Authors: Jacqueline Carey

Tags: #High Fantasy

Kushiel's Scion (97 page)

BOOK: Kushiel's Scion

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But whatever game Canis was playing, he meant me no harm. I was sure of it. In Tiberium, he'd had ample chance. Name of Elua! He knew where I lived, where I slept… Gilot and I hadn't even possessed a bar for our door or latches for our shutters until the night Canis claimed to have seen two thieves attempting to rob Master Ambrosius' shop. I eyed him, wondering what had really happened that night. "Why are you doing this, Canis?"

His brown eyes never blinked. Hit me.

So I did. I brushed away the straw, making the words he had written vanish, clearing a space on the stone floor. I set the lantern down. And because I was angry, I feinted with my right hand and made him flinch, then punched him hard with the left.

I hit him high, a little off the center of his forehead, where it wouldn't break any bones. Still, his head snapped back, and I felt my knuckles bruised to the marrow. Canis' breath hissed through his teeth. I followed up with an open-palmed slap with my right hand, hard enough to wrench his head sideways.

It made a loud sound in the confines of the dungeon.

And it felt good.

Too good. I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to be here. I got to my feet, fists clenched. Canis righted himself. Shielded from the view of the Valpetrans, he grinned at me, his eyes bright with approval. There was a knot rising on his forehead and blood on his teeth. He must have bitten his cheek when I struck him.

"That's for last night," I said to him. "I reckon we're even."

Grabbing the lantern, I marched toward the stairs, shadows swinging around me.

"Hey!" The Valpetran who'd spoken before called to me. "D'Angeline, listen! I don't know what your stake is in this, but Commander Silvanus is open to barter. And he's a man does right by those who swear allegiance to him." He moved his arms, rustling his chains. "Our freedom for yours?" he asked cunningly. "You're a foreigner here. Think on it."

I nodded at him. "I'll think on it."

"Think swiftly," he shouted after me. "We've already lost one."

At the top of the stair, I pounded on the door. It seemed an eternity before I heard the sound of the key turning in the lock and the guard opened it with a grin. Even as I emerged into the open air, he snatched the lantern from my hand and blew it out. "Mustn't waste!" he remarked. "Gallus Tadius' orders." He eyed me. "Did you have fun?"

"Fun." I shook out my bruised hands. "Oh, aye."

"Good," the guard said cheerfully. "Good."

I'd elected to walk, having grown accustomed to it in Tiberium; and I reckoned the Bastard needed his rest. By the time I returned to the villa, the shadows were growing long. It seemed I'd barely risen and already it was nearing time for another night of mounted patrol. I was wondering if I might catch a few more minutes of sleep before reporting for duty, but Claudia Fulvia met me in the atrium, a sealed letter in her hand.

"A letter came for you," she said.

It was fine parchment, sealed and stamped with red wax, and for a foolish moment my heart leapt. I would have given anything to see the impress of a familiar seal—the Courcel swan, the moon and crag of Montrève, the lily and stars of Blessed Elua. Gods, even the intertwined keys of House Shahrizai! It wasn't, of course. There was no way a missive could have arrived so swiftly, even from Denise Fleurais in Tiberium; and no way it would have been delivered if it had. I didn't recognize the seal, which bore a crude lion.

"It's from the Correggii," Claudia added.

I cracked the seal and opened the letter. A scattering of rose petals drifted to the floor of the atrium; plucked from the season's last blooms, already dry and brittle. Claudia leaned against the wall and watched me read, her arms folded beneath her breasts. I schooled my face to impassivity, folding the letter and tucking it into my belt when I'd finished.

"Helena," I said. "She wished to thank me."

"Oh, indeed." Claudia gave me a wry smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. There was a complex mixture of worry and affection in her expression. "Have a care with her, Imriel. After what the poor girl's been through, she's not quite in her right mind."

"I know." I gazed at her, thinking that a man might look at her face for a long, long time without ever growing weary of it. I hoped Deccus Fulvius felt the same way. "Don't worry, I know how she feels. Better than I'd like to."

"I remember." Claudia touched my left hip, close to where the Kereyit Tatar mark was seared onto my buttock. She wasn't smiling anymore, and her eyes were grave. "Something like a slave-brand, wasn't it?"

Ah, Elua! I wished we could have known one another like this before. It could all have been so different between us without the games, without the invisible force of the Unseen Guild in play. There would still have been Deccus, but, well… it would have been different. There might have been love alongside the passion. Love, wild and dangerous, the sort that believed every risk worth taking, destroying reputations and shattering lives. Mayhap we had been capable of that, Claudia and I. And mayhap it was better that we hadn't tried… but I would never know.

You will find it and lose it, again and again.

"Yes," I said belatedly, easing her hand from my hip. "Something like it."

All too soon, dusk was falling and it was time for Eamonn and me to report to the town square. Gallus Tadius made a brief, distracted appearance before dispatching us on our rounds. It was the first time I'd seen him since dawn. If he'd slept in the past day, it wasn't at the Tadeii villa. I wondered if Eamonn was right.

