Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [253]
Inch by inch, the drawbridge rose and the massive portcullis descended.
Until it was done, I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath. I daresay all of Lucca breathed a sigh of relief as the drawbridge slammed into place and the portcullis shuddered to earth. The city was sealed. We were back to where we had been a mere hour ago. Under siege, and this time grateful it was no worse.
"Forgive me, my lady." I turned to Helena. "Are you… all right?"
She looked away and I knew she wasn't all right, not at all. She had been abducted and brutalized. She had watched the man she loved cut down before her eyes, and a man she despised violently maimed. One side of her scarlet wedding gown was splashed with darkening blood. But all she asked was, "Are we safe?"
"For the moment," I said truthfully.
She looked at me, then. Her pupils were no longer as stark, and I saw that her eyes were a clear blue. "Who are you?"
"Imriel," I said. "Imriel nó Montrève."
"You're D'Angeline." She put out one hand, then drew it back. "When you rode toward us, I thought you were… I thought…" She shook her head and did not finish the thought. "My father?"
"Let's go see," I said gently.
It was still mayhem in the square. Gallus had vanished into the gatehouse, for which I was grateful. Helena didn't need to know, not yet, what had befallen her betrothed. I counted the dead. Five of theirs, and eight of ours. There were another dozen, at least, badly wounded. The four injured Valpetrans were under guard, their faces stoic with pain and resolve. At least they were alive. Eamonn was right, war was ugly.
Gaetano Correggio was alive, too. He'd taken a blow to the temple. It wasn't serious, but his hair was matted with blood.
"Helena." His voice cracked and he raised his arms. She dismounted into them, hiding her face against his chest. He held her tight, his head bowed. I sat quietly atop the Bastard, thinking what a strange world it was where a man loved his only daughter enough to risk an entire city to save her, but not enough to permit her to wed a poor man. After a moment, the Prince of Lucca shuddered and lifted his head. "Thank you," he said. "My lord D'Angeline, you have my deepest gratitude and the eternal gratitude of my house." A touch of wonder lit his deepset eyes. "I don't even know your name."
I bowed in the saddle. "Imriel nó Montrève, your highness."
"Imriel nó Montrève." He repeated it. "Montrève."
"Yes, my lord." I saw Eamonn approaching across the square, Brigitta riding behind him, still clutching her hunting bow. Eamonn nodded toward the gatehouse. "My lord, forgive me, but I must see about a friend."
"Yes, of course," he said absently.
I paused, glancing down at the top of Helena's head. Her face was still hidden. Brown hair, straight and fine as baby-silk. "My lord, will you tell her about Lucius?"
"Lucius." The Prince of Lucca licked his lips. "Yes."
Eamonn and I entered the nearest guard tower without exchanging a word. We didn't need to. Even Brigitta had grown somber, agreeing to watch the horses without a quarrel. There were more dead in the tower; one Valpetran and two Luccan guards, blocking the narrow stair. We had to clamber over them.
The lower chambers were empty, which was absurd, but there were three guardsmen in the top chamber manning the arrow-slits with crossbows. In the far tower, we could hear Gallus Tadius shouting, but it was quiet here. One of the guards glanced around as we entered, the other two remaining intent on their duty.
"The D'Angeline?" he asked.
"Is he… ?" I couldn't ask.
"In there." He jerked his head toward the open door onto the inner chamber. "Tell him thanks for saving our arses."
With a surge of hope, I ducked through the door and entered the central chamber, Eamonn crouching as he followed. The windows were shuttered and bolted, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. All I could see was the