Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [160]
By that time, Master Piero was awaiting me. I bid farewell to Lucius and followed the Master into his private study, a small antechamber at the far end of his lecture hall. He closed the door firmly behind us and invited me to sit.
It was a strange study, almost barren of books, but filled with all manner of oddments—plants growing in clay vessels; a variety of animal skulls and the fully articulated skeleton of a bird; geodes; glass lenses and prisms; an unnervingly large snakeskin; a number of intricate shells. I found myself cataloguing them in my mind the way Phèdre had taught me during our memory exercises, and swiftly succumbing to despair. There were too many items to count. I wondered what their purpose was.
Master Piero watched me. "You have a curious mind," he said. "Why do you suppose I keep these things?"
"I don't know, Master." I indicated the nearest object, a nautilus shell sitting on the corner of his desk. "May I?"
"Of course."
I picked it up and examined it. It sat lightly in my palm, a solid coil. Its outer surface was vividly striped. Inside, it gleamed with soft pearlescence. "Hellene mathemeticians claimed it was a perfect spiral," I said. "A ratio of exact proportions building on one another to create a whole that is pleasing to the eye." I looked at him. "These are tools for thought, aren't they? Pondering the nautilus, one ponders the existence of perfection in nature."
He smiled. "You were taught well."
I set the shell down and chose not to tell him that I had gleaned that particular piece of knowledge in the Hall of Games. The game of rhythmomachy is based upon such numerical sequences. "Does that mean you have decided to accept me as a student, Master Piero?"
He rose without answering and stood at the open window, gazing at the Old Forum below, his hands clasped behind his back. "The rostra is empty," he mused. "Once upon a time, it was seldom so. Every day, someone stood upon it to address the people of Tiberium." He turned around. "You have a quick mind, Imriel nó Montrève, and a solid grounding in knowledge. But I am troubled." His brow furrowed. "Does your family know you're here?"
"Yes, my lord," I said. "Of course!"
"Your whole family?" he pressed gently.
"Yes." I took a deep breath. "The Queen of Terre d'Ange is not pleased, but she knows. And as I am of age, the choice is mine to make. Master Piero, I'm not exactly the only student here fleeing family ties."
"No," he said. "You're not. But Lucca is a minor Caerdicci city-state, not a vast and powerful ally nation. And Lucius Tadius is not pretending to be someone he is not." The furrows on his brow deepened. "I do not like lies, Imriel."
"Where is the lie?" I protested. "Master Piero, I am Imriel nó Montrève. In my heart and soul, that's who I am. And I am here to find out who that is."
"But in the eyes of the world, you are someone else, too," he said quietly.
Bitterness and anger welled in me. "Do you know aught of my history?"
"I do." Sighing, Master Piero turned his troubled gaze back to the window. "Not all of it, but enough. We are not all hidebound here at the University, Imriel, heedless of that which lies beyond the borders of Tiberium, our noses stuck in the dusty tomes. We do pay attention, some of us, to that which passes in the greater world. Even I." Abandoning the window, he sat at his desk and regarded me. "Would that I knew naught, for it would make my choice easy. I would dismiss you despite your promise."
"Master Piero—" I began in alarm.
He held up one hand. "But I will not. I will tell you freely that I believe you would be better served by the truth than by evasion, which is the subtle kin to a lie. But I will give you the chance to make that decision on your own." From a cubbyhole beneath his desk, he drew forth a sheepskin parchment. "I will write your name on my matricula and number you among my students," he said, rummaging for an inkpot on the desk's cluttered surface.