Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [223]
"Pity," he mused. "It would have been interesting to know." Lucius regarded me. "So what is your family like, Montrève? The gods know, I've told you enough about mine, ghosts and all." He laughed. "What familial responsibilities are you shirking?"
Eamonn stirred. "Lucius—"
"No." I held up a hand to forestall him. "It's all right. It's just… Lucius, there are some things I'd rather not discuss."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable. "Fine," Lucius said at length, sounding puzzled and hurt. "I'll stop troubling you with unwelcome questions." He pushed his chair back and stood. "You know, Montrève, I'm glad of your friendship, but I'd appreciate it more if you'd let me reciprocate it."
With a courtly bow, he took his leave. I drained my cup and sighed. Once again, I'd managed to be hurtful and unfair to someone who meant me only good; a guilt compounded by the knowledge that I'd been carrying on a torrid affair with his sister, whose motives were suspect at best and mayhap downright dangerous.
"Sorry," Eamonn muttered.
I shook my head. "It's not your fault."
"Was it a lovers' quarrel?" Brigitta asked with interest. "Lucius likes men."
"I know," I said. "And no."
"Because Eamonn said in Terre d'Ange—" she persisted.
I raised my voice. "Will you please shut up!"
Rather to my surprise, she did. A few other patrons stared, then looked away. What had happened to all the polite D'Angeline niceties that Phèdre had taught me? Once upon a time, I'd had manners fit for an adept of the Night Court. Now it seemed all I could do was blunder about, causing damage to those I cared for. Master Piero wanted us to learn to be compassionate and wise, and I couldn't even help a beggar on the street.
Claudia's lessons and the Guild's scheming had had their effect. I'd been so proud of myself for using their tools to solve my own problem, so pleased with my success. And now it seemed I'd become better at plotting, lying, and dealing with thugs like Ruggero Caccini than engaging my friends. We spoke a great deal of virtue among ourselves, but there was precious little of it in my life.
"Imriel," Eamonn said gently. "Go home and sleep. With all that's happened, and worrying about Gilot, and… whatever it is, you're worn ragged. Go."
He was right and he was worried. I could see it in his eyes. He was a friend; my one true friend. Phèdre said that about Hyacinthe, and I was coming to understand its value. I'd already confided in Eamonn once, and he'd trusted me enough to aid me without demanding answers. I wanted to stay, wanted to pour my heart out to Eamonn and tell him everything. But there was Brigitta beside him, her ire dampened to a low glower. And there was Claudia's threat hanging over me, backed by the menace of the Unseen Guild, capable of inciting riots. Mayhap its tentacles did not reach so far as Alba, but here in Tiberium, it was real. I'd learned that much.
I went.
On the morrow, I elected to miss Master Piero's lecture, and instead escorted Anna to the Temple of Asclepius.
Gilot's condition was improving, which was one shining spot of hope in my life. The swelling around his eyes had receded and the bruises were fading to unlikely streaks of greenish yellow, as though he sported a strange, sickly domino. He was able to hobble about on foot, though his chest hurt whenever he took a deep breath.
His hand… well. The priest said it would be weeks before the splints could be removed, and there was no telling what we would find. But he was better, or at least parts of him were.
"Name of Elua!" Gilot grimaced, trying to shove a twig beneath the bindings on his hand. "It itches."
Anna batted gently at the twig he held. "Leave it, Gilot."
"It itches!" he repeated plaintively.
"You're as bad as Joscelin." Perched on a stool beside his bed, I smiled at him. "When the chirurgeon examined him in Nineveh,