Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [183]
"All-Father Odhinn!" she breathed. "You're as fast as a snake."
I sighed and sheathed my daggers. If it had been an assassin, I would have been dead. Joscelin's words echoed in my ears. Speed's not everything. "Sorry," I said to Eamonn. "It was a long night."
"Oh, aye!" He gave his affable grin. "We noticed."
Taking stock, I realized that Master Piero and the others had departed. Only the three of them remained, and the charioteer in his fountain; legs braced, arms taut, the chiseled sinews springing forth in relief where his hands gripped the reins. His horses plunged, webbed hooves poised as if to churn the pool's waters, clear streams spewing from their lips. The charioteer's face was firm with resolve, his marble eyes filled with purpose.
Claudia, I thought, would enjoy him.
"So," Lucius drawled. He dragged a finger across his throat, echoing the line that grazed mine. The gesture made me shiver inwardly.
"Looks like you landed yourself a proper hellion, Montrève. Who was she?"
I met his gaze without flinching and lied. "No one you know."
"More's the pity," he murmured. "Listen, do you want to get a jug? I've news since last we spoke. Prince Barbarus and yon shield-maiden are welcome, too."
All I wanted in the world was to stumble back to the insula and collapse on my pallet, letting the dark core suck me downward, past the corpses with slit throats, past the candlelit bedroom where Claudia and memory lurked, into utter oblivion. But I was young and proud, foolish and guilt-ridden, and however long I'd dozed at the Fountain of the Chariot, it was enough to sustain me for a while longer.
"Yes," I said. "Why not?"
And so we went, the three of us, to the wineshop; the same wineshop. This time, I noted the faded wooden sign that hung above its door. Though the wood was weathered to a silvery sheen and the paint untouched, one could make out the head of Bacchus, his curling black locks intertwined with vines.
I could tear you apart and devour you.
I nearly think you have.
It made me shudder, all of it. I found myself yearning toward Eamonn, longing to take comfort in his stalwart presence, his sunny disposition. But all his attention was bent toward Brigitta. There was a strange, wary courtship taking place between them, and it left no room for me. Instead, I was confronted with Lucius Tadius with his quicksilver intellect, and the dark red curls and wide, mobile mouth that reminded me of his sister.
"Listen," he said, leaning forward and pouring, filling our cups. "I've decided to take your advice."
"Oh?" I sipped my wine. "What advice was that?"
"I've made an offer for Helena's hand." Lucius frowned at me. "You were the one made me think, remember? The essence of the matter. Whether 'tis better to wed her and risk being made a cuckold, or condemn her to a life she abhors. I thought on it last night, stinking drunk. And I dispatched a missive this morning." He raised his winecup. "So. Here's to taking risks."
I clinked the rim of my cup against his. "To risks, then."
"What are we toasting?" Eamonn asked cheerfully.
"Lucius." I nodded at him. "He's made an offer for a wife."
"Oh, aye?" Eamonn drained his cup, then hoisted it. "To Lucius and his wife!" Brigitta made a guttural noise deep in her throat, and Eamonn glanced at her. "What is it?"
"You might at least ask her name," she said contemptuously.
Eamonn made to answer, then checked himself. The two of them exchanged a long glance. Whatever had passed between them since the sun rose and set and rose again over the Tiber River, there was substance to it.
I found myself envying them.
"True," Eamonn said slowly, turning his winecup