Kushiel's Scion (100 page)
On the next day, the D'Angeline delegation arrived.
To his credit, Gallus Tadius sent for me as soon as their banners were spotted; or mayhap it was due to Lucius' prompting somewhere deep inside him. I couldn't say, and didn't care. All I knew was that I was glad beyond telling to see them.
For all of that, the view from the gatehouse was devastating. The delegation rode slowly along the road to Lucca. On either side of them, the once-fertile plains were scorched and smoking. Overhead, the sky was low and angry, the color of tarnished silver. It seemed as though all the brightness in the world was concentrated in the approaching company of D'Angelines.
They were a squadron of embassy guards, I guessed. They rode fully armed, some thirty strong, with surcoats and cloaks of Courcel blue. There on their banners were two of the seals I'd longed to see—the golden lily and stars on a green field that represented Elua and his Companions, flying above the silver swan of House Courcel.
And, too, they carried the pure white banners that requested a peaceful parley.
Valpetra's cavalry interecepted them before they reached the gate, galloping across the blackened fields. I watched with my heart in my throat, praying they wouldn't be turned back. After an interminable length of time, one of the cavalrymen headed back toward their new encampment on the far side of the river. The rest waited out of range while the D'Angeline contingent moved forward.
Gallus Tadius pulled me back from the window. "Hold, D'Angeline. Don't be hasty."
I glared at him. "They're my people!"
"And it's my city." He shrugged. "Let's just see, shall we?"
Outside the gate, the delegation drew rein. Gallus nodded to his guards, who took careful aim at them, crossbows cocked. "State your business!" one of them called.
"Quentin LeClerc, servant of her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel of Terre d'Ange, commander of the Tiberian garrison of her ladyship the ambassadress Denise Fleurais," came the reply in D'Angeline-accented Caerdicci. "We come seeking the ransom of his highness, Prince Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel of Terre d'Ange!"
Gallus glanced at me with a hint of amusement. "I take it that's you, fancy-boy?" I nodded. "Well, I'll have a word with them."
Without further ado, he ducked through the outer door and sauntered out onto the wall. From the tower chamber, I watched him fold his arms and address them.
"Right," he said easily. "I'm Gallus Tadius, Prince of Lucca, and as far as I'm concerned, you're welcome to the whelp. But unless your whoring Queen's sending a few thousand more like you to guarantee the bargain, I'd think twice about it." He jerked his chin toward the north. "You want safe passage for him, barter with Valpetra."
"My thanks, your highness, on behalf of her majesty and Terre d'Ange, for your generosity. We will negotiate with the Duke of Valpetra." The unseen commander's tone was circumspect. "Might it be possible to speak to Prince Imriel? I would confirm his well-being."
"Why not?" Gallus beckoned. "Come on out. You've leave to talk as long as you like," he added, passing me and heading back for the tower. "It's your lookout if you get shot by the enemy. And mind, the guards have orders to shoot you themselves at the first hint of treason." Ah, Elua! All the homesickness I'd been holding at bay overwhelmed me at the sight of my countrymen. D'Angeline faces, clear-cut and handsome. I found myself beaming involuntarily at Quentin LeClerc. He was a tall man with dark brown hair braided in a tidy cable, a bemused look on his face as he peered upward. He accorded me an uncertain bow from his saddle.
"Your highness?" he asked in D'Angeline. "Prince Imriel?"
In my haste to see them, I'd thrown on last night's worn, dirty attire. I hadn't had a proper bath since before Eamonn's wedding, either, just another cursory wash at the basin. I dragged my sleeve over my face, smearing lingering soot-stains. "Forgive me, messire. Last night's patrol was… eventful."
"So I see," he said.
One of the guards laughed. "That's him, my lord. He turned up at the embassy dressed like a beggar and smelling somewhat fierce one day."
I flushed, remembering. "Not me. It was the satchel."
"Oh, aye!" He winked and bowed. "The satchel it was."
"No mind." I sat on the edge of the wall, dangling my legs over the moat. The water was higher than it had been since Gallus Tadius ordered the sluice gates blocked. "Messire LeClerc, how did her ladyship get word so quickly? We expected it might take weeks."