"He's up to something," Eamonn said. "They're building something atop the gatehouse."

"A ballista?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It's meant to lob things at Valpetra's men."

"Huh." I thought about it. "What's Valpetra doing?"

"Nothing that I've heard." Eamonn grinned at me. "Nothing to interfere with my wedding, I hope! Do you know, Deccus Fulvius has offered to take my place tomorrow night and ride patrol with you so that Gallus Tadius doesn't put up a fuss."

A twinge of guilt caught me. "That's a kind offer."

"Aye." Eamonn gave me one of his sidelong looks. "You're not… ?"

I thought about Claudia touching my hip earlier today; Claudia stroking my hand beside Gilot's deathbed; Claudia in the theatre, caressing my swelling groin beneath the blanket; Claudia in her husband's salon, her tongue probing my mouth; Claudia by lamplight in the bedchamber, and the taste of her on my lips; Claudia in the painter's atelier, her white limbs spread and languid, all her naked abundance glowing in the sunlight.

"No," I said. "We're not."

"Good," Eamonn said simply.

It was an uneventful night, which was fine with me. The only surprise in the whole affair was that Gallus Tadius had ordered the sluice gates that Canis had dismantled left unrepaired. On the heels of a dry summer, the river was running low, so it made no difference. Still, it was odd. An extra sentry was posted atop the wall there, and a quartet of foot-soldiers lounged in the shadows. We all exchanged what gossip we'd overheard, but none of it came to aught.

"So how is Canis?" Eamonn asked when we were out of earshot.

"Silent," I said. "And mysterious."

He laughed. "Well, that ought to suit you."

We talked of a great many other things as we rode together that night. Mostly, I asked questions, which Eamonn answered freely. I hadn't realized, until that night, how remiss I'd been in his interests. I'd been too wrapped up in my own concerns. It came as a surprise to me to learn that he planned to travel to Skaldia with Brigitta to meet her family, assuming they both survived this siege. He hoped to coax them into blessing their union, and giving Brigitta leave to travel to Alba with him and make a home there.

"Why not?" he asked pragmatically. "I know there's a history of enmity. But we're all barbarians alike, aren't we?"

"You?" I said. "Never."

"I am, though, Imri. We both are." He rode without comment for a while. "Please don't take this amiss," he said eventually. "Because I know you don't think like most D'Angelines. But Brigitta and I understand one another. History is a lottery of sorts. We come from people who hunger for what they were denied, through whatever accident of birth or geography. They've known it longer in Skaldia. In Alba and Eire, the Dalriada are only beginning to realize it. The Master of the Straits kept us in isolation for a long, long time."

I shook my head. "Not a-purpose. The curse—"

"I know." Eamonn leaned over to touch my arm. "Dagda Mor! I don't mean to blame you. You, of all people; you and Phèdre and Joscelin…" His voice trailed off. "And yet," he mused, "when all is said and done, we are still subject to the Master of the Straits."

I summoned a memory of Hyacinthe; Hyacinthe, whom Phèdre had named her one true friend. Didikani; a Tsingano half-breed, with a worn, beautiful face, black curls, and color-shifting eyes filled with lost knowledge won through the long, lonely years of his forced apprenticeship. I remembered how he had walked on the waves, clutching his folio of pages. The lost Book of Raziel. Speaking the charm that held him aloft on their surface.

Held Phèdre aloft.

And she had summoned Rahab and banished him, speaking the Name of God.

"A different Master," I said softly. "A better Master. The Straits are open, Eamonn, and he protects both our shores, Alba and Terre d'Ange alike; aye, even from the ambition of the Skaldi, who would raid your shores if they could. Should he put aside his knowledge? Banish it from human understanding? Do you say it is ill done?"

"No!" Eamonn hesitated, then repeated it. "No."

"Good," I said. "Because Elua knows, it was hard-won."

"I know." He put out his hand, and I clasped it. "I know it was, Imri. I just want you to understand, that's all."

I nodded. "And I am trying."

Come dawn, we were relieved of duty and made our way back to the villa. Once more, I stumbled to my chamber and threw myself down on my bed, where I slept the sleep of pure exhaustion.

I dreamed, though.

In my dreams, I held the two halves of Gallus Tadius' broken death-mask and sought to join them together. It seemed to me that all would be right if only I could make it whole. The siege would be lifted and Lucius restored to himself. Everyone would be happy and free. I couldn't do it, though. The wax was old and brittle, crumbling beneath my hands. The harder I tried, the faster it crumbled. And I knew, somehow, that there was a charm that would make it stop, that would make time run backward in its course until the mask was whole and Gilot was alive again and everything was right in the world, only I didn't know the words, the right words. It was somewhat I'd known a long time ago, a very long time ago, but I had lost it. Because I was too careless, because I was bad.

I woke myself mumbling.

"Imriel!" Eamonn's voice boomed in the bedchamber. I opened my eyes and squinted at him. He was standing before the window, sunlight making a fiery halo of his red-gold hair. "Wake up! I'm getting married today."

Chapter Fifty-Four