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

Once it was done, the young acolyte gave him another draught of opium. With a sigh, Gilot settled into a deeper sleep.

"You'll watch over him?" I asked her.

"Yes, my lord." There was a trace of shyness in her voice.

"Good." I made myself smile. "What's your name?"

"Filomena," she whispered.

"Filomena." I touched her cheek. "My name is Imriel, and this is Gilot. If he wakes before I return, I pray you, tell him I'm fine and all is well, everyone is safe. He'll worry, otherwise. Will you help me in this?"

She swallowed. "Yes, of course."

I left the Temple of Asclepius, taking my anger with me. I didn't know what to do with it or where to go. Pray, the priest had said, but I couldn't. The anger was too big, like a boulder in my heart. I couldn't get around it. There was a dull ache radiating from the middle of my spine where my attacker had struck me. Told to tell you, that's for Baudoin.

Baudoin de Trevalion, long dead. He had aspired to the throne. My mother had been his lover, his co-conspirator. Ultimately, his betrayer. She had determined that he wouldn't serve her purposes well enough to suit her, and she'd brought him tumbling down.

I remembered the bitterness in Bertran's voice the night L'Envers had tried to frame me. Baudoin de Trevalion was executed for treason, and the stench of the Trevalion name still reeked less than Somerville's after your mother was done with it.

Elua, but I was sick of these coils of intrigue! And I was sick unto death at the thought that it was Gilot paying the price for all of it.

I walked swiftly through the city, heedless of my own safety. I'd gone beyond caring. I almost relished the stab of pain each stride provoked. Nonna had said the ankle wasn't broken; well and good, it would heal. It seemed a fitting punishment. For the first time, I understood why people visited Kushiel's temple to purge their hearts and souls.

Pain might not scourge away guilt, but it helped.

Outside the insula, Canis' barrel lay in the street, abandoned and half-staved. Master Ambrosius was supervising the repair of his shutters. He gave me a sour look as I drew near. "I hope you're pleased with this night's doings, young scholar," he muttered. "Ought to have you thrown out, you and your manservant."

My temper flared. "Oh, indeed?" I accorded him a cynical bow, laying my right hand on the hilt of my dagger. "Well, the next time some drunkard thinks to hurl a torch into your shop and send up a lifetime's worth of tribute to the gods, I'll not bother to stop him."

The incense-maker sucked his teeth. "You did that?"

"For all the good it's worth." I jerked my chin at the barrel. "Where's Canis?"

"The beggar?" He shrugged. "How should I know?"

"He kept your shop from being robbed, once," I said in disgust. "You might be bothered to give a damn."

Master Ambrosius repeated his shrug. "He stinks. It's bad for business. The other one was here, though," he added grudgingly. "The one who brought a message. Didn't leave one, just asked after you."

"My thanks," I said curtly.

I found Anna and told her what the priest had said. She bore the news bravely, but I could see her knuckles whiten as her hands clutched one another. She'd buried one husband young, and it had taken courage to risk caring for another man; her unlikely D'Angeline, nursing his own broken heart. It hurt to see the fear in her eyes.

"May I see him?" she asked in a low tone.

"Later, yes. He'll not wake for a time." I hesitated. "Is there someone who can care for Belinda?" She nodded. "All right, then. I'll come back for you, the city's not terribly safe yet. We can buy a votive-offering for Asclepius together and take it there. Does that suit?"

"Thank you, my lord!" The gratitude in her eyes was worse than the fear. Bobbing an awkward curtsy, she caught my hand and kissed it. I knew then that Gilot had told her who I was, and I repressed a sigh.

"Imriel," I said gently. "Just Imriel."

I left her then and went back into the city. I didn't trust myself to confront Claudia. Not yet. I went first to the Old Forum. It was teeming with a volatile mix of irate citizens and disgruntled students, held in check by a cohort of the princeps' own guard, recognizable by the purple stripe that bordered their white cloaks. I lost myself in the crowd and listened for a time while a group of senators stood upon the rostra and spoke in turn, denouncing both the night's violence and the plans of the Restorationists and the citizen assembly to diminish Tiberium's claim to academic glory.

