I stifled a yawn and struggled to focus on the conversation. Like as not, I should have pleaded illness that day. But I'd barely made it back to the insula before Gilot awoke, and I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of chiding me. So I'd saved the tale of the murdered cudgel-wielder for later, poured a bucket of water over my head, put on a fresh shirt, and gone to Master Piero's lecture.
It felt strange.
I felt strange.
I felt like a man caught in someone else's dream. The sunlight, the fountain, the conversation of Master Piero and the students… all seemed unreal. Even the dead man in the empty street seemed unreal. There was a bottomless black well of profound exhaustion inside me, and at every instant my awareness threatened to succumb to it.
And there, beyond the brink, a bedroom lit with a hundred candles awaited, and Claudia, Claudia, Claudia. Kneeling, lips and hands devouring me. Naked, her breasts swaying as she crawled. Beneath me, astride me, taking her pleasure. Her yielding flesh, her avid mouth.
Uttering words, ripping my world asunder.
A room like a temple, a bed like an altar. But ah, Elua! No love. There was no love between us. Nothing sacred, not even pride. Only dark intrigue and desire like a conflagration, desire deep enough to drown. I wanted to put my hands around her throat and choke her until she gasped out the whole truth. I wanted to take her until she begged for mercy.
"Imriel."
I caught myself with a jerk, shaking my head to dispel the images in it. "Master?"
"We have spoken of the physical elements," he said patiently. "But in what other elements does imbalance bring about harm?"
"And don't say 'love,' D'Angeline," Aulus muttered.
I scrubbed my face with my hands. "Why not?" I asked. "After all, it does. A love that is not reciprocated in equal measure may hurt and breed bitterness."
He flushed and looked away.
"Wherein lies the fault if it breeds bitterness?" Brigitta challenged. "If you were to draw your dagger and prick me, it would be your fault, and I would be angry. But to love without being loved in turn…" She frowned, thinking through her logic. "It would be as though I thrust myself upon your dagger and blamed you for it."
Someone made a lewd comment. "Yes," I said, ignoring it. "But people do."
"Should we seek, then, the root of this impulse?" Master Piero asked with interest. "Should we seek to overcome it within ourselves? Or should we seek to redress the balance, that all people might love one another in equal measure?"
"Ah, now, here's a trick!" Lucius commented.
I closed my eyes, soaking in the sun's heat, listening to water splashing and the ebb and flow of discussion. Behind my closed lids, Claudia Fulvia awaited. There was so much we had not yet done. In my mind, I saw her cupping her breasts, holding them forth, nipples ripe as plums. Smiling over her shoulder, offering her haunches. Myself, lashing her buttocks with the flat of my belt. A gaping smile carved into a dead man's throat.
What do you want with the Unseen Guild?
Tizrav, son of Tizmaht.
"Imri?" A strong hand gripped my shoulder, shaking it.
Even dozing, I must have recognized Eamonn's voice, for I went for my daggers and not my sword. I found myself on my feet, glancing around wild-eyed, daggers crossed before me in the Cassiline style. Eamonn stood several prudent paces away, sucking at a scratch on his wrist. Lucius and Brigitta hovered behind him, as strange a trio as one was like to find in Tiberium. For the first time, the Skaldi woman regarded me with approval.
"All-Father Odhinn!" she breathed. "You're as fast as a snake."
I sighed and sheathed my daggers. If it had been an assassin, I would have been dead. Joscelin's words echoed in my ears. Speed's not everything. "Sorry," I said to Eamonn. "It was a long night."
"Oh, aye!" He gave his affable grin. "We noticed."
Taking stock, I realized that Master Piero and the others had departed. Only the three of them remained, and the charioteer in his fountain; legs braced, arms taut, the chiseled sinews springing forth in relief where his hands gripped the reins. His horses plunged, webbed hooves poised as if to churn the pool's waters, clear streams spewing from their lips. The charioteer's face was firm with resolve, his marble eyes filled with purpose.
Claudia, I thought, would enjoy him.
