Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [210]
Claudia turned pale. "Are you hurt?"
"No," I said grimly. "But Gilot is."
Her lids flickered. "I begged you to stay off the street!"
"And you bade me to warn my friends." My thumbs itched, yearning to dig into her flesh. "Did you think I wouldn't listen? Did you know someone would try to kill me?"
She tried in vain to pull away. "No! I only knew it would be dangerous out there."
"Oh, it was," I agreed. "Lucius was caught in the middle of it."
"He wasn't supposed to be. Nestor was supposed to find him." There was a trace of fear in her voice. "Is he all right?"
I thrust her from me. "What do you care?"
"He's my brother!" Her eyes flashed. We stared at one another, breathing hard. I wanted to hate her, and did. But there was somewhat else there, too. Her face softened, the lines of worry returning. "Imriel, please. Just tell me, is Lucius hurt?"
"He's fine," I said shortly.
Claudia closed her eyes. "Thank you."
I sank onto the marble bench where guests sat to remove their boots, my fury giving way to a deep weariness. "So who is it, Claudia? Bertran? Ghislain? What member of House Trevalion wanted to avenge Baudoin's death badly enough to kill me? Do you care so little for me you were willing to let them do it?"
"I can't…" She swallowed. "I didn't think… All right. All right!" For a long moment, she stood silent and motionless. There was only the steady rise and fall of her breast. When she spoke, the words emerged flat, devoid of emotion. "It was his sister, Baudoin's sister. Bernadette de Trevalion."
"I see." I rubbed my face. "Does the Guild have proof of this?"
"Yes." Her tone remained even. "There's a man named Ruggero Caccini. He employs a number of unsavory types and accepts commissions for this sort of work. The Guild has found it… useful… to maintain contact with him. He provides affidavits detailing his commissions."
"For the purpose of blackmail?" I asked.
"For the purpose of information, for which he is remunerated and enjoys a measure of protection." Claudia took a deep breath. "Imriel, that's all I know. That's the coin I was given to entice you. To pay you for your loyalty, should you swear it. I don't even know who holds the proof, although it still could be yours if you prove willing. It's complicated. I swear to you, I didn't believe you were truly in mortal danger."
"Why?" I asked, my voice hard. "Why, Claudia?"
"I can't say," she said brokenly. "Please, please believe me."
"That's the problem." I stood. "I don't."
I meant to leave; I wanted to leave. My decision was made. I wanted to be done with the lot of it—Tiberium, Claudia, the Unseen Guild. But then Claudia drew near me, and I could feel the heat coming off her. In the wake of the riots, the revelation, my emotions were in an uproar. The unstoppable tide of desire rose, my resolve ebbing. Bowing her head, she touched the charred hole in the shoulder of my shirt, the clean bandage beneath. In my haste to get Gilot to the Temple of Asclepius, I'd forgotten what I must look like.
"You are hurt," she whispered. "Oh, Imriel! Come here, please."
Elua help me, I went.
Why, I could not say, save that I was angry and tired and hurt, and I wanted to punish us both. While Deccus Fulvius stood upon the rostra and proclaimed his innocence, I took his wife in their bedchamber. It was a fierce coupling, anger-driven. I left marks on Claudia's skin, the impress of my teeth in the full, white curve of her breast. She cried out, but she didn't protest. Not when I bit her. Not when I spread her thighs with an ungentle touch and pinned her hands above her head, driving into her. She didn't need to. In this battle, she had already won. I had already lost. I would take my leave of her without having gained mastery.
Still, there was a strange peace in it.
At least in bed we understood one another.
"Imriel de la Courcel." Claudia toyed with my hair. "What will you do?"
"I don't know." I glanced at her. "Take my concerns to the D'Angeline ambassadress, I reckon. It's about time, don't you think?"
Her brows rose.