Kushiel's Scion (96 page)
"Damn, that's a fine horse," Eamonn muttered.
I summoned a weary smile. "You want a rematch?"
He eyed me. "You know, I don't fancy it. You're a little mad, you."
By the eighth circuit, I was beyond sore. Everywhere my sodden clothing rubbed me, my skin felt raw. Circuit after circuit, sentry after sentry. Mundus manes, mundus manes. All was quiet, and if I never heard the words again, it would be too soon.
The ninth circuit ushered in the dismal grey light of early dawn and Gallus Tadius, grinning. "Go home, princelings!" he called to us. "Your replacements are here, and your warm beds are beckoning you."
I sneezed. "Thank you, my lord."
Gallus studied me for a moment and I found myself straightening in the saddle, squaring my shoulders. Damned if there wasn't a part of me that wanted his approval. He gave a slow nod. "I heard what you did. That was a nice piece of work at the aqueduct, D'Angeline. The deaf-mute may be harmless, but one of the guards swore he drew a dagger on him."
"I didn't see a dagger," I lied. "Where is he now?"
"Oh, Captain Arturo tossed him in gaol with the Valpetran prisoners." He shrugged. "We'll see if he changes his story," he added, then laughed. "Not that he could tell us, mind!"
"Indeed," I murmured.
Eamonn and I wasted no time in heading for the Tadeii villa. His mount was plodding and exhausted, which was how I felt. Eamonn was quiet, watching Gallus Tadius ride away on another indefatigable errand.
"Does he ever sleep?" he asked when Gallus was out of earshot. I shook my head, too tired to venture a guess. "I don't think he does." Eamonn glanced at me out of the corner of one eye. "That intruder looked a lot like your beggar, didn't he?"
"Canis?" I asked.
"Mm-hmm."
"Yes," I said. "I suppose he did."
Chapter Fifty-Three
At the villa, I turned the Bastard over the stablehands and went straight to my chamber, where I stripped off my cold, wet clothing and burrowed under a pile of blankets. I slept through the morning and woke, ravenous, in time for the midday meal.
The braziers were unlit and the hypocaust that heated the private Tadeii baths was no longer stoked at any hour, another victim of Gallus' orders. I couldn't bear to submerge myself in the chilly waters, so I settled for scrubbing myself at the washbasin in my room, naked and shivering, dunking my head for good measure. A faint odor of canal water clung to my hair, but it would do. Thrusting aside the memory of Daršanga it evoked, I went to join the others.
It was almost a homey scene. Lunch was being served at a long table in one of the less formal dining rooms. Beatrice, Lucius and Claudia's mother, had emerged from seclusion. She seemed determined to impart a sense of normalcy to the household through sheer force of will. When I arrived, she rose from her chair at the head of the table and greeted me with a deep curtsy.
"Welcome, your highness," she said. "Forgive us our neglect."
I bowed in return. "My lady Beatrice, forgive me this imposition on your hospitality, for which I am most grateful." I smiled at her as I straightened. "And please, call me Imriel."
"Imriel." A dimple appeared and vanished as she smiled back at me. "Please join us."
The meal was simple; mutton in a thin sauce, black bread, and wild greens. As hungry as I was, it seemed a veritable feast. Beatrice apologized for it several times over. "It's not what you're accustomed to, I know," she said anxiously. "But there are… orders."
She didn't mention Gallus Tadius by name. It was hard for me to see what had befallen Lucius, who I reckoned a friend. I couldn't imagine how difficult it was for her. I'd only known him for a few months. She was his mother.
"My lady, it is delicious," I said truthfully. "And I am grateful for your generosity."
Her dimple returned. "You're too kind… Imriel."
On the other side of the table, seated beside her staid husband, Claudia Fulvia caught my eye and smiled with quiet amusement. She got her looks from her mother, at least in part. Both of them did, brother and sister. They had inherited Beatrice's dark red hair, thick and unruly, and a certain sense of luxuriance, of being comfortable in their flesh. But there was a rondeur to Beatrice; a soft, bustling plumpness that made one feel at once protective and at ease. Unlike her children, she had no hard edges.
That, I guessed, came from the Tadeii blood.
Beatrice worked gallantly to make us all feel welcome. She fussed over Eamonn until I half thought she was ready to adopt him as a son, and Brigitta… well. In her own mind, I nearly think she had adopted her.
"Oh, child!" She clapped her hands together and flushed with pleasure. "You should wed, the two of you! After all… after all, here we were, ready for a wedding."
Eamonn and Brigitta exchanged a considering glance.
"Why not?" Eamonn's sunniest, most infectious grin creased his face. "Aye, why not? What say you? Will you have me, lass?"
"Eamonn!" Brigitta tugged her blonde braids with both fists. "Where would we go? How would we live? What about… ?" She hesitated. "I have a family, I have duties. I shouldn't have come here; I wouldn't have, if I'd known. My six months are nearly gone. You know my brother Leidolf will come looking for me. Soon."