Neither faction seemed pleased, but there was little to be said in anyone's defense. After the senators spoke, the lord chancellor of the University took the rostra and gave voice to his profound shame at the conduct of the students. He was a venerable figure, and I'd only ever seen him at a distance, but spoke he well, and a number of my fellow students looked abashed. I listened to the crowd, hoping to hear a familiar mutter.

There was no sign of my attacker, nor even the sharp-featured scholar whose neck I had marked. I guessed there wouldn't be; not him, nor a few others whose voices had been loudest in inciting the riots. Scholars' robes or no, I didn't think they were students.

When the lord chancellor had finished, Deccus Fulvius took the rostra and began to denounce his fellow Restorationists for acting in precipitous haste. I didn't stay to listen, slipping away instead to make my way to his domus, taking my coiled anger where it belonged.

Once there, I pushed my way past the servant who admitted me. The atrium was empty, save for the impluvium in the center and the shimmering reflection of sunlight dancing on the walls. When I raised my voice, it echoed.

"Claudia!" I shouted. "Claudia!"

She came.

Her face was anxious, brows knit into creases. They eased at the sight of me. "Imriel! I was worried. I sent Nestor to ask after you, but he could learn nothing."

I crossed the atrium in swift strides, grasping her face in my hands. A knot of fury twisted in my belly. "House Trevalion," I hissed. "That's it, isn't it?"

Claudia turned pale. "Are you hurt?"

"No," I said grimly. "But Gilot is."

Her lids flickered. "I begged you to stay off the street!"

"And you bade me to warn my friends." My thumbs itched, yearning to dig into her flesh. "Did you think I wouldn't listen? Did you know someone would try to kill me?"

She tried in vain to pull away. "No! I only knew it would be dangerous out there."

"Oh, it was," I agreed. "Lucius was caught in the middle of it."

"He wasn't supposed to be. Nestor was supposed to find him." There was a trace of fear in her voice. "Is he all right?"

I thrust her from me. "What do you care?"

"He's my brother!" Her eyes flashed. We stared at one another, breathing hard. I wanted to hate her, and did. But there was somewhat else there, too. Her face softened, the lines of worry returning. "Imriel, please. Just tell me, is Lucius hurt?"

"He's fine," I said shortly.

Claudia closed her eyes. "Thank you."

I sank onto the marble bench where guests sat to remove their boots, my fury giving way to a deep weariness. "So who is it, Claudia? Bertran? Ghislain? What member of House Trevalion wanted to avenge Baudoin's death badly enough to kill me? Do you care so little for me you were willing to let them do it?"

"I can't…" She swallowed. "I didn't think… All right. All right!" For a long moment, she stood silent and motionless. There was only the steady rise and fall of her breast. When she spoke, the words emerged flat, devoid of emotion. "It was his sister, Baudoin's sister. Bernadette de Trevalion."

"I see." I rubbed my face. "Does the Guild have proof of this?"

"Yes." Her tone remained even. "There's a man named Ruggero Caccini. He employs a number of unsavory types and accepts commissions for this sort of work. The Guild has found it… useful… to maintain contact with him. He provides affidavits detailing his commissions."

"For the purpose of blackmail?" I asked.

"For the purpose of information, for which he is remunerated and enjoys a measure of protection." Claudia took a deep breath. "Imriel, that's all I know. That's the coin I was given to entice you. To pay you for your loyalty, should you swear it. I don't even know who holds the proof, although it still could be yours if you prove willing. It's complicated. I swear to you, I didn't believe you were truly in mortal danger."

"Why?" I asked, my voice hard. "Why, Claudia?"

"I can't say," she said brokenly. "Please, please believe me."

"That's the problem." I stood. "I don't."

