Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [157]
"So it's gallantry, then," I said.
"Of a sort," he said wryly. "My father fails to appreciate it, and Helena herself is not exactly grateful."
I blinked in confusion. "Why?"
Lucius drained his cup. "Because the object of her desire is a charming, handsome scion of a very impoverished family, and there's not a chance under the sun that her father would ever consent to the union. And Helena's other foremost suitor is… distasteful to her." He set down his cup. "Why am I telling you this?"
"I'm interested," I said. "And you're haunted."
He shuddered. "Back to that, are we? Yes, Montrève. I am haunted. I am haunted by the ambitions of my father, who yearns to see a portion of his grandfather's legacy restored. One would think it would suffice that my sister wedded a Tiberian senator; and yet it does not. I am haunted by Helena's fears and my own cowardice. And I am haunted by my thrice-cursed great-grandfather."
"Gallus Tadius," I said.
"Yes." He eyed me. "His waxen death-mask sits in our lararium, scowling and fearsome. So it has since I was born. He feels cheated and angry. His spirit lingers. I know it. I have always known it. I feel his presence on my skin. As far as I have fled, it is not far enough. I am wraith-ridden and plagued by the dead." He spread his arms. "So, mock me!"
"Not I," I said. "I didn't care for the place much more than you did. But Lucius, if you care for the girl, why not marry her?"
"Would you?" he asked bluntly. I opened my mouth, then closed it. "Ah, hells! What could you know of it, Montrève? You're D'Angeline. Your folk would let the girl wed a goat if that was her desire, wouldn't they?"
"It's not that simple," I said. "There's pressure in the Great Houses to make a good marriage, and it's not always a love-match." I grinned. "But we'd let her take the goat as a lover."
Lucius looked fascinated and appalled. "Truly?"
"No." I laughed at his expression. "Blessed Elua's precept has its limits."
"What if she truly loved the goat?" He smiled a little, then shook his head. "You're right, I know. I'm being stubborn. There's no reason for it, except it galls me. I can't abide the thought of being forced into doing my father's will. And too," he added, "I don't relish the idea of being made a cuckold. You D'Angelines may think nothing of it, but in Caerdicca Unitas it brings shame on a man. Any man."
"Do you think she would?" I asked.
He raised his brows, "I would! And women are weak when it comes to desire. They have no defense against it."
I refilled our cups. "You don't know a good deal about women, do you?"
"No," he said without apology. "But I know Helena, and I've seen the way she and Bartolomeo look at one another. She's a dear child, but she's too soft-hearted to be trusted. So what am I to do? Banish him?" He sipped his wine. "Old Gallus Tadius would have solved the problem by giving Helena a good beating and keeping her locked away. And betimes I hear his voice in my head, telling me I'm a craven coward for being unwilling to do the same. And that's nothing to his comments on the topic of buggery." Lucius gazed at nothing. "He roars," he said absently. "He's always roaring. Sometimes I think it will drive me mad." He shuddered. "I hate the dead."
"Have you spoken to a priest?" I asked.
"Oh, yes." His smile twisted. "My father performs the rites of exorcism every year during the Lemuralia, but I suspect Gallus Tadius' ghost is too stubborn to be driven away by a few black beans and banging cook-pots." He glanced at my puzzled face and shrugged. "It's an old ritual. The last time I spoke to a priest, he told me to obey my father and be done with it."
We sat in silence for a moment.
"Well!" Lucius said brightly. "Now I expect you must think I'm thoroughly mad."
"No," I said. "I don't. Haunted, but not mad."
"That's why I study with Master Piero," he said. "It helps. The more he prods me to think, the easier it is to keep the ghosts at bay. If I can keep my mind busy, I'm usually fine. Today was bad, though. You have no idea," he mused, "what it's like to live