"Well, I wish you hadn't drawn a knife on me!" I said. "Why on earth did you, anyway?"
Claudia shot me an irritable glance. "I was trying to impress the seriousness of the matter on you. This is no jest, you know. You've got to stop running around, asking questions. Someone could end up hurt."
"Master Strozzi?" I felt a stab of guilt and alarm. "He was lying, wasn't he?"
"Oh, that old blowhard!" Claudia rolled her eyes. "Yes, but he's fine. He was asked to step down as a precaution. It's just as well. It seems he can't seem to lie well enough to fool one half-trained D'Angeline dilettante. It was past his time, anyway. He hasn't been active in over a decade. No, I meant someone like you. Or," she added, "your friend Eamonn, or even Lucius. I won't stand for that."
"Why Lucius?" I asked. "You said he doesn't know."
"No, but he's clever," she said. "If you keep asking questions, he'll start wondering. The Guild protects its own, but it protects itself first."
"Elua's Balls!" I flopped down on my back and stared at the ceiling. "Why? Why the secrecy? This doesn't make any sense. If it's so damned important, why would the Guild train Anafiel Delaunay, then let him walk away? Why did he refuse to swear allegiance in the first place?"
Claudia leaned on one elbow and ran her fingers through my hair. "You have such beautiful hair," she observed. "There's a sheen to it, almost like a crow's feather. Why did you cut it so short? I thought D'Angeline men grew it long."
I glared at her. "Claudia!"
"What?" She wound a lock around her fingers and tugged it. "I'd like to feel it against my skin, wrapped around me. Will you let it grow?"
"Will you answer my questions?" I retorted.
She sighed. "The Guild operates in secrecy because if the web were exposed, it could easily be dismantled in a dozen places. Knowledge is only power if applied as judicious leverage. Collectively, we can do this in a myriad of subtle ways, but only if the web remains intact. Anafiel de Montrève refused the vow of allegiance because his mentor couldn't promise him that he'd never, ever be asked to do aught against his beloved Rolande's interests. And he was allowed to do so because his mentor held a knife to his throat and impressed upon him that he would die, and Rolande, too, if he ever sought to betray the Guild's existence. On pain of death, and the death of his loved ones, he swore he wouldn't."
I shivered under her stroking fingers. "Is that a warning?"
"Yes," she said softly.
I gazed up at her. Her fox-brown eyes were at once tender and canny. I had thought I'd learned every inch of her, but Claudia Fulvia had taken me in more ways than one. I knew nothing. And despite it all, I still wanted her. Her unapologetic ardor had struck a profound chord in me. I wanted to kiss her bruised mouth, bite her swollen lip. I wasn't sure, yet, to what extent I believed her. But one thing was certain; I wasn't about to jeopardize anyone I loved. Better to play the game and learn.
All knowledge is worth having.
"I won't swear allegiance," I warned her. "Not if it means betraying Terre d'Ange."
"Oh, you D'Angelines!" Claudia tweaked my hair. "So stubborn and single-minded. No, Imriel, you'd never be asked to betray your country. But you might be asked to support, oh, say, a trade measure that the Queen opposed. Nothing that would harm Terre d'Ange," she added indulgently. "Just something that benefited another. And in exchange…" Her shoulders moved in a shrug. The silk robe she wore slipped a few inches, revealing the shadowed valley of her cleavage. "You would gain knowledge. Knowledge that might help your country."
Her hand slipped beneath the folds of my borrowed robe, fondling me. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to succumb to the inevitable arousal. "What sort of knowledge?" I asked hoarsely.
"Oh, well…" Claudia leaned over me, planting soft kisses on my closed lids. Her fingers worked at the knot on my robe's sash, undoing it. "You might find out who wants you dead, Imriel de la Courcel."
"I've a good idea," I said. "There's a long list."
Claudia kissed my lips. "Are you sure?"
By the time she parted my robe and straddled me, grasping my rigid phallus and guiding it into her moist cleft, I was no longer sure which of us was play-acting. Inch by slow inch, Claudia impaled herself on my shaft, sighing with pleasure. I grasped her haunches, aiding her as she ground herself to climax.
