Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [234]
Lucius tasted his wine and made a face, then settled back in his chair. "All right. Out with it."
"Do you remember how you said you'd appreciate my friendship more if I let you reciprocate it?" I asked him.
"Quite well." He looked sharply at me. "This isn't about the time when I asked if there was any chance you might fancy me, is it? Because that's not what I meant. Don't flatter yourself, Montrève. I'm not pining."
"No, no." I shook my head. "I know what you meant. You've been honest and open in your friendship, and I've been… less than forthcoming."
"Mm." A corner of his mouth quirked. "You do cultivate an air of brooding mystery. It grows a bit tiresome."
I laughed. "It's not a-purpose."
"Good to know." He turned somber. "Why? Does it have to do with what happened when you were a child? Bad things, you said."
"It's part of it." I studied my hands encircling my winecup. "You asked about family."
"Is there a Gallus Tadius in yours?"
I glanced up at his sympathetic gaze. "Not exactly. There's a Melisande Shahrizai and a Benedicte de la Courcel. Lucius, I've not lied to you, but I've not been honest, either." I took a deep breath and braced myself for his reaction. "What I told you is true. I was adopted by Phèdre nó Delaunay, the Comtesse de Montrève. But I'm kin to Queen Ysandre, and in Terre d'Ange my name, my full name, is Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel."
Lucius blinked at me, his mouth working soundlessly. He raised his winecup in an unthinking gesture. It slipped from his fingers and shattered on the wooden table. A puddle of wine spread between us and the barkeep hurried toward us with alacrity, a rag in his hand.
"Oh, sweet Apollo!" Lucius whispered. "You're the Bella Donna's son."
I stared at him. "What?"
It had to wait while the barkeep swabbed the table. Lucius muttered under his breath, pacing the wineshop and tapping his temples. I ignored him and thanked the barkeep for his troubles, giving him a few coins and procuring a new cup for Lucius, which I filled and thrust across the table.
"Sit," I said. "And tell me."
"Tell you!" He gave a harried laugh, but he sat and drained his cup, refilling it straightaway. "It's a legend, Montrève—or whatever I should call you. A Serenissiman tale, but it's cropped up in Lucca and elsewhere in the north of Caerdicca Unitas. Not here, not this far southwest. The Bella Donna, the handmaiden of Asherat." He gestured impatiently. "Asherat-of-the-Sea, the Bona Dea, Magna Mater. Whatever you wish to call her. As Master Piero says, the gods wear many faces."
"Lucius," I said.
He drank off another cup. "She's your mother?"
"No!" I raked a hand through my hair, still damp from the baths. "Lucius, my mother is very much a mortal woman. Her name is Melisande Shahrizai, and she took sanctuary in the Temple of Asherat to avoid being executed for treason."
He nodded and set his winecup down carefully. "The Bella Donna."
"She's a traitor!" I shouted.
Lucius winced. "Montrève, you asked. I'm telling you, that's all. That's the legend. She was a beautiful woman, wrongfully accused, her son stolen from her. She took the Veil of Asherat and the goddess granted her sanctuary. Year upon year, her grief and her beauty deepened. When her pain grew too much to bear, the goddess made the walls of the temple melt like mist and freed her to roam the earth in search of her lost son. There was a priestess who swore it was so." He picked up his cup, then set it down. "Women in desperate circumstances ask the Bella Donna to intercede with the goddess on their behalf. Little things, offerings at the crossroads. Blue beads. Helena did it, once. That's how I know."
"Lucius." I spread my hands. "That's absurd."
He nodded. "I know."
"You don't," I said. We sat in silence for a moment. "Lucius, my mother was the architect of the greatest treachery in the history