he replies. “That you are well to enjoy it is all the thanks I require.”
Glancing at the pink wand set on the counter, Lilian nods acknowledgement. Since the poisoning, they consume naught that is not checked for toxins. Following her gaze, Katleen asks, “The price of that device is well beyond our means. How do you avoid a charge of excessive consideration?”
An expensive safety measure, provided by the cartel, is a questionable indulgence.
“Poison was introduced to His Preeminence through his apprentice,” Seigneur Trevelyan explains. “It shall not happen again.” Spearing a piece of fish, he adds, “Nor are those interested in finding fault able to do so.”
Picking up her fork, Helena looks to her lover.
With a smile, he says, “Her bond proof is a matter of Monsignor’s will. None in the cartel will challenge it after her valor at the battle of Serengeti. For her trial proof, Apollo and Gilead will speak for the shrines and they will find no fault. Lady Governor Moira is just; if there is no fault to b
e found, she will not invent one. The only other voices that could naysay are those from her protocol review. Two have been bought, two are banished in disgrace, and the fifth is an honorable colonel in Governor Moira’s militia.”
Black eyes flashing, Katleen bounces in her chair. “Lilian is safe!”
Adelaide’s grace. Lilian does not wish her sister fearful, but the trial is not done. “The bond is not proved until it is proved. I am as bound by the strictures as I was the day I sealed the bond. There are many who wish to see me fail, and even milord will be limited in authority if I commit a public enough transgression. But the seigneur is correct; it will be impossible for my adversaries to invent transgressions or twist that which is justified into one. For that, we may thank Monsignor, the seigneur, and Lord Apollo.”
Sevenday 132, Day 7
The sound of a speeder wakes Cesare. Had the night not cleared and offered a hint of the approaching green season, he would have slumbered undisturbed. The window he left open to the pleasant late-night air now carries the distinctive buzz of the lightweight trail vehicle. No gardener or other of the Mercio servitors would use a speeder and risk disturbing the household at the early bell. Dragging himself from the comfort of his bed, he reaches for his robe, tying the belt as he reaches the patio. Demon shit. The stone is cold.
Dawn is coming. The broken clouds above allow light and offer little threat of rain. Scanning the gardens, he discovers the now-quiet speeder coming to a halt by the fountain. Whoever it is, they accessed the Mercio estate from a secure entrance to the Garden Center parkland. There are but few who have such access. As the slender helmeted figure comes into view, his suspicions are confirmed: Jenica, Marco’s daughter.
And there is Elysia, golden locks pulled into a tail. She pushes Raphael’s speeder forward to meet her cousin. “Elysia!”
At his call, she turns and waves. Swinging onto her speeder, she accelerates onto the path, Jenica behind her.
Crevasse swallow them. He should have known Elysia would not heed him. Regretting the entertainment that kept him from bed until after dark of night, he grinds sleep from his eyes and reaches for his training grab. There is no time to cleanse. If he demands a transport, Father will hear of it. Shrugging into a jacket, he races for the stairs. As angered as he is with his sister, he has no desire to see her on the wrong side of Father’s will or subject to Rimon’s scourge, both likely outcomes if he does not halt her ill-advised venture.
Muttering blasphemy under his breath, Cesare vaults aboard his speeder. Chiding himself for a fool, Cesare launches down the Garden Center pathways at stricture-violating speed, grateful for the early bell and the residual mud that keeps most indoors.
»◊«
Sixth bell chimes as Katleen mounts the steps to an eastern gallery in Sinead’s Shrine, her gray training garb the color of the predawn sky. Kneeling, she waits to greet her deity, who, according to warrior tradition, arrives with the sun. In the black and crimson of Adelaide’s Thorn, Lilian stands at her sister’s back, Stefan on guard between the two staircases that climb to either side of the narrow gallery.
Scanning the area, Trevelyan discovers naught of concern. As Lilian and Helena predicted, at this early bell, there are none but shrine attendants. As shrines go, this one is easy to secure. It has but the one entrance on the northernmost wall of the hexagonal structure and smooth gray walls that offer no shadows. Each wall holds a gallery reached by one of two sets of stairs, but it is not possible to move between galleries without using the stairs.
In the center of the shrine, the devotional pool is enhanced by a central fountain worked in silver, gold, and brushed steel. Ornamented with colored glass, it resembles a complex garden populated with fantastic creatures. Also worked in gold, silver, and brushed steel, Sinead’s effigy is positioned at the south wall. Garbed for combat, a warrior queue constraining her hair, Sinead has a fire-rifle slung across her back, fire-pistols on her hips, and a short sword at the ready. He has often wondered why Sinead’s effigy is the only one of the Five Warriors’ and Adelaide’s that smiles.
With Lilian and Katleen in place, Helena approaches the altar before the effigy. Joining her, Trevelyan drops three gold shrine coins on the altar. Taking the ritual blade from the effigy, Helena pricks her thumb and smears the coins, the traditional offer of wealth and blood intended to draw the Shade’s favor. Were this a normal Seventh Day, Helena would retire to her contemplation chamber to await the voice of Sinead and those of the devoted seeking council from Sinead’s Seer.
