Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [166]
"What's that you have there?" Claudia asked, amused. "A luck-charm?"
"Oh, this?" I plucked at the pendant, removing it. I examined it for the first time, realizing it had the crude semblance of a lamp stamped on both sides. "Nothing, my lady. A beggar gave it to me. He said it was ill luck to refuse his gift."
She laughed. "Oh, he did, did he? It's a clever trick. He's bought your guilt, hasn't he? I'll wager you feel obliged to toss him a coin every time you see him."
Lucius frowned. "May I see?"
I passed him the medallion.
He looked at it and grinned. "He's a Cynic," he said, tapping the fired clay. "The lamp, that's their symbol." At her request, he passed the pendant to Claudia, who examined it with mild interest before returning it to me. "Your beggar's a philosopher, Montrève. Might as well keep it, it might be lucky."
"A Cynic, eh?" I shrugged and strung it back around my neck. "All right, then."
Deccus Fulvius clapped his hands. "Enough of philosophy!" he said. "Tell me, young Montrève, what you thought of the pantomime?"
I opened my mouth to reply, but Claudia interrupted.
"Montrève," she said thoughtfully, tilting her head to regard me. She had light brown eyes like a fox, and the lamplight gave them an amber cast. "Something about that name's been plaguing me all night." I felt a stab of alarm in my belly. "Wasn't that the name of a D'Angeline poet you admired?" Claudia asked Lucius. "I seem to remember you were quite taken with his work some years ago."
Lucius snapped his fingers. "I knew I recognized it! Are you related?"
I heaved an inward sigh of relief. "After a fashion," I said. "I was adopted into his heir's household."
"What poet?" Deccus Fulvius asked his wife. He sounded disgruntled.
"No one you would know, my love." She smiled sweetly at him. "He wrote poems in the old Hellene style, lauding the noble virtues of manly love."
The senator gave a dismissive grunt.
Lucius leaned back on his couch, folding his arms beneath his head and gazing at the ceiling. " 'O, dear my lord, let this breast on which you have leant, serve now as your shield,'" he quoted in a soft voice. He turned his head. "Did you know him? Is it true he was once a prince's lover?"
"Oh yes, it's true," I said. "But no, I'm afraid I never knew him. He died before my birth. He studied here in Tiberium," I added. "They both did."
"Time was when all the best D'Angeline nobility sent their sons to the University," Deccus Fulvius said in an accusing tone. "In the last generation, it's changed." He pointed at me. "Your folk have forgotten where they come from. We civilized you."
Because I was his guest, and there was a grain of truth to it, I didn't argue. "Yes, my lord," I said. "That's why I wanted to follow in Anafiel… de Montrève's footsteps." I caught myself stumbling over the name, though I don't think they noticed. It was a piece of irony, that. During his lifetime, Anafiel Delaunay was disowned by his father and took on his mother's surname. It was only after his death that he reclaimed the name that was his birthright, Anafiel de Montrève. His poetry, declared anathema in his lifetime, was released after his death under his given name. For a time, it had been quite the fashion.
But it was Phèdre who made the name he had borne in his lifetime famous.
And I had no intention of uttering it here. As Master Piero had said, they were not all hidebound. The name Delaunay might well ring a different chord than that of Montrève.
"There is a story," I said, shirting the topic, "that Anafiel de Montrève learned the arts of covertcy when he studied here in Tiberium, the better to serve his lordship, Prince Rolande. I asked Master Piero, but he'd never heard of such a thing."
All three of them looked blankly at me.
"Covertcy?" Lucius mused. "That would be useful."
"Bah!" Deccus scowled. "What's to teach a spy? Mind your loyalty doesn't stray, keep your ears open and your mouth closed." He shifted on the couch. "Now, back