Kushiel's Scion (Imriel's Trilogy #1)

"No." His scowl deepened. "I'm the fourth son of a poor manor. It's why I sought service in her ladyship's household; that, and her reputation. But why hold yourself cheap? You don't need to compromise, Imri."

I sighed. "Let me do this in my own way, Gilot. If you don't like it, you needn't come."

He snorted. "Oh, I'm coming! Make no mistake. If you want to be the only peasant in Tiberium with a bodyguard, so be it."

I grinned at him. "Well, mayhap not a peasant, exactly."

Our ship sailed on the morrow. We presented ourselves at the quai. Our mounts and pack-horses were ushered belowdecks, our belongings stowed. I made my way to the prow of the ship, cheering alongside the sailors as we hoisted anchor. The rowers bent to their oars and stroked. The ship turned slowly in the harbor of Marsilikos, green-blue waves breaking along her prow. Its sails began to fill and belly, and we picked up speed as we went.

Gilot shivered. "I've never left Terre d'Ange."

We passed Eisheth's Isle, narrow and barren. A few fishermen watched us go. I touched Gilot's arm. "I know," I said. "It's all right. Believe me, I have gone farther than this. I promise you, all is well."

It was a good journey, though a strange one. Gilot retired to our tiny cabin, where he spent most of his time. It wasn't that he was seasick—not like Joscelin—but the sight of all that open water made him uneasy. For the most part, I stayed abovedeck. It all came back to me; how to stand, how to walk. I helped where I was able, and tried not to make a nuisance of myself otherwise. I leaned in the prow and watched the dolphins that toyed in our wake, leaping and smiling their enigmatic smiles.

I remembered Fadil Chouma pointing them out to me.

I remembered the fountain in Elua's Square.

But mostly, blessedly, I forgot. Aboard the ship, I was only Imriel, a paying passenger who was less trouble than not. I gazed out at the four quarters of the world, bounded only by water and more water, and felt giddy with freedom. In the wind's salt spray, I felt scoured clean of my own dark desires. I diced with sailors and scrambled in the rigging when they dared me. I perched, swaying, in the crow's nest athwart the mainmast, hollering at the sight of land.

It came too soon.

"Ostia!" one of my shipmates shouted, crowding into the narrow space beside me. He flung his arm out like a spear, pointing straight and true. "Ostia!"

I clambered down from the rigging, sobering. As we neared the lighthouse, Gilot emerged from belowdecks, staring at the shore. "So," he said. "That's where we're bound."

I clapped my hand on his shoulder. "It's a start," I said. " 'Tis the gateway to Tiberium."

It was a massive, bustling port. Once we disembarked, we had to wait for the horses and our gear to be unloaded. Gilot stared around at a loss, having never been away from native soil. The quais were crowded with folk from different nations—Caerdicci of every ilk, Illyrians, Carthaginians, Aragonians, Menekhetans, Jebeans, and Umaiyyati. Here and there, one saw a D'Angeline face, but not many. A babble of languages and dialects filled the air.

I caught Gilot gaping at a crew of dark-skinned sailors aboard a Jebean ship, busily unloading cargo. "Don't stare," I said, nudging him. "You look provincial."

He shut his mouth with an audible click. "I am provincial, Imri!"

One of the sailors pointed at us, grinning. I daresay we looked like a fine pair of idiots, standing around open-mouthed in the midst of all that activity. I laughed and waved to him, calling out, "Selam!" He mimed surprise at my greeting him in Jeb'ez, then gave a cheerful wave in reply and went about his business.

At length our horses and baggage were unloaded. The Bastard was nearly as unnerved as Gilot, spooking in all directions, threatening to wreak havoc on the quai. After I got him calmed, I hired a porter to lead us to the river wharf.

The wharf was as crowded as the quai. Barges docked beneath the shadow of a guard tower, their captains shouting for business. Throngs of merchants and porters clogged the wharf, dotted with vendors selling food cooked over open-air braziers. Realizing our bellies were rumbling, we paused at one to purchase meat pies wrapped in pastry.

"Name of Elua!" Gilot swallowed with difficulty. "What's in this thing?"

I chewed reflectively. The taste was strange, peppery and pungent, with an underlying saltiness. "I don't know," I said. "I'll ask."