Quentin LeClerc shook his head. "I couldn't say, your highness. All I know is that she received an urgent dispatch and sent us posthaste." He paused. "We? There are others with you?"
"Friends," I said. "Eamonn mac Grainne of the Dalriada and his wife, and Senator Deccus Fulvius of Tiberium and his wife. I'd like safe passage for all five of us. And there is the matter of my man-at-arms, Gilot, who was slain during the fighting. I promised to bring him home."
"Of course." He nodded. "May we be confident that the Prince of Lucca will honor his word? I thought…" He hesitated again. "Forgive me, highness, but I understood Gaetano Correggio was the Prince of Lucca, or so Lady Denise told me. And it seems to me… as a student of military history, it seems to me that Gallus Tadius is… was…"
"Dead?" I lowered my voice. " 'Tis a long story, messire. Get me out of here, and I'll tell you. But yes, I think he'll honor his word. And anyway, he's right. It's Valpetra we need to worry about." I gazed at the calvalrymen watching us from the smoldering wreck of Lucca's fields, and my last trace of gladness ebbed away. "I don't suppose he'll be in a good mood."
"No." Quentin LeClerc followed my gaze. "I don't imagine so." He squared his shoulders. "Still, he's no cause to blame you, has he?"
"Ah, well." I smiled ruefully. "He might."
I told him about cutting off the Duke's hand, and watched his face turn grave. When I finished, he gave me a resolute bow. "Sensible men understand the vicissitudes of war. I will beg an audience with him and pray I find him reasonable. I will return, your highness."
They rode back across the barren landscape, vivid banners bobbing in the grey air, carrying all my hope with them. I watched them join Valpetra's cavalrymen and head toward the river. I offered a silent prayer to Blessed Elua for their success, then descended back through the gate tower and went to report on the latest doings.
At the Tadeii villa, I found Claudia. Deccus Fulvius hadn't risen yet, nor had Eamonn and Brigitta, though I daresay for different reasons. Claudia listened intently, requesting that I repeat our conversation in its entirety.
"There was no other news?" she asked when I was done. "No promise of aid from other quarters?"
"No." I frowned. "Should there have been?"
She sighed. "Not necessarily."
"The Unseen Guild?"
Although the two of us were alone, her nod was almost imperceptible. "If word has reached the D'Angeline ambassadress' ears, then surely the Guild knows, too. Such news spreads swiftly. There would have been word if they meant to act. They don't."
"I'm sorry." I took her hand. "But what could they have done?"
"Oh, plenty of things." She smiled, but her eyes were red-rimmed and weary. "They could have prevailed on the Duke of Firezia to intervene. He's a vested interest in Lucca's trade and a considerable standing army. Or they could have dispatched an assassin to take out Valpetra, though I suppose it wouldn't be easy under the circumstances." She shrugged. "Perhaps they have. We can hope, I suppose."
"The Guild employs assassins?"
"The Heptarchs do, or at least so it's rumored. Possibly the epopts." Claudia rubbed her eyes. "I told you, Imriel, I'm only a journeyman." She gave me another wry smile. "And a failed one at that."
I held her hand tighter. "I won't leave without you. I swear it."
"Don't be stupid." Her gaze sharpened. "If you have a chance, take it. This is no time for foolish heroics. Speaking of which…" She withdrew a letter from her bodice. "This arrived."
It was another letter from Helena Correggio. I walked away to read it. Although there was nothing in it Claudia couldn't have guessed, the words were naked and vulnerable on the page, and it didn't seem right to expose them to other eyes. Despite my denials, she believed I was the belated answer to her prayers; the Bella Donna's son, sent to rescue her in a time of need. As she had before, she begged me in fulsome terms to call upon her.
If I'd thought it would do any good, I would have; but I feared the opposite was true. Betimes, women in the zenana had clung to desperate delusions. Indulging them only made it worse when their delusions were shattered. And they were; they always were. It was another part of why I'd hated Phèdre for so long. She'd held out an impossible ray of hope, and hope killed quicker than despair in that place.
The other part…
Death's Whore.