"Sure enough," I gasped. "Are you my mentor, then?"
She gazed down at me, heavy-lidded and smiling. "How do you like your first lesson?"
I tried to answer, but only groaned.
I took my leave of her in the small hours before dawn, my head reeling and my body spent. I had made no promises and nothing was resolved between us, but when she kissed me good-bye at the door, I knew I would see her again. She'd dangled a mystery before me, and there was somewhat in me that couldn't stand not knowing.
And whatever else was true, the desire was real.
As before, a servant escorted me, carrying a lit torch. I glanced at his profile, quiet and disinterested, and wondered what he must think. They might know naught of the Unseen Guild, but there could be no doubt of what we'd been up to in her bedroom. I wondered, too, by what means Claudia assured herself of the discretion of her household staff.
I didn't dare ask.
At the insula gate, I thanked him. I stood there for a long time, my hand on the gate, watching his bobbing torch vanish and dwindle, my eyes adjusting to the starry darkness. It was late enough that all the taverns and wineshops had closed their doors here in the students' quarter. A faint odor of myrrh still hung in the air. All was quiet and still, save for Canis snoring in his barrel.
"You did warn me, didn't you?" I said to him. "Some goddess."
He smacked his lips in his sleep, uttering a long, gobbling sigh. I smiled a little, envying him his freedom. The thought of returning to our insula apartment made me feel stifled. Despite the lateness of the hour and my physical exhaustion, my mind was crowded with thoughts, too restless for sleep.
So I walked the city instead.
Foolish though it was, I couldn't help myself. I needed to be alone with my thoughts. I needed to feel the night air on my skin, erasing the scent of Claudia that clung to every inch of me. I had never been with a woman whose ardor more than equaled my own. This was a different game than the ones played in Valerian House, but it was a game of power nonetheless. It was intoxicating, as heady and dangerous as opium.
My thoughts went in circles, spinning uselessly. I tried to imagine what Joscelin would say, but I couldn't. I could only imagine him staring, blank and uncomprehending. He knew what it was to be driven mad by love, but not desire. The Cassiline discipline instilled in him ran too deep.
Phèdre… Phèdre would understand, all too well. I wished, more than ever, that she was here. I wanted to tell her about the Unseen Guild, and ask her if she thought it was true. Whatever else lay unspoken between us, I would have given anything to hear her give her clear, unfettered laugh and dismiss it as a fanciful tale. Even the thought of it made me smile. It might well be nothing more; a wild falsehood invented by a bored senator's wife to toy with a besotted young lover. But as much as I wanted to believe it were so, I didn't.
There were those words.
Tizrav, son of Tizmaht. I remembered, the Persian guide who led Phèdre and Joscelin into Drujan had met us two days away from the Akkadian border as we journeyed from Daršanga with the surviving remnants of the zenana in tow. He only had one eye, which is the sort of thing that one remembers as a child.
And there was no reason, no reason at all, for a bored senator's wife to know his name. Either the Unseen Guild was real, or someone was playing an incomprehensible game with me. Who or why, I couldn't begin to guess. Would it be wiser to walk away? Mayhap, I thought. But if I did, I would never know; and there might be more danger in ignorance. Claudia had hinted that mayhap I had an enemy I hadn't put a name to. At the very least, I could try to learn what she meant.
The sound of scuffling broke into my thoughts. With a start, I realized I had walked all the way to the wharf. In the fading starlight, I saw two figures struggling beside a darkened warehouse; a man and a woman.
"You—" She got out a muted squeak before he clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Hush!" He pushed her against the wall and fumbled with her skirts.
I drew my sword without thinking. "Let her go!"
The man spun in alarm, then leered at me. "Thought you were the city cohort, man! Go on, let be. We're just having a bit of fun."
I took two steps forward, angling the blade. Its well-honed edges glinted. "I'm not in the mood for fun," I said softly. "And it didn't sound like the lady was, either." I jerked my chin, pointing. "Get out of here."