"So," Lucius drawled. He dragged a finger across his throat, echoing the line that grazed mine. The gesture made me shiver inwardly.
"Looks like you landed yourself a proper hellion, Montrève. Who was she?"
I met his gaze without flinching and lied. "No one you know."
"More's the pity," he murmured. "Listen, do you want to get a jug? I've news since last we spoke. Prince Barbarus and yon shield-maiden are welcome, too."
All I wanted in the world was to stumble back to the insula and collapse on my pallet, letting the dark core suck me downward, past the corpses with slit throats, past the candlelit bedroom where Claudia and memory lurked, into utter oblivion. But I was young and proud, foolish and guilt-ridden, and however long I'd dozed at the Fountain of the Chariot, it was enough to sustain me for a while longer.
"Yes," I said. "Why not?"
And so we went, the three of us, to the wineshop; the same wineshop. This time, I noted the faded wooden sign that hung above its door. Though the wood was weathered to a silvery sheen and the paint untouched, one could make out the head of Bacchus, his curling black locks intertwined with vines.
I could tear you apart and devour you.
I nearly think you have.
It made me shudder, all of it. I found myself yearning toward Eamonn, longing to take comfort in his stalwart presence, his sunny disposition. But all his attention was bent toward Brigitta. There was a strange, wary courtship taking place between them, and it left no room for me. Instead, I was confronted with Lucius Tadius with his quicksilver intellect, and the dark red curls and wide, mobile mouth that reminded me of his sister.
"Listen," he said, leaning forward and pouring, filling our cups. "I've decided to take your advice."
"Oh?" I sipped my wine. "What advice was that?"
"I've made an offer for Helena's hand." Lucius frowned at me. "You were the one made me think, remember? The essence of the matter. Whether 'tis better to wed her and risk being made a cuckold, or condemn her to a life she abhors. I thought on it last night, stinking drunk. And I dispatched a missive this morning." He raised his winecup. "So. Here's to taking risks."
I clinked the rim of my cup against his. "To risks, then."
"What are we toasting?" Eamonn asked cheerfully.
"Lucius." I nodded at him. "He's made an offer for a wife."
"Oh, aye?" Eamonn drained his cup, then hoisted it. "To Lucius and his wife!" Brigitta made a guttural noise deep in her throat, and Eamonn glanced at her. "What is it?"
"You might at least ask her name," she said contemptuously.
Eamonn made to answer, then checked himself. The two of them exchanged a long glance. Whatever had passed between them since the sun rose and set and rose again over the Tiber River, there was substance to it.
I found myself envying them.
"True," Eamonn said slowly, turning his winecup in his big hands. "Has she a name, Lucius, this bride of yours?"
"Helena." Lucius permitted himself a tight smile. "Helena Correggio da Lucca. If her father consents, the wedding will take place later in the summer. You'll all be welcome as my guests, of course."
"Do you think he will?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "I think so. Domenico Martelli, the Duke of Valpetra—the suitor I mentioned—has grown impatient. Overbearing, one might say. It's clear he's got designs on Lucca itself, and not just Helena. I suspect Gaetano Correggio will be glad of an excuse to tell him no."
"Well," I said. "Congratulations." I hesitated, and lowered my voice. Eamonn and Brigitta had resumed their own conversation and were paying little interest. "Has it improved matters with the dead?"
"Oddly enough, it has." With a self-deprecating twist of his lips, Lucius tapped his temples. "I hate to admit it, but the old bastard's been quiet since I sent off the missive. Not a ghost in sight, not a rant to be heard." He raised his cup. "Here's to peace and quiet in the confines of one's own skull."
"Indeed," I murmured.
"What's your family like, Montrève?" he asked curiously. "Any ghosts?"
"Only living ones," I said, thinking of my mother, then waved my hand in quick dismissal when Lucius gave me a sharp look. "Pay me no heed, I'm short of sleep. My family, they're…" I paused, words failing me.
"Oh, they're very beautiful!" Eamonn interceded helpfully.
"Naturally," Lucius said in a dry tone.
