Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [173]
"Well, of course not!" He held himself with dignity. "That all happened a long time ago, didn't it? It's only the scent of myrrh that brings it back." He nodded toward the incense-maker's shop. "There was a messenger came for you, earlier today. He left a note with Master Ambrosius, I think."
I uttered a curse and let him go, banging on the incense-keeper's door.
He had closed his shop against the day's heat, but he opened it for me, peering through the gap with a dyspeptic look. "What do you want?"
"Master Ambrosius? My name is Imriel nó Montrève," I said humbly. "I live behind your shop. I think you hold a message for me."
I had to wait while he sought for it, sighing and scratching among his things. At length, he returned, thrusting a scrap of sealed parchment through the gap. "Here!" he grumbled. "Take it and be done. I'm not your messenger boy, D'Angeline."
Standing on the cobbled streets, I cracked the note and read it.
The hand was unfamiliar, as was the device, though I spotted the Fulvii name in it. The impress of carmined lips that blotted the parchment, I recognized. I read the note, touching my own lips in memory.
Sundown. My domus.
There was no signature, merely initials. It didn't matter. None was needed.
My heart soared, and I felt the best and worst of me drawn aloft in its wake. Clutching the carmine-stained parchment, I luxuriated in the memory of Claudia's hand caressing my phallus; of her mouth taking mine.
Sundown couldn't come soon enough.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Six
Gilot was furious.
I didn't tell him about Claudia; he was angry enough that I had left him without warning this morning to wander the city alone. We quarreled about it, speaking in fierce, hushed tones.
"It was broad daylight!" I protested. "Gilot, I've spent the last eight years of my life being warded day and night. We agreed that you'd come as my companion, not my nursemaid. All I'm asking for is a chance to live like a free man."
"Fine!" Gilot said. "You want to get killed, that's your business. Only you'd better get someone else to bear word to her ladyship, because I don't want to see the look on her face when she hears it."
"Fine!" I said, storming toward the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"The baths," I retorted over my shoulder. "I have… an engagement this evening."
Gilot caught up to me as I wrestled with the new bar on the door. He held the door shut with one hand, leaning all his weight on it. "An engagement with whom, your highness?"
" 'Tis no concern of yours!" I glared at him and jerked hard on the door. "And don't call me that. This place is full of listening ears."
"Imri…" Gilot staggered off balance, then caught himself. "Wait a moment." He exhaled hard, and I could see him struggling for patience. "All right, then, don't tell me. But at least let me escort you wherever you're bound tonight."
I nearly refused, then paused. Claudia Fulvia might be a harmless libertine with no thought beyond her own desires, but her husband was a powerful man engaged in dangerous politics. I was taking a risk, and a foolish one at that. "All right," I said slowly. "If you'll swear to me in Blessed Elua's name that you'll keep my business in confidence."
Gilot gave me a hard look. "And whose business are you about?"
I grinned. "Naamah's."
His lips twitched. "Oh, aye? And who are you dallying with that you need swear me to secrecy? Not a widow, I'm guessing."
I shook my head. "No more questions. Do you swear?"
He put up his hand. "In Blessed Elua's name, I swear it."
Thus reconciled, we went to the baths. There was a buzz of gossip regarding the day's events. Although none of it seemed particularly urgent, the matter of the pantomime and the princeps' disapproval was discussed with avid interest. I had to force myself not to prick my ears every time Deccus Fulvius' name was mentioned.