He held his ground, fists clenched. For a moment, I thought he might charge me, and I half wished he would. But the eastern skies were turning a somber grey, and the quarter was beginning to stir. I could hear voices carrying over the Tiber, and footsteps in the street behind me; the dull thud and scrape of cargo being shifted. The man's gaze drifted past me.
"Go," I repeated.
With a curse, he fled. I sheathed my sword and approached the woman with a smile, thinking I hadn't done too poorly as a hero this time.
"Are you all right?" I asked her. "Did he harm you?"
She spat at my feet. "What business is it of yours? He owed me coin for his bit of fun, and now I'll never see it!"
I opened my mouth, then shut it. She stared at me, defiant. In the sullen grey light, I could see she was no longer young, and haggard with it. "My apologies," I said gently. Digging into my purse, I found a silver denarius. "Let me make good on it."
She accepted my coin without a word of thanks, turned her back on me, and scurried away. I shook my head. Savior of dogs, defender against deer, defrauder of whores. It seemed I wasn't cut out to be a hero. And, I thought, if I didn't make a swift return to the insula, I'd have Gilot's wrath to reckon with.
In my haste to retrace my steps, I nearly stumbled over a recumbent form in the street. Moments ago it hadn't been there. For the second time in less than a day, a jolt of terror washed through me. I ripped my sword clear of its sheath, spinning in a tight circle.
No one was there.
I forced myself to stand still, straining to hear over the sound of my ragged breath. All I could hear were the ordinary sounds of the wharf awakening—a few voices, the occasional splash, the creak of ropes. Swallowing hard, I knelt to examine the inert figure.
It was a man, his throat slit. I sprang back. His blood seeped between the cobblestones, filling the channeled cracks. Mine ran cold. I glanced around once more to find myself alone in the street, then turned the dead man over and studied him.
He was no one I'd ever seen before. He might have been Caerdicci or Hellene or Aragonian. Ordinary, rough-hewn features, half-hidden beneath thick black stubble. His mouth was slack and startled, echoing the gaping wound in his throat. His clothing was plain and unremarkable, the sort one saw worn by barge-hands on the docks. He had a sturdy cudgel still clutched in one fist, and his purse strings had been cut. I thought about the footsteps I'd heard, the dull thud and scraping sound, and my skin prickled.
While I was busy trying to be a hero, a man had been murdered. A man lurking somewhere behind me in darkened streets, a cudgel in his hand; murdered in a manner that was beginning to look uncomfortably familiar. I'd no idea what to make of the coincidence, no idea how it tied into Claudia's dire hints.
"Name of Elua," I muttered. "Why me?"
The dead man gave no answer.
I went back to the wharf and found the dock-master, yawning and bleary-eyed in the early dawn. I told him about the dead man, and he gave a weary nod.
"Not an uncommon occurrence, I'm afraid. I'll notify the city cohort." He eyed me dubiously. "You ought not be wandering these parts on your own at this hour, my lord. They're rife with footpads and cut-purses. That might well have been you."
"Yes," I said. "I know."
Mist was rising on the Tiber, shot through with gold where the sun's slanting rays touched it. It was as pretty a sight as it had been yesterday morning. A full day had passed since I'd risen from my bed and gone to post a letter to Terre d'Ange.
It felt like a lifetime.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
"Water."
Master Piero perched on the low ledge surrounding the Fountain of the Chariot and dipped one cupped hand in the pool, raising it to let the water trickle through his fingers. It sparkled in the sunlight, bright enough to make me squint. My eyes felt raw and sand-scoured, and if I looked too long at the brightness, spots danced before them.
"It sustains and cleanses us, does it not?" he continued. "And yet we may drown in it." He wiped his hands. "What else is like water?"
"Fire," someone said. "For it, too, sustains us; and it, too, can kill."
"Earth," another voice offered; Akil, the Umaiyyati. "All things grow from it, but in my country, a man may be buried alive in the sifting sands."
"In truth, all the elements, Master," Lucius observed. "For without air, we die, but we starve on a steady diet of it."
"So." Master Piero smiled at him. "When the elements are in balance, there is life. Where there is imbalance, there is death. Is this a true statement?"