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

All knowledge was worth having.

"Right," Gallus said when he had finished. "You've leave to go, all save those I've asked to stay. I'll expect complete inventories and a list of the new militia on the morrow."

Almost everyone filed out of the basilica. We stayed, although Gallus hadn't asked us; but he didn't order us to go, either.

Gaetano Correggio stayed, and Helena with him. A handful of other noblemen stayed and a priest in a conical white hat, accompanied by several acolytes. I thought I had glimpsed them before in the temple of Jupiter.

"That's the flamen dialis." Claudia frowned. "What's Lucius up to?"

"Claudia Fulvia." Gallus beckoned to her. "Since you claim to speak for the Tadeii, you may serve as a witness to my wedding."

"What?" The word escaped my lips involuntarily.

Gallus Tadius grinned at me. "You put the thought in my head, fancy-boy. Why not? The lass was wed against the will of her paterfamilias. On Gaetano's word, the priest can decree a divorce and free her to wed me. It will undermine Valpetra's claim to Lucca and reinforce mine." He shrugged. "Might not have as much effect as we'd hope. He'll argue against it, and he's mad as hell since you lopped off his hand. I doubt he means to give any quarter. But it might help turn his troops against him, once they learn I'm bedding his bride. She's soiled goods, but I don't mind. Every weapon that comes to hand is fair game in war."

I glanced at Helena Correggio, and wished I hadn't.

She was terrified. The moment I looked at her, her gaze locked onto mine, mute and pleading. Begging for a hero to rescue her. All I could do was heave an inward sigh. This business of being a hero was a good deal more difficult than I'd reckoned. I'd saved the maiden from the villain and all it had done was infuriate the villain, complicate my own standing, and thrust the maiden into the arms of another villain—the one on our side. The man with two faces.

Was he a friend?

One of him was.

With a silent prayer to Blessed Elua, I steeled myself to make an enemy of Gallus Tadius. But before I could speak, Claudia intervened.

"My lord priest," she asked in concern. "Is this lawful?"

The flamen dialis looked profoundly uncomfortable. "Under certain circumstances, yes. If the paterfamilias seeks it. I trust the wedding was not confarreatio?"

"What does that mean?" I whispered to Deccus Fulvius.

"It's a binding form of marriage," he said, then hushed me.

Claudia turned to Helena. "Tell us," she said gently.

Betimes, men who know one another's minds have no need for speech. It is different with women. They need not know one another to communicate without words. I saw Claudia's subtle nod, and I saw Helena's eyes widen in understanding. Only slightly, so slightly. If it were not for Phèdre's training, I doubt I would have seen it.

"He took me to a village." Helena clenched her fists at her sides, then pointed. "Southwest. I don't know the name. The priest—his priest—was waiting there. The flamen dialis of Valpetra." She bit her lip. "I didn't want to do it! But he said he would kill me."

The priest frowned. "How was it done, child?"

She told him.

A sheep was sacrificed, and there was a red veil and an oatcake; witnesses assembled, vows recited, and a contract written and signed. The details meant nothing to me, save that they seemed to fulfill the requirements for a confarreatio marriage—one that could not be dissolved.

Helena Correggio didn't lie well.

I daresay it was her sheer terror that sold her tale. Whatever else was true, she had been abducted and forcibly wed against her will, and the details she began to divulge of her nuptial evening held the ring of truth. The marriage had been consummated with violent glee on the part of Domenico Martelli. The flamen dialis cut her off and turned to Gallus Tadius.

"It is confarreatio" he said formally. "I do not have the authority to decree a divorce."

The news didn't sit well with Gallus. His face darkened with fury.

"Fine," he snapped, grabbing Helena by the wrist. "Then I will make a cuckold of him."

"My lord…" The priest's protest trailed off. Gaetano Correggio looked sick and did nothing; he had made his devil's bargain. Deccus Fulvius looked like he wanted to be elsewhere, like facing an angry mob in Tiberium. Claudia turned her palms up in a helpless gesture; she had done what she could. Eamonn caught my eye and moved to ward my back, and I heaved another inward sigh.

