Kushiel's Scion (78 page)
Ruggero smiled slightly. "Strangely enough, I believe I understand."
"Yes," I said. "I know."
I turned away from him. What alerted me, I could not say. A rustle of cloth, an indrawn breath. The sound of someone shifting in a chair, a belated realization dawning on Eamonn's face at the door. Heedless of my swollen ankle, I whirled, taking a step backward and drawing my sword.
Someone hissed through his teeth.
"Down, down!" Ruggero Caccini removed his hand from the hilt of his poniard and spread his arms, still smiling. The point of my blade was aimed at his throat. With a single step, I could have run him through. "Down, lads," he repeated. "Forgive me," he added to me. "I was curious. You are fast."
"I wasn't boasting," I said shortly.
"No," he agreed. "But now I know."
I sighed. "Tomorrow, sunset."
"Of course," Ruggero promised. "I was merely… curious."
I shook my head. "I told you, messire. My word is good."
Eamonn opened the door to the inn. "Time to go, Imri," he said, ushering me out. He closed the door behind us, and no one followed. I breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of the TiberRiver. The siren sign creaked in the light breeze.
"So!" Eamonn said brightly. "That seemed to go well."
I thought about it. "You know, it could have gone worse."
Chapter Forty-Four
On the morrow, Ruggero Caccini kept our appointment. I hadn't been sure he would, not after the way we'd parted. He did, though. As the sun was setting over the seven hills of Tiberium, Ruggero appeared at the Fountain of the Chariot, accompanied by a pair of companions. I was glad we were meeting in the Great Forum with members of the city cohort in plain sight.
"Here," he said, thrusting a folded sheet of parchment at me.
I scanned it quickly in the fading light. It was written in a heavy scrawl, but it was legible. Everything was in order. He had not detailed the attempts made, but he'd rendered the commission clearly and identifed Bernadette de Trevalion by name. It would suffice. "Will you affix your thumbprint, messire?"
Ruggero scowled. "Where's my money?"
Eamonn stepped forward, jangling a heavy satchel. I raised my brows. "Your thumbprint, messire? 'Tis for surety's sake."
He grumbled, but he did it. I unstoppered a small bottle of ink I'd brought, and Ruggero daubed his thumb and placed a clear impress at the bottom of the page.
"My thanks," I said, nodding to Eamonn.
Ruggero accepted the satchel and took a quick glance at its contents, then handed it to one of his men. "I'll count it later," he said. "If it's short, you'll hear from me."
I blew on his thumbprint to hasten its drying. "It's not."
"D'Angeline." His tone was flat. I glanced up. "If you fail to keep your word, if your ambassadress' guards come for me, you will die. That, I promise you. With nothing to lose, I will reach out from the gaol with every means at my disposal. Every brigand, every unscrupulous mercenary, every chambermaid and cook willing to be bribed will become your enemy. I'll spend every last brass sestertius I've ever earned to ensure your death."
"Fair enough," I said.
Unexpectedly, Ruggero grinned. "On the other hand, if you do keep it…" He shrugged. "Consider me a friend. If you've enemies in Tiberium, I'd gladly do business with you again."
With that, he and his companions took their leave. Eamonn and I watched them until we were certain they were gone. I checked the thumbprint and found the ink had dried, folded the letter, and thrust it into my doublet.
"What do you mean to do with it, Imri?" Eamonn asked, curious.
"I don't know," I said. "I haven't decided."
"I'm sure it will be interesting." He eyed me. "Someday, I truly hope you'll be able to tell me what all this mystery is about."
"So do I," I said. "Believe me, so do I."
After the deal with Ruggero Caccini was struck, a pervasive sense of menace was lifted. I was glad to have settled the matter, for once, on my own terms. Whether or not the Guild knew what I'd done, I couldn't say and didn't much care. I'd done nothing to expose them, given them no cause to object to my actions. All I had done was take matters into my own hands, using the very methods they'd instilled in me. No word came from Claudia, and I made no effort to contact her. I was content to let the matter lie.
I still felt ensnared, but the knot had loosened.
In the mornings, I went with Anna to visit Gilot. In some ways, his condition was improving. He hurt, though. It hurt him to draw breath. Not just his ribcage, but a sharp pain, somewhere deep inside. A bone splinter, the priest said. Left alone, it might heal; might fuse to the bones of his ribs. Or it might shift and kill him. There was nothing to do but pray.
So I prayed.
In the afternoons, I met with a handful of my fellow students at the wineshop, where we attempted to converse, bereft of Master Piero's guidance. There were only a few of us left—Eamonn, Brigitta and Lucius, Akil the Umaiyyati, and a quiet, thoughtful Tiberian named Vernus. The rioting had taken its toll and a number of students had left.
