Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [244]
At that moment, the atrium echoed with a resounding smack as Lucius roared, "Enough!" and dealt his father a casual backhanded blow across the face. "Right," he said into the stunned silence that followed. "Let's all get acquainted." He pointed at Claudia. "You're a Tadius." "Lucius," she whispered. "It's me, Claudia." "Claudia." He nodded at Deccus. "Husband, right?" "Deccus." The senator coughed. "Deccus Fulvius." "A Fulvius!" Lucius clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Good man. The Fulvii know how to hang on to power, don't they? Not like my spawn." He strolled over to Eamonn and cocked his head. "And what do we have here? A fine barbarian warrior, by the look of you! Who do you serve, lad? You'd be welcome in the Red Scourge!"
"My thanks, my lord," Eamonn said with careful diplomacy. "I'm Eamonn mac Grainne of the Dalriada."
"Prince of the Dalriada," Brigitta announced, lifting her chin.
"Ooh!" Lucius laughed. "That's a fierce piece of chattel you've got there, Prince Barbarus!" He chucked her under the chin. "That's all right, sweetling. I like a bit of fight in a woman. Fierce women and fierce horses. All the better to break 'em." Brigitta's eyes blazed, one hand twitching toward her dagger, and Lucius laughed again. "Go on, sweetling! Make a move."
Eamonn clenched his fists and cast an imploring glance in my direction.
"Lucius!" I called.
He turned to me, abandoning Brigitta. "Lucius isn't here right now," he said in a conversational tone. "But you know that, don't you, fancy-boy?" I nodded. He came closer. "You're D'Angeline. What's a D'Angeline doing here?"
"I'm Lucius' friend," I said steadily.
"Friend!" He laughed. "That's a fancy word for a fancy-boy." He studied my features. "You're too pretty by half, you know that? I'm going to do you a favor."
Someone—Claudia, I think—let out a gasp as Lucius' fist plowed toward my face, but I was already moving. I swept his fist aside with my left forearm and slid inside his guard, planting my left foot behind his right leg. I splayed my right hand on his chest and shoved and he fell, hard, onto the atrium floor.
It wasn't pretty.
Apoplectic with rage, he got to his feet. "You buggering little—"
"Lucius." I slid out of range and caught Eamonn's eye. He nodded, circling behind Lucius, or Gallus, or whoever he was. "Lucius, think!" I said, desperate. "Where is the virtue in this? What would Master Piero say?"
He paused, a flicker of puzzlement crossing his face. "Master Piero?"
Eamonn took one step forward, raised his arms and clenched his fists together, and brought his right elbow down atop Lucius' skull. He was tall enough to do it, and he packed a wallop like a mule's kick.
Lucius' eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled. Eamonn winced, rubbing his bruised elbow as our friend slumped to the floor.
"Imri?" Gilot entered the atrium. "They tried to pack me off to the servants' quarters, but I told them—" He halted, blinking. "What in the seven hells happened here?"
"Ghosts," I said wearily. "And Alais was right."
"What?" He stared at me.
I shook my head. "I'll explain later."
We had a long time to talk. After Eamonn had rendered Lucius unconscious, the Tadeii closed ranks and carted him away. The four of us were escorted to guests' quarters by polite, frightened servants. There we were made comfortable, while a steady stream of chirurgeons and priests entered and left the villa. Betimes we heard shouting, but no one told us anything. We ate the meal that was brought to us, availed ourselves of the villa's private baths and strolled in the gardens, and were no wiser by the time dusk fell.
The wing that housed the guests' quarters contained a comfortable salon with a colonnade that looked onto the side garden, and it was there that we gathered. The servants brought wine and lit the lamps and left us in peace.
"Imriel," Gilot said. "Come morning, we leave."
"We'll see," I said gently.
He bowed his head, rubbing