Kushiel's Scion (76 page)
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.
It was peace, but a sullen one. A few of the shops opened, though one could see evidence of hasty repairs. The inns remained closed. Some students abandoned their scholars' robes, and others wore them defiantly Still, they kept clear of the city cohort, and there was no violence. By and large, normality was restored, insofar as it was possible.
There was no sign of Canis, which troubled me every time I passed his abandoned barrel.
And, of course, there was Gilot.
In the morning, I escorted Anna to the Temple of Asclepius, where we spent a few hours sitting with Gilot. He had improved a bit with rest. Although his face was swollen and his eye-sockets were black and purple with bruising, he was able to open his eyes. He could see. His broken hand was splinted and immobile, and whether or not it would heal cleanly was anyone's guess.
I didn't say anything to him about the attack. Gilot would only blame himself, and he needed to heal in peace. But afterward, I thought long and hard about what Claudia Fulvia had told me. Bernadette de Trevalion, mother of my erstwhile friend, Bertran. I barely knew her. I'd met her at Court a few times, but she spent most of her time at the duchy of Trevalion in Azzalle. It was hard to fathom her wanting me dead.
In the dispassionate light of day, it was also hard to imagine confiding in the D'Angeline ambassadress with scant evidence. One sentence muttered in the midst of a riot wasn't terribly convincing. I didn't doubt that she would take me at my word, but it was the uproar that would follow that made me wince. It would reach the shores of Terre d'Ange, acrimonious and bitter. I didn't relish the thought of following in my mother's footsteps and accusing Bernadette de Trevalion of conspiracy, even if it was true.
In the end, I held off telling Denise Fleurais. Instead, I confided in Eamonn.
"If I told you somewhat I couldn't prove and asked you to trust me, would you believe me?" I asked him in the privacy of my insula apartment, where we were sharing a skin of wine I'd bought from a street-vendor. "Because I've need of advice, and you're the only person here I trust unreservedly."
"Of course," he said readily, then hesitated. "Well, it's not about philosophy, is it? I'll not concede an argument unheard."
"No, no." I shook my head. "Do you remember what I said the night of the riot? Someone did try to kill me, Eamonn. I was pushed. And I think there may have been a couple other attempts, too. Either way, I know who's behind it."
He refilled my winecup. "Who?"
I took a gulp. "Bernadette de Trevalion. She hired a man here."
Eamonn looked blank. "Who?"
"Bertran's mother," I said. "You remember Bertran?"
"Yes, of course." He continued to look blank. "Why, though?"
I sighed. "Ah, gods! I don't know. There was a plot, ages ago. My mother betrayed it. And as a result, Baudoin de Trevalion and his mother Lyonette, who was my father's sister, were convicted of treason."
"Enough!" Eamonn held out one hand. "I don't know how you keep them all straight. So it's a blood feud, then?"
I nodded. "I suppose so. Baudoin and Lyonette were condemned to death. He fell on his sword, and she took poison. Bernadette and her father were merely exiled for complicity, although Ysandre gave them clemency later. The other business, that was under the old king's rule, Ganelon de la Courcel. My… uncle." It felt strange to say the words. I'd never felt myself to be a king's nephew. "But it was my mother's testimony that convicted them. And she did it a-purpose."
"So it's a blood feud," Eamonn repeated. "Vengeance."
"Yes," I agreed. "So it seems."
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