The vendor beamed when I asked him in Caerdicci. "You like it? Only good things, young D'Angeline lord! Minced meat and peppercorns, pine kernels and garum." He chuckled. "The garum is a family recipe, a secret. That's what makes my pies the best."

"Garum?" I asked. Without divulging his family's secret, he told me the essence of what it contained. I nodded my thanks. "Fish paste and herbs," I said to Gilot. "Fermented in the sun for several weeks."

He gagged.

I grinned and took another bite. "Better get used to it. It seems the Tiberians are very proud of their garum."

Once we had eaten, we set about booking passage up the TiberRiver. On our porter's advice, I spoke to several barge-captains. I remembered how Kaneka had haggled with the caravan drivers at Majibara, and took her example to heart. When all was said and done, I struck a decent bargain. Along with a few other passengers, we loaded our mounts, our baggage, and ourselves aboard a shallow-bottomed barge. At the tiller, the captain gave the command, and the oarsmen struck out.

We began to glide up the wide, flat expanse of the TiberRiver.

The other passengers were a family of Menekhetan merchants, slight and dark, ferrying a cargo of linens. I listened to them speak amongst themselves, catching a word here and there. I wondered if the Tiber disappointed them after the great river of the Nahar.

"You seem different here," Gilot observed.

"Do I?" I smiled. "I feel different. I feel… free." We glided beneath the arch of a massive bridge. I pointed out a carving on one of its supporting columns. Although it was worn, one could still discern the doubled features of a deity, looking at once north and south. "Do you see that, Gilot? Janus, god of bridges and doorways, of crossroads. I'll warrant it was already old when Blessed Elua first trod the earth."

Gilot shuddered. "I'll take my gods with one face, thank you!"

A tickle of foreboding brushed my spine as I remembered Alais' dream. Our barge passed beneath the bridge's shadow, emerging into sunlight. "I'm just saying, look about you, Gilot," I said lightly, gesturing toward the banks. "There is a world beyond Terre d'Ange, and much of it is worthy of admiration."

He looked sourly at me. "What's Tiberium done lately?"

The barge-captain muttered somewhat in Caerdicci about D'Angeline snobbery and spat into the river. I watched his sputum swirl in the oars' wake.

"Plenty," I said to Gilot. "It reinvented itself as a center for learning, for one. Even Terre d'Ange acknowledges the preeminence of the University of Tiberium. That's why Eamonn came, and that's why I'm here. If you don't like it, bear in mind, I didn't ask you to come here with me."

Gilot hunched his shoulders and looked miserable. "I'm not a scholar," he muttered.

"I know." I touched his arm. "You don't have to stay, you know."

He looked at me with obdurate stubbornness. "Oh, I'm staying!"

"Fine," I said. "Then stop being an ass."

Once we glimpsed Tiberium proper, even Gilot had to own himself impressed. It is an old city, and if it no longer possesses the power it once held, it was still vast; bigger by far than the City of Elua. We both fell silent, gazing at the sprawl of buildings and monuments that covered its seven hills.

"It's… big," Gilot said faintly. "That it is," I agreed.

As in Ostia, the wharf swirled with activity. It had originally been in my thoughts to seek Eamonn straightaway, but the scale of Tiberium overwhelmed me. The warehouses alone seemed enormous. Iskandria was the only city I had ever seen as large, and there I had been accompanied by Phèdre and Joscelin, who already knew it. Here, I was alone, save for Gilot, who was little help. I was also tired and dirty, and it was growing late; the sun was hovering low over the seven hills. I looked around for a porter or a guide to hire, but it seemed all were engaged with bigger quarry than a pair of travel-worn D'Angelines. Gilot stood numb beside me, holding our horses.

In marked contrast to our sorry state, a trio of elegant young nobles disembarked from a pleasure-barge near us; young men, laughing and talking in animated Caerdicci. I plucked at my salt-stained doublet and looked enviously at them.

"Hey, D'Angeline!" one of them called. "What's the matter? Are you lost? Looking for the nearest brothel?"

His fellows laughed. I smiled ruefully. "A decent inn would do, my friend."

"Oh, friend, is it?" The one who had spoken eyed me. He had an unruly mass of dark auburn curls and young satyr's face, with sharp cheekbones and a wide, curling smile. "You're presuming a lot."

I shrugged. "A friend until proven otherwise."