"Lucius." I interposed myself between him and the girl. "You don't want to do this."

There was no Lucius there. His face bared its teeth in a battle-grin. In an eerie echo of Valpetra, he kept a tight hold on Helena's wrist, while she attempted to squeeze herself behind me, trapping me between the two of them. In a deceptively casual gesture, he raised his free hand and clamped it around my throat, hard enough to bruise. He had a strong grip. I'd noted it the first time we'd met, though I'd never expected to find it crushing my windpipe.

"What the hell do you know about what I want, D'Angeline?" he grated.

We were pressed close together, so close I could almost feel his heart thudding in his chest. His breath was hot on my face. I kept my hands at my sides, the fingers of my right hand brushing the hilt of the dagger at my belt. If worst came to worst, I was reasonably certain I could plant it in his belly before I blacked out. Behind me, Helena trembled, and I felt her rise on her toes, her soft breasts crushed against my back.

"Please don't kill him," she whispered in my ear. "He's Lucius, too."

I would have laughed, if Gallus Tadius hadn't been throttling me.

" 'O, dear my lord,'" Claudia said unexpectedly, " 'let this breast on which you have leant, serve now as your shield…' "

With a disgusted sound, Gallus thrust me from him, releasing Helena.

We both stumbled and fell. I landed on her and drew in a ragged gasp of air, then scrambled off Helena and onto my knees. Both of us were in Eamonn's way. Too fast for him to prevent it, Gallus Tadius drew his sword and wedged its point beneath my chin.

"You know," he said in a conversational tone, "I almost like you, D'Angeline, but you're a far sight more trouble than you're worth. Give me one reason not to kill you."

I tried to speak and burst into a fit of half-choked coughing.

Gallus laughed.

"I'll give you one." Eamonn moved into view in the corner of my eye. His face was calm. He'd drawn his blade and held it angled for a sweeping blow. "Do it, and your head rolls on the floor before you can draw breath."

"Will someone call for the guard?" Deccus Fulvius muttered to no one in particular. "This is absurd."

I felt the tip of Gallus' sword pierce the skin as he applied pressure, and a trickle of blood ran down my throat. Like sister, like brother. It was absurd.

"Lucius!" Claudia faced him. "I'll give you a better reason. If you kill Imriel, you'll bring the wrath of Terre d'Ange upon you, upon me, upon all of Lucca. He's third in line for the throne."

"He is?" It was Deccus, dumbstruck.

Helena made a small sound.

The sword's point withdrew to hover beneath my nose. I breathed slowly, struggling against the anguished protest of my abused windpipe. Gallus Tadius glanced between me and Claudia, looking confused. "How do you know that?" "You told me," she said steadily. He blinked, the lines of his face softening. "I did?" "Yes." Unlike Helena, Claudia lied well. "His name, his full name, is Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel, and he's a Prince of the Blood. You told me he wanted it kept a secret, Lucius, and so I have."

"I don't remember that," he said, but he lowered his sword. Eamonn moved swiftly, hauling me to my feet and thrusting me behind him. The priest, his acolytes, Gaetano Correggio, and Deccus Fulvius all stared at us with varying degrees of astonishment. Gallus Tadius shook his head, and the tip of his sword began to rise. "No," he said. "I don't believe it. Any of it."

"Lucius," I croaked. "The Bella Donna's son. Remember?" There was a soft thud behind me as Helena Correggio slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

Chapter Fifty-Two

For a mercy, Gallus Tadius gave up on the lot of us. In the face of united opposition, he abandoned his plan and stomped out of the basilica to attend to more pressing matters elsewhere in the city. The rest of us attended to Helena.

Brigitta, who had been closest, cradled her head in her lap. Gaetano knelt at her side, chafing his daughter's hands. But when her lids fluttered open, it was at me that she gazed, her blue eyes soft with wonder.

"I knew it," she whispered. "I knew it!"

I sighed. "It's not what you think."

"What is it, then?" Deccus Fulvius demanded.

So I told him, apologizing for my deception and explaining the bizarre legend that had spun out of my mother's twelve-year exile in the sanctuary of Asherat's temple and subsequent disappearance.

