Kushiel's Scion (85 page)

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Authors: Jacqueline Carey

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BOOK: Kushiel's Scion

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I shrugged. "Hiding. Searching. I'm not sure."

"And they just let you go?"

"Not happily." I smiled at the memory of Ysandre's fury. "But I've come to realize I can't stay, Lucius. Truth be told, our situations aren't so different. After you're wed, I'll go back and face my responsibilities."

"I'm glad you're staying for it," he said. "And I'm glad you told me."

"So am I," I said.

In the weeks that followed, Lucius gave me no reason to regret my confidence in him. For all that he had an acerbic tongue, he was a loyal friend. As I had asked him to do, he kept the knowledge to himself and treated me no differently, although betimes I caught him giving me wondering glances out of the corner of his eye.

They were precious to me, those weeks; the last fleeting weeks of freedom before I would reclaim the mantle of Prince Imriel de la Courcel. Strange to say, I had more freedom now than I'd enjoyed since childhood or was like to ever again. With my decision made, I was free of the doubt and confusion that had plagued me ever since Claudia Fulvia seduced me and told me of the Unseen Guild. With Gilot confined to his sickbed, grumbling under Anna's care, I was free of any guard or caretaker. With Ruggero Caccini's letter in my possession, I was free of the threat of violence.

I treasured my time with Master Piero most of all.

I told him, of course. We met in his crowded study, and he listened as I told him why I would be leaving. When I had finished, he gave me that unexpectedly sweet smile that illuminated his homely face.

"I am pleased," he said simply.

"You are?" I blinked.

"Oh, yes." Master Piero nodded. "I will be sorry to lose you as a student, Imriel de la Courcel. Indeed, I find myself growing short of students!" Another Master would have been perturbed; Master Piero merely laughed. "Ah, but it is virtue we seek, is it not? And you will find more courage and strength of character in facing the things one dreads than in fleeing them, young prince."

"I hope so," I said.

The days passed quickly, summer's heat slowly diminishing with the advent of autumn. I spent my mornings with Master Piero and the other students. A few more joined; new ones, including a young pair of Tiberian tradesman's sons who had been wont to loiter around the outskirts of our conversations when we met in the public fora. They were rough-spoken, but eager to learn. I wondered at first how they had paid the bursar's fee; then I saw the look of quiet satisfaction on Lucius' face and guessed. He, too, had taken Master Piero's lessons to heart. I was envious I hadn't thought of it myself.

Still, it made me smile to see them gape at the way he framed ideas, asking pointed questions to make them think. They spoke with the same heady excitement that Eamonn had when I first arrived; the same I'd felt after Master Piero had first inspired me.

I felt older, now.

To be sure, I had reason, but I think we all felt it, even Brigitta. She had grown easier in Eamonn's company, and no longer carried her wax tablet, scowling and writing furious notes. And too, the riot and its aftermath had changed things. We had seen our fellow students at their worst, and strived to be better. We were the ones who had stayed with Master Piero when he challenged our assumptions. We had survived the attrition.

We were older.

During the afternoons, I spent time with Gilot. He was improving. His bruises had faded and he could walk easily, so long as he did not walk too far or fast. Then, his breathing grew labored and he clutched at his chest where a sharp stitch of pain caught him. His hand was still bound in a cumbersome splint. Asclepius' priest had said it could be removed before we departed for Lucca. What we would find, he could not promise.

Gilot tried hard not to be bitter, although he was. He felt useless. We had a fight when he refused to accept his monthly stipend, claiming he had not earned it. So I gave the money in secret to Anna and found him work instead, sitting for Erytheia of Thrasos. She took one look at him and smiled.

"Endymion," she said.

"An easy pose," I cautioned her. "Nothing taxing."

"The easiest," she agreed.

So Gilot posed for her as Endymion, whom a goddess had loved, lying supine on a pallet, one arm outstretched and the other, with its splinted hand, hidden. It kept him quiescent and it restored a small measure of his pride. I visited the atelier from time to time and watched the painting take shape on Erytheia's panel. Sleeping Endymion, caressed by moonlight. I looked at Gilot's averted profile, the brown curls on his brow, the vulnerable curve of his torso, hearing Anna's broken whisper.

He's so beautiful.

I kept my promise to Denise Fleurais and paid a visit to her couturier. He was D'Angeline and far more pleasant than Favrielle nó Eglantine, of whom he spoke in terms of hushed awe. He took my measurements and began to work on a suitable wardrobe for Lucius' wedding.

It all went quickly, so quickly.

My favorite parts were the evenings. We gathered in the wineshop—our wineshop, with the faded sign of Bacchus above the door—and spun out the night in drink and conversation. Betimes the new students would join us, but often it was only the four of us, Master Piero's true acolytes. We had all grown easy with one another. Brigitta had abandoned her bristling defenses, and Lucius his careless posturing. I no longer hid from my identity with them. And Eamonn… well, Eamonn was Eamonn. He had never pretended to be aught else. But the difference was, the others saw his merit.

It was a good time.

Too often, such times pass unnoticed, unmarked; treasured only in hindsight. Knowing was a gift. I wish I had known, in Kaneka's village of Debeho, how happy I was. In Tiberium, I knew. And I treasured each moment, saying to myself, "Here, I have friends. Here, I am happy. Remember this."

Soon, too soon, everything would change.