I shuddered at my memories. But Lucca wasn't Daršanga, and I wasn't sent by Blessed Elua to save anyone. It was just a city under siege, and I was a mortal man struggling to set aside his childish notions of heroism to save his own skin. Still, I thought, it would be cruel to reply with naught but silence. And with luck, on the morrow I would be gone. In time, Helena would find the healing she needed.
"I'd like to send a letter," I said. "Have you the means?"
Claudia inclined her head. "Lucius hasn't begun rationing stationery yet. I'll have paper and an inkpot delivered to your chambers."
I submerged myself in the chilly waters of the unheated bath, scouring away the stench of smoke that clung to my hair and skin. The water wasn't stagnant yet, but it would be before long. Lucca's drinking water came from its deep wells, but the aqueduct fed the baths and fountains, public and private. They'd all be stagnant soon.
Afterward, I scrubbed myself dry and dressed hastily, trying to beat the chill, then sat down and penned a letter to Helena Correggio. It was innocuous and impersonal. Using formal language, I thanked her for the invitation to call on her and tendered my regrets. I offered condolences for her losses and extended my best wishes for happier days to come.
I signed it with my full name.
It felt strange and I felt guilty. I wanted, very much, to get out of Lucca. It wasn't my city and it wasn't my battle. Gilot had already died for it; surely that was enough? There was Lucius and loyalty… but Master Piero had never told us how to answer questions of loyalty when one's boon comrade was possessed by the spirits of the dead. And there was the mystery of Canis, languishing in Lucca's gaol… but I hadn't asked for that, either. If he couldn't be bothered to be honest with me, why should I care?
Anyway, I could do more good outside Lucca's walls than within them. I thought about what Claudia had said. If the Unseen Guild could exert such influence, well and good. If they wanted my allegiance that badly, let them bargain for it on my terms. And if they didn't… when all was said and done, I was a D'Angeline Prince of the Blood and not without influence. For the first time in my life, I might as well use it.
Feeling better, I sealed the letter and gave it a Tadeii servant to deliver.
By the time I had finished, it was late afternoon and Eamonn and Brigitta were awake. The past night's events had cast a pall on their nuptials, but even so, it was clear they had taken Deccus Fulvius' advice. They'd taken happiness where they found it, and I couldn't begrudge them. In the salon of the guest wing, I told them what had transpired earlier today with the D'Angeline delegation.
Brigitta's face lit up when I told them, almost as bright as it had yesterday at her marriage. "You mean we might be free to leave?"
"Might," I said cautiously. Hope kills. "Might."
"Oh, Eamonn!" She kissed him. "You could come to Skaldia!"
"And you to Alba, my heart." He returned her kiss, then settled her head on his shoulder. "What do you reckon the odds, Imri?"
I shook my head. "I've no idea."
He stroked Brigitta's golden hair, and his grey-green eyes were thoughtful. "So who sent an urgent message to the D'Angeline ambassadress in Tiberium?"
Our eyes met over Brigitta's head.
"Does it matter?" I asked. "If it works, does it matter?"
Eamonn shrugged. "Not if it works." Planting a last kiss on Brigitta's temple, he swung himself upright. "Time for patrol!" he said cheerfully. "Mustn't disappoint Gallus Tadius."
After the hectic events of last night, tonight's patrol was mercifully uneventful. We assembled in the central square, and Gallus Tadius addressed us briefly. His mood was somber. He bowed his head and offered a prayer for the dead, speaking stirringly of their sacrifice. In the lowering twilight, his face looked horribly like a mask. I closed my eyes and listened to his words, trying to shut out the vision of the lone conscript treading water in the moat, his face terrified and bewildered. His body, floating, a pair of javelins protruding from his back.
Not my fault. Not my responsibility.
We were given lanterns that night, as it was well and truly too dark to see without them. Eamonn and I traded ours back and forth, taking turns carrying it. Nothing was happening; everything was quiet. We chatted with the sentries atop the wall, who reported that the fields were still smoldering. One could see it at night, they said; the sullen glow of embers. The enemy remained where they were, encamped on the far side of the river. Gone, but within striking distance. The D'Angelines were there, yes, but no word.
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