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"Remember that spotted horse, Imri?" Gilot coughed. "The one at the fair, the day we heard about your mother. What was his name?"

"The Salmon," I said softly. "I remember. You were going to save your wages."

"Never was any good at that." He bent his head, stroking the Bastard's neck. A few drops of blood fell from his chin, blending into the Bastard's speckled hide. "Take care of this one, will you?"

"Don't talk like that!" I said in alarm.

Gilot smiled, and winced. "Talk to you any way I please, today."

"Why not?" Eamonn said equably. "You always do."

It made us all laugh, and then Gilot coughed again and more blood came. We walked the rest of the way in silence, and Claudia Fulvia met us at the gate of the Tadeii villa with a handful of retainers, all of them armed and watchful. She looked tired and worried, but strong. Elua help me, I was glad to see her in a way I hadn't known existed. The courage of women is different from the courage of men; deeper and more enduring. A vast weariness crashed over me, and all I wanted was to sink to my knees and lose myself in her embrace.

"The chirurgeon is coming," she said. "Let's get him inside."

Eamonn carried Gilot into the villa. Without the presence of Gallus Tadius, the atmosphere was quiet and hushed. We made Gilot as comfortable as possible in one of the guest chambers, and settled in to await the chirurgeon.

There was nothing else to be done.

* * *

Chapter Fifty-One

So began the siege of Lucca.

It seemed like a fever-dream. From the moment we had spotted the smoke outside the walls, nothing had felt quite real. A single day had passed and the world had gone mad. It was, though. It was all horribly real.

The Luccan chirurgeon who examined Gilot shook his head. "Pray to Asclepius and Far-Sighted Apollo," he said simply. "There is nothing I can do."

I wanted to pray; I wanted to curse. I wanted to feel hope or fury. Anything to stem the awful tide of sorrow that threatened to swallow me. But there was nothing, only grief.

Gilot died in the small hours of the night.

I was with him. I never left his side, except once when Eamonn spelled me so I might change out of my blood-stiffened clothing and bathe. I did so hurriedly, leaving swirls of translucent red in the clear water of the baths. I didn't know how I'd gotten so much blood on me. Carrying the dead, I reckoned. I didn't even have a scratch. It seemed wrong.

Scrubbed clean, I knelt at Gilot's bedside. He slept, mostly. The chirurgeon had given him a tincture of opium. From time to time, I rose to tend the lamps. As long as I wiped the blood from his mouth, Gilot looked peaceful in repose. He's so beautiful, Anna had said. I thought of Anna and her young daughter Belinda, awaiting his return from Lucius' wedding, and I wanted to weep.

He woke before the end and smiled to see me kneeling there. "Are you keeping Blessed Elua's vigil for me?" he asked thickly.

I took his stiff, broken hand. "I suppose I am."

Gilot laughed, or tried to. I let go his hand to dip a cloth in the basin beside me and dab his lips. "Elua! Do you remember when you took sick? Phèdre was so mad at Joscelin. I'd never seen her angry."

"No," I murmured. "It doesn't happen often."

"Will you tell her?" He groped for my hand. "Tell them both I tried."

"I'll tell them." I swallowed. "I'll tell them how you were a hero. How you saved the city, saved everyone. You were clever, so clever." I scrubbed my eyes with my free hand. "All knowledge is worth having. I'll tell them."

"Clever." Gilot smiled. "Who would have thought." He squeezed my hand. "Anna?"

I nodded. "I promise."

"Good." He sighed. "Good."

After that, he didn't speak. It was a long time before I realized that the silence I heard was the absence of his labored breathing. The peace that had settled over his features was a lasting one. His hand was growing cool in mine. I let it go for the last time and leaned my brow against the edge of his bed.

"Imriel?"

I lifted my head. Claudia was in