Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [198]
If he could do it, so could I.
At least I hoped so.
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Chapter Forty-One
"To Lucius Tadius da Lucca!"
Reclining on his couch, Deccus Fulvius raised his winecup, his broad face flushed. The rest of us followed suit.
"To Lucius!" we chorused.
"'And Helena," Brigitta added pointedly before drinking.
Word had come from Lucca; Gaetano Correggio had accepted Lucius' suit on behalf of his daughter. The date of the wedding was fixed, some six weeks hence. And Deccus Fulvius had resolved to throw a fete to celebrate, deigning to invite his wife's brother's disreputable scholarly friends.
It was a full-blown Tiberian affair, complete with dancing girls and boys; players from the belated pantomime I had witnessed. The atmosphere was raucous and indulgent, and if it hadn't been for Claudia Fulvia, I daresay I would have enjoyed myself.
But there was Claudia.
I hadn't had a chance to speak to her since my visit to the embassy, and nothing was resolved. One thing was certain—if I had any lingering doubts about the efficacy of her training methods, I lost them that night. I had no choice but to engage in the practice of duplicity. It was hard, damnably hard, to be under the same roof with her and pretend there was nothing between us. Wherever she was, I could feel the heat of her. I couldn't look at her playing at being the proper senator's wife without seeing her in all her naked glory, spread out like a banquet.
And yet I managed to keep any of it from showing. Truly, I'd learned a measure of control.
The fete was too large to be contained within the dining hall. It spread throughout the domus. There were a great many people I didn't know present—Tiberian nobles and politicians as well as students. I shook hands and made polite conversation, all the while aware of Claudia moving smoothly throughout the throng while her husband and brother held court. Her decorum was a marvel to behold. Whether by dint of long practice or inborn skill, it seemed effortless.
I'd almost forgotten, since that first night I met her. Now I watched her through different eyes, wondering how much of her skill at dissembling was that of a woman cuckolding her husband, and how much owed to the arts of covertcy. Here in Tiberium, mayhap there wasn't much difference to choose between the two.
Whatever the case, Claudia's skill made it easier to fall into my own role—Lucius' friend, the D'Angeline scholar. I laughed with my companions, drank wine in moderation, spoke respectfully to my host, and began to relax.
Which, of course, was when Claudia struck.
It was in the atrium. I had been conversing with a trade merchant who was curious about the Master of the Straits. Outside of Terre d'Ange and Alba, his existence is regarded with a measure of skepticism. The merchant, who was interested in striking up a direct trade relationship with the Cruarch of Alba, asked me if the legends were true.
"Oh yes," I said. "They're true."
"I mean, really," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm willing to allow that there are dangerous currents, mayhap a pernicious maelstrom… but surely, young sir, you don't expect me to believe there's a sorcerer controlling the seas surrounding Alba?"
I thought about Hyacinthe with his strange, sea-shifting eyes, stepping from the crest of a wave onto the deck of Admiral Rousse's ship. "Believe what you like," I said, hearing an echo of Claudia in my words. "But he is real."
The merchant turned to his wife. "What do you think?"
"Excuse me," Claudia murmured graciously, interposing herself. Her fingertips rested lightly on my arm. "Imriel, a moment?"
Not wanting to make a scene, I let her draw me away. With a deft motion, she slipped into the lararium where the household altar resided, taking me with her.
A single oil lamp burned on the table, low and guttering. It was barely enough to illuminate the waxen masks and bronze figurines with which the altar table was laden. The room seemed close and stifling, smelling of stale incense. There in the darkness, Claudia kissed me with