Brigitta was angry; angry at the rioters, angry at the Restorationists and the citizen assembly; angry at Master Piero.
"Why does he punish us?" she burst out one afternoon. "It is unfair!"
"Why do you assume it's a punishment?" Lucius asked mildly. "None of the masters are seeing their students." It had been Lucius who'd taken it upon himself to call upon Master Piero at his residence to ensure that he was well and wanted for nothing. I'd gained a new respect for him since the night of the riots, and not just because he had helped save my life. He seemed changed from the insouciant Caerdicci nobleman I'd first met.
Brigitta glared at him. "It's all right for you! I only have a short time here."
"Why is that?" I asked curiously. "Why can't you stay longer?"
"No reason you would understand," she muttered. "You're a man and free to do as you please."
I spread my hands. "Try me."
It was Eamonn who coaxed her to tell the tale; how, with her mother's aid, she had defied her father's wishes to come to Tiberium to study. She was a member of the Manni, a southern Skaldic tribe—they have a long history of dealing with the Caerdicci, and are reckoned among the most civilized of the Skaldi. Although of a surety, the Manni went to war alongside Waldemar Selig. I remember, Phèdre said it was one such who bore a letter from my mother to Selig. That was how she had uncovered the true depth of my mother's treachery.
Brigitta's father despised all things not of Skaldia, but her mother had a more pragmatic outlook. She was minded to see the future of their steading engaged in a broader discourse and trade with other nations. And so she had conspired to send her daughter to Tiberium, on the condition that she stay no longer than six months. Any longer and her brother Leidolf would be dispatched to fetch her back.
"Why did you want to come so badly?" I asked her.
"You ask a lot of questions." Brigitta fidgeted with her winecup, turning it in her hands. "Because I want to understand, D'Angeline." She looked up, a fierce light in her face. "Why things happen. Why we went to war. Why we lost. You don't know what it's like to grow up in the shadow of defeat. It's always there, always hanging over us. Why? Why are people the way they are?"
"Why, indeed?" Lucius murmured. "We are meant to be scholars, seekers after truth. And yet"—he gestured toward the door of the wineshop and the street beyond—"behold how swiftly we turned to violence."
"You didn't," Eamonn said helpfully. "You argued against it, Lucius."
"Oh, yes." He gave a wry smile. "Just before my opponent hurled me against the wall, Prince Barbarus. A most effective argument."
"There is honor in battle." Akil drained his cup, slamming it onto the table. His hawkish brows met in a scowl. "So my people believe, and I believe it, too. Even Master Piero acknowledges that honor is a virtue. Is it not so?"
"If the battle is honorable, of course," Eamonn offered. "But what if it is not?"
"And who decides?" Vernus added.
"Skaldia sought to better itself," Brigitta said hotly. "Waldemar Selig sought a better future for his people. Was that wrong? I say it was not. You may contest the means, but do you deny it was an honorable cause?"
Lucius waved a dismissive hand. "You can't separate the means from the cause, Brigitta. In theory, perhaps, but not in practice. We are dealing in realities here." His gaze lighted on me, keen and interested. "What do you say, Montrève?"
"I don't know," I said slowly. There was too much here, too much present at the table. And I knew too much. "I want to understand, too. Yes, the Skaldi were misguided. But…" I swallowed against the lump in my throat. "They were misled. Waldemar Selig was misled by those who preyed upon his desires, his ambition." My mother's face swam before my eyes, implacable and beautiful. I shuddered at the memory.
I'd only ever seen her twice. The first time, I had been a child. I had believed what Brother Selbert had told me, and I had loved her.
The second time… the second time, I had been a child in years only. That was after Daršanga, when Phèdre had taken me to see her. There had been tears in her eyes, then. My mother's eyes, deep and blue as twilight. Do you even know what you look like? Erytheia had asked me. I did. It was why I wasn't overly fond of mirrors.
Melisande.
"That's true." Vernus frowned. "There was some plot within Terre d'Ange itself, wasn't there? It all took place before I was born. I never quite understood what happened or why."
Eamonn glanced at me and cleared his throat. "Perhaps we might speak of something else," he said. "It may have happened before we were born, but three of us at this table are children of that war, and it is a painful subject."
"I respect the lady's sorrow." Akil inclined his head toward Brigitta. "But why should it be a painful subject for you, Dalriadan? Or him?" He pointed at me. "You won."
"Have you ever been in battle?" Eamonn asked. "Any of you?"
Lucius and Vernus shook their heads, and Brigitta, reluctantly. I said nothing. Eamonn knew well enough what I'd witnessed, though I wasn't sure if the massacre at Daršanga could properly be called a battle.
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