"Aye." He nodded. "In Tiberium, where he'll not find you."
"But…" She cast an imploring glance around the table, settling on Claudia. "You gave me wise counsel on our journey. What do you say, Lady Claudia?"
"In this matter?" Claudia raised her brows. "Oh, I believe the world defers to Terre d'Ange in matters of love, my dear. Isn't that so?" She addressed the last question to Deccus Fulvius, who rumbled good-natured agreement. With a hint of a smile, Claudia nodded at me. "What do you say, Prince Imriel?"
I stood up, and I looked at them, all of them. Deccus Fulvius with his open expression, doing me the courtesy of treating me as an equal, knowing so little. Claudia Fulvia with her smile, knowing too much, knowing how I wanted her. Beatrice Tadia, who knew nothing, nothing, her face alight with the hopeful pleasure of wresting somewhat good out of the wreckage of her family and the deadly siege of Lucca.
Eamonn.
Brigitta.
Elua help me, whether I liked it or no, they loved one another. It shone forth between them, as steady as a well-made lamp, as sure as a pair of joined hands. I lifted my cup, filled with cool well-water. "Need you ask?" I said lightly. "I am D'Angeline. When all is said and done, there is but one tenet to which we adhere." I hoisted my cup to them. "Love as thou wilt."
So it was decided.
Having seized upon the notion, Beatrice set about implementing it in all haste, deciding that the celebration should take place on the morrow. In truth, there was little point in delaying. None of us knew what the morrow would bring. Lucca was holding strong under Gallus Tadius' leadership and looked likely to do so for weeks on end, but even so, war was an uncertain business.
I left them to their plans and went to seek out the gaol.
It was a squat, solid building near the basilica with lodging for the guards on the main floor and a single great dungeon-chamber below. A lone guard stood duty; the rest were posted elsewhere. When I remarked on it, he shrugged.
"There's no one down there but the Valpetrans and the deaf-mute. Gallus Tadius freed the rest."
"He did?" I asked. "Why?"
"Well, he gave 'em a choice, anyway. A red armband or a hemp necklace." He chuckled. "None of 'em chose the noose over the Red Scourge. Anyway, you want to get a few licks in on the deaf-mute, go ahead. From what I heard, I reckon you owe him." He plucked a ring of keys from a stand and unlocked the door to admit me, then kindled a lantern. "Here, you'll need this. Bang on the door when you're done, and I'll let you out."
It was unnerving to hear the heavy wooden door slam shut behind me, the key turning in the lock. The stairs led down into darkness and a fetid odor. The dank smell of my hair. I stood for a moment, willing my heartbeat to slow, then descended the stairs.
"Canis?" I lifted the lantern.
It illuminated a vast open space. There were chains along the wall, enough to hold several dozen prisoners. There were only four, though. Three of them lifted their heads, wary eyes glittering in the lantern's glow. The fourth was sitting cross-legged, watching me, a calm expression on his battered face.
"Canis!" I crouched beside him. "What in the seven hells are you doing here?"
He didn't answer.
"Dog." One of the Valpetrans gave a wheezing chuckle. "Good one, D'Angeline. But Dog don't talk. Didn't even make a sound when they beat him."
Sitting back on my heels, I regarded Canis with frustration. He returned my gaze with implacable calm. I wanted to shake him, to squeeze answers out of him as surely as I'd squeezed the breath from his lungs. But as long as Gallus Tadius believed him a simple deaf-mute seeking the safety of the city walls, there was a good chance he'd be offered the same bargain in time—the Red Scourge or the noose. I'd already been careless, calling him by name. If it had been any other name, we might both be in trouble.
I sighed. "In Elua's name, I swear… one day, Canis, we'll have this out."
He bowed his head, scrabbling in the loose, filthy straw of the gaol floor with one hand. The chain shackled to his wrist clanked. At least the chains were long enough to allow the prisoners a measure of ease.
In the pleasure-dungeons of Valerian House, they were a good deal shorter. I smiled wryly at the thought. Canis tapped the stone floor with one grimy fingernail, rhythmic and insistent. Glancing down, I saw that he'd arranged stalks of straw into letters, spelling out two words.
Hit me.
"No," I said involuntarily.
He tapped the floor again, raising his chin. Hit me.
The other prisoners were watching with interest.
And why not? They had nothing else to do. Valpetrans, we called them out of convenience; but they weren't. They were mercenaries hired by Valpetra. If they were loyal to anyone, it was their condottiere. And like as not, any one of them would sell Canis short for an extra ration of food. Why I was trying to protect him, I couldn't even say. He'd done nothing but haunt my shadow and feed me smiling lies. And he had drawn a dagger on the guardsman; I'd seen it.
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