Dark Space - Marianne de Pierres [9]
Mira Fedor. Trin hid a flare of embarrassment with a shrug as the memories ambushed him . . .
* * * *
Crimson-grained Tourmaline Island sand.
‘Why did you invite me here, Trin Pellegrini?’ Mira Fedor asked.
She sat away from him on the shifting line between wet and dry as he wallowed in the surf. ‘Is the eccentric Fedor female not beneath a Principe’s son? Or do I make you curious? Or maybe it is simply that my familia is too distant to have me properly chaperoned?’
‘Which do you think?’ Trin parried, shocked at her directness, her perceptiveness. He could see the outline of her body through her bathing skins. Strange to be close to such a thin, fine-boned female.
‘I cannot decide.’
He let the waves roll him closer to her.
Mira did not retreat so he kissed her on impulse, to see what she would do.
Surprisingly, she kissed him back. Her hands slipped down the outside of his bathing skin. She touched his stomach with tentative fingers that created only fear in him.
His ardour softened.
What if she told people that the Principe’s son was soffice?
Suddenly, he pushed her away.
Mira rolled up onto her knees as if slapped but he could not tell her that she scared him—that women scared him.
Without another word Trin ran to his AiV, leaving her behind…stranded...
* * * *
The consequences of that night had lived on, for the next day Trin had purchased bravura from a dealer at Dockside. A safeguard, he told himself. So it would never happen again.
It never had—the bravura kept it that way.
While Trin and Mira kept their distance from each other, she excelled in her studies and he began to fail. Bravura addiction ruined his concentration and stole his focus. He hated her for it, but he hated his father more for what he had done this evening. Trin did not want Mira Fedor’s heritage. He had no wish to fly Insignia—in truth the thought frightened him. But mostly he did not want the guilt of her insanity upon his shoulders.
This evening, when Mira had fled the grand anteroom before the entire Studium, whispers began immediately—would she go the way of her most famous ancestor, mad Lancio Fedor?
Now, as Trin drank Riso’s wine, the Cavaliere would be taking her to the palazzo to see his father.
‘What is wrong, Trinder?’ wheedled Chocetta.
‘He is moody over Mira Fedor,’ said Lancia.
‘That’s because he dated her.’
‘I did not date her,’ Trin said harshly. He pulled Chocetta onto his lap and called for another jug.
Chocetta began to kiss his face while Lancia stroked his neck and hair, but their thick oil-perfumes made it hard for him to breathe. Their giggles and dirty whispered promises suffocated him. He stood abruptly, pushing them off, making an excuse that the wine was poor and that he would demand another. Then he stumbled to the bar and ordered a fresh drink, slipping two tiny bravura slices under his tongue. When the wine and bravura collided, his confidence returned. Trin took some steadying breaths and returned to the table. But the Silvios had moved on to his cousin Thomasi, and ignored him. Annoyed at their capriciousness he looked around for an alternative to satisfy the stirrings that the bravura had awoken.
Riso’s—apart from their tables—was filled with non-familia. He contemplated leaving but the court bars and ristorantes on Mount Pell bored him. Dockside was safe enough while he was with friends—but not when he was alone. Perhaps he should AiV out to the border towns for some variety?
As Trin stood, undecided, a group of familia women entered, dressed in seductive brocade evening fellalas. They headed straight for the bar, trailed by two Palazzo Cavaliere.
The most beautiful, and oldest, of the women bestowed an inviting smile on him as she passed. Her breasts showed through the lace of her fellala and her hips swayed in a way that sent tremors through him.
Trin picked up his drink and followed her.
She