I meant to leave; I wanted to leave. My decision was made. I wanted to be done with the lot of it—Tiberium, Claudia, the Unseen Guild. But then Claudia drew near me, and I could feel the heat coming off her. In the wake of the riots, the revelation, my emotions were in an uproar. The unstoppable tide of desire rose, my resolve ebbing. Bowing her head, she touched the charred hole in the shoulder of my shirt, the clean bandage beneath. In my haste to get Gilot to the Temple of Asclepius, I'd forgotten what I must look like.

"You are hurt," she whispered. "Oh, Imriel! Come here, please."

Elua help me, I went.

Why, I could not say, save that I was angry and tired and hurt, and I wanted to punish us both. While Deccus Fulvius stood upon the rostra and proclaimed his innocence, I took his wife in their bedchamber. It was a fierce coupling, anger-driven. I left marks on Claudia's skin, the impress of my teeth in the full, white curve of her breast. She cried out, but she didn't protest. Not when I bit her. Not when I spread her thighs with an ungentle touch and pinned her hands above her head, driving into her. She didn't need to. In this battle, she had already won. I had already lost. I would take my leave of her without having gained mastery.

Still, there was a strange peace in it.

At least in bed we understood one another.

"Imriel de la Courcel." Claudia toyed with my hair. "What will you do?"

"I don't know." I glanced at her. "Take my concerns to the D'Angeline ambassadress, I reckon. It's about time, don't you think?"

Her brows rose. "Without proof? Imriel, you can't repeat what I've told you. Truly, you can't. Not without endangering us both for exposing the Guild. It's my fault. I shouldn't have trusted you."

I sighed and dragged myself out of her bed; Deccus' bed. "Fine. I've the proof of my own ears, lady. Last night, someone tried to kill me, or at the least, to do me grievous harm. Baudoin's name was spoken. I don't need the Guild's evidence. I'm not even sure I want it."

She gazed at me, lips parted. "Why ever not? You could use it to bring down House Trevalion."

With a wince, I eased my sore and bound left foot into one leg of my breeches, and then the other. Claudia watched me with curious eyes as I stood to pull up my breeches, the way a child might watch a favorite toy being placed out of reach.

"You answer your own question," I said softly. "Because the Guild is ruthless, and it lacks compassion. And I am not certain I want any part of such a thing. I value my life, but I value my honor, too. I don't want to destroy House Trevalion. I just want to be left in peace. When all is said and done, I am D'Angeline, first and foremost. I honor Blessed Elua's precept, and there is little love here." I strung Canis' medallion around my neck and reached for my scorched shirt. "Claudia, I have to go."

She sat up, dragging her fingers through her disheveled hair. "Imriel, listen…"

There was a discreet tap on the door of the bedchamber. "My lady," said a muffled voice from the other side of the door. "His lordship returns."

Claudia's fox-brown eyes widened. "Go!"

I went.

Perforce, I exited from the rear of the domus. I ran through the peristyle garden, rope sandals clutched in one hand, leaving a scent of bruised herbs behind me. I gripped a handful of clinging vines and vaulted over the high garden wall.

The landing hurt, jarring my ankle, but mercifully, it was in an unattended property. Sandals in hand, I limped back toward the street.

There, outside the Fulvii domus, I sat and donned my sandals, adjusting my sword-belt and the sheath strapped to my left calf.

Everything hurt, and I was tired; tired and confused and sore.

And yet, strangely, my anger had dwindled.

I was alone in Tiberium; alone and nameless. In that moment, I could have gone anywhere, done anything. I could have left the whole complicated mess behind me. House Trevalion, the Guild; all of it. No one knew where I was. Even Gilot had lost track of me. He was safe in the Temple of Asclepius, safer than he would be with me. There was only Claudia who knew my whereabouts, and not for long. If I had wanted to vanish, I could have chosen to do so, then and there.

I wouldn't, though.

"My choice," I said, standing and testing my unsteady ankle. "Mine."

No one heard and no one cared.

Being alone, I thought, was a lonely business.

Chapter Forty-Three

After the rioting, Tiberium was chastened and quiet. The city cohort and the princeps' guard patrolled the streets in significant numbers. The University closed its doors, presenting a blank face of disapproval to its students. No lectures were held, there or elsewhere.