Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [174]
I debated over my attire. Claudia Fulvia was a senator's wife; she would expect me to dress in my best finery. But she had already seen it, and mayhap it was better not to cater to her expectations. So I chose to dress simply instead, in lightweight woolen breeches and a white cambric shirt, open at the throat. It was fitting attire for an impoverished D'Angeline gentleman scholar, albeit one with access to a singularly skilled seamstress.
"So she's not a noblewoman, then," Gilot observed.
I smiled and did not answer. "If you mean to escort me, let's go."
We strolled through the city. It was much the same hour it had been the day we arrived, with the sun lowering over the seven hills of Tiberium, gilding the tops of buildings, casting the narrow streets in shadow. It seemed like a long time ago.
Outside the Fulvii domus, I paused. "Here we part ways, Gilot. Don't worry, she'll send a servant to escort me home."
He gazed at the townhouse, taking in the finely carved marble pediment above its door, the expensive potted trees. It was unmistakably the house of a wealthy man. "So she is a noblewoman." His brows knit. "Imriel, be careful. It's not like home, you know."
"I know," I said. "And I will be." I laughed. "Besides, what harm can I take? Her husband's away. The worst she's like to do is wear me out so that I can't keep my lids open during Master Piero's lecture."
"I don't know how you manage it as is." Gilot's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "All right, I'll see you anon."
I watched him leave, then mounted the steps and knocked on the door.
It opened, and a servant with a downcast gaze ushered me inside.
Taking a deep breath, I entered.
Empty of Deccus Fulvius' presence, it seemed a different place; larger, yet charged throughout with uneasy energy. In the center of the atrium, the impluvium—the square pool Tiberians use to collect rainwater—reflected violet twilight from the opening in the ceiling overhead. All around the perimeter of the room, fat tapers were burning on gilt stands, wax stalactites dripping down their sides. The air smelled of beeswax and incense, although mayhap the latter was the scent of myrrh lingering in my nostrils.
I sat on a marble bench and let the servant remove my boots. He reached for a pair of the soft sandals they kept for guests.
"Leave them."
It was her voice. I looked up to see Claudia Fulvia in the far doorway, clad in a gown of yellow silk. Her auburn hair was dressed with a gold fillet, and one coiling tendril spilled over her shoulder, the color of dark fire.
"I heard D'Angelines approach their gods unshod," she said. "Is it not so?"
"Only Blessed Elua," I said. "Do you claim divine status, my lady?"
"Not at all." Her full lips curved. "But you have beautiful feet."
The tile mosaic floor was warm beneath my bare soles, retaining the day's warmth. I stood, opening my arms. "I place them at your disposal, my lady. Where would you have them carry me?"
She raised her brows. "Will you enter my presence armed, Imriel nó Montrève? I appreciate the manner in which your sword-belt clings to your hips, but it is not the sword at your belt I seek to employ."
I flushed, at once discomfited and aroused, and accorded her a bow. "Forgive me." I undid the buckle of my rhinoceros-hide belt, handing it to the waiting servant, then stooped to undo the dagger-sheath around my left calf. So I had done before when I had visited as Deccus' guest, but that had been mere courtesy.
It had not left me feeling as though I disrobed before him.
Claudia Fulvia watched me. "You do like to go well-armed, Imriel nó Montrève."
"Yes, my lady," I said. "I do."
She beckoned. "Come."
I went.
In the doorway, she took my arm, tucking hers beneath it. I felt her full breast brush against my forearm. She gave me a sidelong glance with her fox-brown eyes. "Are you hungry?" she asked. "Young men always are. I thought we might dine in the garden."
"As you will," I said in a thick voice.
So I dined in the peristyle garden of Deccus Fulvius with his wife. There,