This day, Helena settles on a bench near the altar to wait.
We began as cosmic dust. Unable to sit, Trevelyan patrols the shrine, examining the fountain, making minute and unnecessary adjustments to his scarlet and gold seigneur’s signet and the gold-and ruby-crusted hilt of his warrior dagger. That he prays to the forces of universal balance in a warrior shrine troubles him not. It is not the first occasion and he suspects it will not be the last.
We are formed from stellar glitter. Simon, Tabitha, and Chrys enter, all in the hunter green and gold of the Fourth Warrior, Jonathan Metricelli. Each member of Lilian’s consortium vowed to walk the ring, ending at Sinead’s Shrine.
The stellar is within and without. We are one. For all Helena and Lilian’s caution, the shrines are rife with gossip. A trio clad in a mix of Socraide’s and Rimon’s colors enters and mills about, more interested in each other than the deity. From the quality of their garb, they are warrior class and of an age with Katleen.
We are ephemeral and eternal. Rebecca, Blythe, and Douglas arrive, the women in Rimon’s royal and silver and Douglas in Socraide’s midnight. Under the guise of greeting Chrys, they size up the newcomers. Verity arrives in Sinead’s peridot with Clarice in Mulan’s flame and black. They greet Tabitha, who directs them to join Stefan by the stairs.
We end as we began and begin again. The shrine is filling with academy-aged warriors and some older. Malcon and Deidre appear, their nondescript liberty garb allowing them to blend into the crowd. The Sinead’s Discipline Master emerges from one of the interior chambers. It is time.
As planned, the prelates gather a handful of acolytes and join Trevelyan and his forces in dispersing those who are there for entertainment and not devotion. Sinead’s shrine is not the public execution forum at the halls of justice. Any who are not of her devoted can be summarily dismissed if their purpose is naught but prurient curiosity.
In a quarter of a period, they have cleared two-thirds of the crowd. Beyond the effigy, Chrys gestures for attention. Demon shit! At the center of a small knot of young warriors, Lucius’ daughter is giggling with Marco’s.
»◊«
Pink tinges the broken clouds when Cesare secures his speeder. Entering the shrine, he is surprised that it is not as crowded as he expected. All to the good, it takes but a moment to discover Elysia, Jenica, and two others, all positioned close to the effigy. Passing the fountain, his attention is caught by movement to his right.
The young redhead is at the top of the gallery stairs and beginning her descent. Behind her is a black form faceless in the shadows caused by the rising sun. As the full force of the sunrise reaches the fire slits, it halos Adelaide’s Thorn in an aura of flame, creating a fearful image of the Wraith dragging the fires of Rimon’s dungeons with her.
Pulling his eyes away, he pushes past a tall man in hunter green he recognizes as Rachelle’s apprentice. Others in the crowd come into focus; Trevelyan’s blonde, the petite Mulan devoted, and the hawk-featured Socraide devoted are from the festival brawl. Lilian has called forth her allies.
He is out of time. Reaching his sister, he lands a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You shame our cartouche.”
Elysia raises her chin in imitation of Lynette’s hauteur. “We are here to witness Sinead’s will. It is our duty and our right as warriors. The unrighteous shall be humiliated and chastised.”
“They will indeed, beginning with you,” Cesare bites out. “If you do not walk from he
re within the next breath, I will carry you over my shoulder and put my hand to your bottom. I guarantee that will generate far more interest than the scourging of a fourteen-year-old commoner.”
For a moment, Cesare believes his sister will be lackwit enough to try him. She is not. With a shrug, she turns to her friends. “This is wearisome. I would a morning meal.”
Ushering his sister and her friends from the shrine, Cesare spares one final glance over his shoulder. The redhead kneels at the base of the effigy, her arms raised to grasp the golden boots. Her back is bared, the curled locks pulled forward, revealing a light scatter of freckles across her shoulders. Shamed by his fascination, Cesare turns to finish hustling his sister and her companions away.
»◊«
Trevelyan is beyond relieved when Cesare escorts his sister from the shrine. Raphael may have his mother’s charm, but Cesare is a worthy heir for Lucius. Leaving Malcon to manage the crowd with Deidre and the militia guards, he joins Helena in flanking Lilian. As Wraith, she claimed the central spot directly behind the discipline master. With Helena and him on either side, they have blocked direct view of Katleen. A moment later, Rebecca materializes on his left, Chrys on Helena’s right. The rest of the consortium pushes to the front and forms a semicircle around the effigy. Those who wish to view the rite will do so between the shoulders of Katleen’s friends.
The discipline master flexes the willow switch, the heaviest implement permitted for one of Katleen’s youth. With a deep breath, she begins her contrition. With each verse, the switch strikes.
I have failed the legacy of my ancestors.
I have weakened our line.
I have discarded honor to embrace disorder.
I have quailed when tried.
I have been indulgent.
I have faltered.
Katleen’s pale skin displays six bright red welts.
Lifting her palms from the effigy’s feet, Katleen holds them flat for the blade. Blood wells and is collected in a small linen square.