"No, it's true." He grinned. "Even in Terre d'Ange, because they're kind, too. Both her ladyship and her consort. She taught me to speak Caerdicci, you know. She spent hours teaching me, and she was so kind and patient. And even though they're welcome at Court, they don't put on insufferable airs like most D'Angelines. Sorry, Imri," he added, glancing at me.
I sighed. "I know."
"Her consort!" Lucius raised his brows. "She's not wed, then?"
"No," I said. "They never married."
"Why?" he asked.
I glanced at Eamonn, who shrugged. I was on my own with this query. "It's a long story," I said, temporizing. "Look, Lucius, we don't do things the way you do here in Caerdicca Unitas. Women are eligible to inherit as full-fledged heirs. They're free to take lovers outside the bounds of marriage. There are reasons," I added haughtily, "that we put on airs."
Lucius snorted into his winecup.
"It's not funny." Brigitta scowled at him. "In Skaldia, too, women are treated with greater respect than you Caerdicci do."
"Alba, too, and Eire." Eamonn leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. He was enjoying Lucius' discomfort. "My mother Grainne is the Lady of the Dalriada. With one word, she can send our people to war."
"Do not remind me," Brigitta muttered.
He smiled sidelong at her. "We did not start it, lady."
"All right!" Lucius raised his hands in surrender. "Yes, I'm willing to own that Caerdicci law is unfair to women. I'm certain Master Piero would agree. But I did not make the laws, and I am bound by them."
"You could change them," I suggested. "As Prince of Lucca, at any rate. Don't all the city-states maintain their own charters?"
Lucius shot me an annoyed look. "Yes. Yes, they do." He raked his hands through his unruly curls. The sight gave me an involuntary tremor, as though the shadow of his sister was present. Truly, I was haunted by the living. "And if I ever become Prince of Lucca," he said to Brigitta, "I will give the matter due consideration. Does that please you?"
She smiled at him. "Yes, thank you."
With the conversation steered onto less risky ground, I agreed to stay for another jug. Either the wine and my brief nap had restored me somewhat, or I'd travelled clear through my own exhaustion and come out the other side of it. Betimes, that can happen. When Phèdre and Joscelin and I rowed all through the night to Kapporeth, I had reckoned myself exhausted; but when Hanoch's men caught us and made to give battle, a ferocious energy had coursed through my veins. This was altogether different, but whatever the reason, I no longer felt as though I would fall into a well of oblivion.
So we sat and talked a while longer.
Lucius and I watched the interaction of Eamonn and Brigitta with bemusement.
"Are they lovers, do you think?" he whispered.
I studied them. They were careful of one another. He was solicitous, but he never touched her, and she held herself back; opening, but wary. "No, not yet."
"What a pair!" Lucius laughed.
"Well, from all I hear, his mother is an imposing woman in her own right," I said philosophically. "Mayhap he's predisposed." The thought touched too closely on my own situation. By all accounts, my mother Melisande had relished being steeped to the eyeballs in intrigue, not unlike Claudia Fulvia. I shuddered and changed the subject. "What of Aulus?" I asked. "He seems… out of sorts."
"Aulus!" Lucius drained his cup. "Oh, indeed. I suspect Master Piero may ask him to leave." He refilled his cup, contemplating its contents. "Aulus only asked to study with him to be with me."
"Was he your lover?" I asked him.
Lucius gave me a long considering look. His eyes, Elua be thanked, were unlike his sister's; a dark hazel, and altogether a different shape. It made it easier to meet his gaze. "Have you ever felt you were born in the wrong time and place?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "Why?"
He cocked one leg, snagging his boot-heel on the rung of the chair, and laced his fingers around his knee. "'O, dear my lord'… it's beautiful stuff, Anafiel de Montrève's poetry. He modeled it on the ancient Hellenes. And there was nothing soft about them." A fierce light hardened his face. "Warriors, sworn lovers, each vowed to hold the other's honor more dear than their own. There was a city-state that fielded an army forged of such couples. The Sacred Band, they called it. Have you heard of it?"
