Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [259]
"I want to attend the conclave," Claudia said coolly.
Gallus pinned her with a stare. "That won't be necessary."
"So do I," I said.
"And I," Eamonn added. Brigitta nodded.
"Ah, gods!" Gallus threw up his hands in disgust. "What do you fancy you lot are going to accomplish there?"
"We did well enough by you yesterday, my lord," I said.
"Well enough!" He snorted. "Oh, aye, fancy-boy. That was a deft piece of swordplay, but if you'd let Valpatra kill the wench, he'd have lost his claim to Lucca."
I shook my head. "Once he was inside the gates, it wouldn't have mattered. Not if he'd taken possession of the city. Anyway, that's not the point. Lucca may cede authority to you, but Terre d'Ange doesn't; nor Skaldia, nor the Dalriada, nor Tiberium. We deserve a voice."
"Tiberium has a voice." He pointed at Deccus Fulvius.
"I would speak for the Tadeii," Claudia announced.
Gallus laughed. "I speak for the Tadeii!"
"Not the living," she said.
A flicker of confusion crossed his features. Knowledge, slippery as an eel. "Our… your father may speak for the Tadeii."
"Our father is in his chambers, mumbling to himself, Lucius!" Claudia said tartly. "We need you, yes. But you need us, too. You'll get your inventory later. Don't be an ass."
They stared at one another, brother and sister; and yet not. It was a strange sight. In the end, rather to my surprise, it was Gallus who relented. He laughed aloud. "Sweet tits of the Vestals! I can see who inherited the balls in this family. Fine. Come, and welcome to it."
An hour later, the conclave was convened.
It met in the basilica, a stone's throw from the town square where the scorched husk of the bell-tower squatted. Lucius—Gallus—had been busy in the aftermath of yesterday's skirmish. Gaetano Correggio was there along with a cadre of other noblemen I took to be the elite of Lucca, but there were others, too. Lesser genry, representatives of the merchant guilds, several priests, Captain Arturo of the city guard.
The central chamber of the basilica was vast and spacious, with a rostrum on the floor and tiers of benches rising on both sides. Eamonn,
Brigitta, and I took seats on one of the lower tiers, behind Claudia and Deccus Fulvius.
Gallus Tadius stood on the rostrum and waited.
The benches filled slowly as people took their seats. Men; almost all men. Helena Correggio, huddled at her father's side, was one of the only other women present. I shook my head in wonderment. In Terre d'Ange, the numbers would have been equal. Brigitta's upper lip curled in disdain. I remember Phèdre said once that in Skaldia, women have the right to participate in their great councils.
It was cold and drafty in the basilica, a chilly autumn breeze stirring through the chamber. There were a number of charcoal braziers set about, but they were empty and unused. Gallus' orders, no doubt. And wise enough; it would only get colder.
Overhead, the vaulted ceiling was covered with plaster. It was divided into quadrants and painted with frescoes depicting the heavens—dawn, noon, dusk, and night. But the plaster was chipping badly, as though it had been laid in careless haste, and one could see bits and pieces of a tile mosaic that lay beneath it. A battle scene, I thought.
Gallus Tadius tilted his head to regard it and chuckled. "You covered over my triumph," he said to Gaetano Correggio.
The erstwhile Prince of Lucca accorded him