He laughed. "I like that! Did you hear that, Aulus?" He thrust out a well-manicured hand. "Lucius Tadius da Lucca."

I clasped it. "Imriel nó Montrève."

A lively curiosity lit his gaze. "Montrève. You're adopted, yes? Do I understand D'Angeline nomenclature?"

"You do," I said. "And I am."

"The name strikes a chord," Lucius Tadius mused. "Ah well, no mind! What brings you to Tiberium, young Montrève? Another impoverished gentleman scholar come to try your luck at the University? I see your dumbstruck manservant standing by."

Gilot scowled.

I grinned, unable to help myself. Despite his insouciance, I sensed no malice in this Lucius. "Something like that," I said. "Can you point us toward an inn in the students' quarter?"

He raised his brows. "My dear, we can point you toward a dozen. We're all gentlemen scholars here. Aulus, Donato, come. Let us acquit ourselves of our civic duty and lead our hapless guests to lodging." Lucius gave me a sidelong glance. "And perhaps the baths," he added. "You're a lovely specimen, young Montrève, but a bit grimy."

True to his word, Lucius Tadius and his fellows escorted us into the heart of the city proper. I was grateful for his aid, realizing we would have gotten lost in short order. While the main road, the Via Appia, was wide and imposing, the students' quarter was a dense labyrinth, situated between the University and a major forum. It was a confusing jumble of inns, wineshops, and vendors, and the insulae, the apartments where most students dwelled, rose in staggering tiers. When we arrived, the sun was no longer visible and the narrow streets were filled with blue shadows.

"There," Lucius said crisply, pointing. "Or there, or there. If you want your mounts well-tended, I recommend Lollia's place. She keeps a clean stable if you can afford it." He watched as I dismounted. "That's a good-looking horse you ride, my friend."

I slapped the Bastard's speckled shoulder. "He's had a long journey."

"Haven't we all?" Lucius said cryptically. He pointed eastward. "The nearest public bath lies yonder, past the forum. I suggest you avail yourself of it."

"We will," I promised. "Thank you for your aid, truly."

Lucius shrugged. "Don't go noising it about. I've a reputation to uphold." He raised a hand in farewell. "Good luck to you, D'Angeline! Perhaps we'll see you in the lecture halls."

"Ass," Gilot muttered as Lucius and his companions departed.

I glanced at him. He was swaying in the saddle, glassy-eyed. "Come on," I said. "Let's see if this Lollia has a room to let."

She did, and we took it. I was glad to have a place to rest, glad to have our horses stabled and content. The Bastard eyed me with reproach, then sank his muzzle into a bucket of oats. We unloaded the pack-horses, staggering under the weight of our baggage, carrying it up several flights of stairs. By the time the transaction was fully concluded, the twilight that had settled over Tiberium was deepening to darkness.

"Baths," Gilot mumbled, his face sunk into his pallet.

I closed my eyes. "Tomorrow."

Behind my eyelids, darkness swirled; an abyss, dragging me downward. This time, I didn't fight it. In the city of Tiberium at last, I let sleep claim me.

Chapter Thirty-One

I woke hungry.

There wasn't much to be had at the inn, but we broke our fast with bread drizzled with honey and a handful of dried dates. The innkeeper Lollia assured us that the vendors would open ere long. Thus fortified, Gilot and I ventured out in search of the baths.

In the morning light, Tiberium was no less imposing, but one could see that it had fallen from its former glory. The buildings and monuments that marked the height of the empire were in poor repair. Still, if the tiles along the arching colonnades of the Great Forum were chipped and dirty, the space itself was still impossibly vast.

We found our way to the baths without difficulty. It was a huge structure, built to serve the needs of hundreds or mayhap even thousands of citizens. Early though it was, they were already doing a lively trade. The price was surprisingly reasonable.

"Oh yes," the attendant assured me with a pointed sniff. "It is in everyone's interest to make the baths affordable."

"I take your meaning," I said dryly.

After days at sea without a proper bath, it was pure bliss. Gilot and I indulged in the fullest, beginning in the steam room. We sat on benches, sweat streaming, grinning at one another through clouds of steam. Once we had sweated out days' worth of grime, we moved to the caldarium, plunging into scalding baths and sluicing away the sweat. There attendants poured olive oil over our skin and scraped it off with curved metal strigils.