I had a hard decision to make in Terre d'Ange. Was it better to blackmail Bernadette de Trevalion or expose the truth? Once, I would have thought the choice easy. She'd tried to have me killed; she deserved no less. I'd wanted L'Envers to admit his guilt publicly and this was worse, far worse. And yet her punishment would be worse, too. Gaol or exile; mayhap even a sentence of execution. Although we were close kin, I didn't even know her well enough to hate her. Ruggero had thought she'd acted alone. What if it were true? Bertran had been a friend, once; her husband Ghislain was the Royal Commander. Phèdre and Joscelin had ridden under his command in the Skaldic War. They considered him a boon companion.

If I exposed the truth, would it cauterize the wound as Master Piero said? Or would it merely breed another generation of blood feud? Somehow, I suspected the latter.

And beyond lay Alba. What I would find there, I could not guess. Alba was a different world; wilder and less civilized. I would be marrying a woman I scarce knew, and praying to Blessed Elua and his Companions that I could be kind and tender to her. That I could restrain my own dark desires and be a good husband. Dorelei had a laugh that made Alais smile.

Pray I did nothing to squelch that laughter.

Rejoice in the company of friends.

Love.

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

So Elua's priest had promised long ago. I drew my strength from cold comfort, and I loved without fear; my friends, Master Piero, Tiberium itself. I had grown to love the very city in all its decrepit grandeur. I had walked every inch of it by now. I knew it in the soles of my feet, in the sturdy muscles of my calves. Surely the finding mattered more than the losing.

It must be so.

Two days before we were due to depart for Lucca, we made our last excursion to the isle of Asclepius. The others had offered to come, and Anna had yearned to accompany us, but Gilot refused. He didn't want me to come, either, but I insisted. We made the trip alone. He sat in the barge, cradling his splinted hand in his lap.

"Are you afraid?" I asked him.

He shot me a dire glance. "What do you think?"

I kept my mouth shut, then.

At the temple, the priest removed the splint, his mouth down-turned and grave. He unwound what seemed like yards of linen bandages. Gilot watched fearfully as the wooden splints were removed and his naked hand was exposed. It looked strange; pallid and shrunken. The priest studied it.

"Make a fist," he ordered.

Gilot's hand twitched. "I can't."

"Try harder," the priest said ruthlessly.

He did; his thumb and forefinger described a circle. The other fingers barely moved. "What good am I?" Gilot murmured. "I'll not even be able to grip a sword."

The priest shrugged. "Just as well," he said. "If you get into a sword-fight, that bone-splinter in your chest is like to shift and kill you."

Cold comfort.

Gilot was quiet during our return trip. The priest had given him a salve—by the smell of it, it was much the same as the one Joscelin had used—and taught him a series of exercises to stretch and strengthen his hand. Still, it was clear that he'd never have the same use of it.

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

"I know." He stirred from his slough of despondency. "It's not your fault, Imri. You were trying to protect your friends, and I was trying to protect you. It's the only thing I've ever been good at. It's not your fault I wasn't good enough."

"That's not true!" I raised my voice. "Gilot, I could have died in that riot, but I didn't."

"Aye," he said. "No thanks to me. I got mobbed, Imri. Just like I did in that tavern where you picked a fight with the boatman. Do you remember?" He laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it. "Truly, when have I ever been of use? I've drawn my sword in your defense, but I've never been ruthless enough to use it. Joscelin wouldn't have hesitated. I did. Name of Elua, Lucius did more to save you that night than I did!"

I shook my head. "It wasn't just Lucius. There was someone else."

"I thought he was just a self-satisfied Caerdicci ass, with his clever tongue, and his 'your manservant this' and 'your manservant that,' but he kept a level head—" Gilot broke off his rant as my words penetrated. "What do you mean there was someone else?"

In all this time, we hadn't spoken much of that night. I still hadn't told him about Bernadette de Trevalion; in fact, I'd sworn Eamonn to secrecy. Gilot carried enough guilt, a burden I knew all too well. This was different, though.

"Someone else," I said. "Someone broke up the throng, enough for Lucius to reach me."

Gilot frowned. "Who?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I wish I did. Lucius thought that whoever it was, they killed to do it. I remember hearing cries, and tripping over bodies, too. Gilot." I touched his pale, crabbed sword-hand. "You warded our backs. If you hadn't, we might not have gotten out of the wineshop in one piece. And if you'd begun laying about with your sword"—I shivered—"things would have gotten worse. You were right, the quarter was a tinderbox. There were a great many angry students with torches that night, remember?"

"Joscelin—" he began.

"Joscelin wasn't there!" I took a deep breath, calming myself. "Ah, Gilot! I do it, too. It's hard to measure one's actions against his. But the truth is, we can only do our best. You did, and I'm grateful for it. And I'm sorry you were hurt. But I still need you."

He lifted his broken hand. "For what?"

"I need your loyalty." I held his gaze. "Gilot, I know you. I trust you. Please."

After a moment, he nodded. "For whatever it's worth, I'll stay by your side, Imriel." His mouth twisted. "Not much, I fear. But I'll stay, until you're ready to go home."

"My thanks," I said.

Gilot shrugged.

On the near side of the Tiber, our barge nosed the wharf. I helped Gilot disembark. I would have hired a litter, but I gauged his mood and decided against it. We walked slowly through the streets of Tiberium to the insula.

"So," he said. "There was someone else that night. Who?"

I touched my breast, feeling for the clay medallion that no longer hung there. It was gone, crushed to shards and dust on the floor of Erytheia's atelier. Its secret message was gone. Do no harm, it had read. I thought about Canis who had given it to me. Canis, who had vanished. Canis after the rioting, with a tooth missing and scabs on the knuckles of his left hand. "I don't know," I said. "But my wager's on Canis."

"Canis!" Gilot's head jerked. "Why?"

I shook my head. "I wish I knew."

Chapter Forty-Eight