"Women!" Deccus snorted. "The tales they'll conjure."

"Indeed," Claudia murmured.

He glanced sidelong at her. "You never believed such nonsense, I hope."

She smiled at him. "Of course not."

"My lord," I said to Gaetano Correggio. "I fear your daughter is unnerved by her travail. It would be best if you took her home to rest. And it would be best, I think, if she were kept out of sight of Gallus Tadius."

"Yes." The Prince of Lucca—or former prince—seemed stunned. "Yes, of course. I shouldn't have… I'm not…" He touched the ugly gash on his temple, a souvenir of yesterday's battle. "Forgive me, child," he said to Helena. "I'm not thinking clearly."

He led her away, walking like an old man, stiff and defeated. She glanced backward over her shoulder at me as they went, her face suffused with a glow of hope and faith. Whatever I'd said, it hadn't sufficed to dispel her belief. My throat hurt, and I was weary to the bone with guilt and grief. "My mother," I said to no one in particular, "is a traitor. A monstrous, monstrous traitor. And this is truly, deeply wrong."

Eamonn shrugged. "It gave the lass joy, poor thing. Don't begrudge it."

Once they had gone, we returned to the Tadeii villa, where Claudia set about supervising the inventory. I wanted only to take to my chambers to snatch an hour or two of sleep, but it was not to be. Instead, Deccus Fulvius sat me down in the salon and gave me a thorough grilling about my connections and influence, his politician's mind at work. He knew Queen Ysandre by name, of course, but he had met the D'Angeline ambassadress Denise Fleurais and thought highly of her.

"Good woman," he said, nodding. "Smart woman. She knows you're here?"

"Yes," I said wearily. "I don't recall if I told her the exact dates."

"Pity. But she'll figure it out once the news reaches Tiberium. It's bound to sooner or later." Deccus rubbed his chin. "Like as not she'll send a delegation to negotiate for your freedom when she does. Trouble is, you made it a lot harder when you lopped off Valpetra's hand. What in the hell were you thinking, lad?"

I didn't answer directly. "Deccus, does this all seem a bit strange?"

"Ah, lad! War's an ugly business," he said in a kind tone. "Never fear, you'll get used to it. And Gallus Tadius may be a hard man, but he knows what he's about."

"That's just it," I said slowly. "Deccus, Gallus Tadius is dead. Two days ago, we were trying to drive his ghost out of Lucius. Now we're happily taking orders from him."

"Two days ago, Lucca wasn't under siege!" Deccus sighed. "Lad, listen. You saw what a mess Correggio made of it. If you're asking if this whole business makes my skin crawl, well, it does. But let's be honest, man to man. We're stuck here. And frankly, as long as there are two legitimate claims to Lucca, no one in Caerdicca Unitas is going to raise a finger to intervene. Warring city-states are altogether too common. They'll wait it out to see who wins and reestablish ties. Since we're stuck, I'd as soon wager on winning, even if it means letting a walking dead man rule the damned city. Understand?"

I nodded.

"Good lad." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Go on, get some rest. You look as hollow as a scraped gourd." He paused, his hand heavy on my shoulder, and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. "Sorry about your friend."

My throat tightened. "Thank you."

I didn't deserve his kindness; but Gilot did. So I accepted it and stumbled off to my guest chamber. There I fell onto my bed, the sheets still rumpled from my lovemaking with Deccus Fulvius' wife. A trace of Claudia's scent hung in the air. Tired beyond guilt, I sank into the depths of a sleep at once deep and restless, plagued by fragments of fitful dreams.

A few minutes later, Eamonn shook me awake.

At least it seemed that way.

"Imriel!" He shook me again. I opened my eyes to see his face hovering above me. A low amber light slanted through the shuttered windows of my bedchamber, indicating that I'd slept for hours. "We're to report for duty."

I sat up, confused. "Duty?"

Eamonn nodded and perched on the side of my bed. "Mounted night patrol," he said in a cynical voice. "Gallus' orders."

I rubbed my face, half-blind with sleep. "Why us?"