Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [307]
"Yes." His gaze dwelled on me. "I saw you. He saw you, there at the end. And you knew. You see things other people don't, don't you, Montrève?"
"Sometimes," I said.
"Why is that?" Lucius asked.
I reached out and took his hand. It had grown gaunt and callused under Gallus Tadius' usage, but the strong grip was purely Lucius. I smiled wryly, remembering the buffeting sound of bronze wings within my skull. If I may serve as the instrument of your justice, wield me as you will. Kushiel's reluctant scion, called to bear witness. I could hardly explain it to him when I barely understood it myself. "Does it matter?"
"No." Lucius leaned his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes. "I suppose not. What do you see in me, Imriel nó Montrève?"
I told him.
All of it, good and bad. A quick wit and a generous spirit; a thorny sense of pride. A love of justice that wrestled with inborn prejudices; an abhorrence of hypocrisy. Stubbornness and kindness commingled. Courage, and a surprising capacity for endurance.
In short, a good deal of myself.
When I finished, Lucius was watching me with open eyes. "I'm not afraid to fight," he said. "And I'm not afraid to die. I'm not even afraid of the dead, not anymore." His mouth twisted. "But I am not my great-grandfather. And I am terrified to the core of my being at the prospect of ordering men to die in his name. Because they will, you know. A good many of them."
"Yes," I said. "I know." I wished I had words of comfort to offer him, but I didn't. There weren't any. "Lucius, you need food and sleep, as much of both as you can manage. Have you eaten?"
He shook his head. I found a priest loitering outside the door and sent him to fetch food. They must have anticipated the need, for he returned with alacrity bearing a steaming bowl of stew, hearty with beans and rich chunks of mutton, and a sizable chunk of black bread. After weeks of short rations, it looked delicious.
I shoved it at Lucius. "Eat."
He ate slowly at first, but after a few mouthfuls I could see his appetite return. I refused his offer to share and watched with satisfaction as he devoured the entire bowl, wiping it clean with the last of the bread.
"More?" I asked.
"I'd burst." Lucius set the bowl aside. "Thank you, that was good."
I nodded. "You need to sleep now."
He grimaced. "I think I've forgotten how. My mind keeps working and working, and I don't even know whose thoughts I'm thinking. I've gone so far beyond tired, I've come out the other side. Anyway, I need to get a look at Valpetra's forces and—"
"No." I pointed at him. "Look at you, you're about to fall over. You're no good to anyone in this state. Sleep."
A faint spark of humor lit his eyes. "What do you mean to do? Sing me a lullaby?"
"Mayhap." I stood and removed my sword-belt, then began stripping off my leather jerkin. Lucius watched me with bemusement. "Move over."
"Montrève, I hardly think—"
"Don't be an ass." Clad in a woolen shirt and breeches, I crawled onto the pallet beside him. "You've got pillows enough for an orgy here. Move over."
In the end, Lucius was too exhausted to protest. I propped myself against the pillows and pulled him toward me, trying to settle his head on my shoulder.
"Come here," I said. "I'll tell you a story."
"I'm not a child," he murmured. "And I do not need your damned D'Angeline pity."
"Shut up." I tugged a lock of his hair. "This is a true story. You've heard of the Master of the Straits?" He nodded. "Well, there was a curse that bound him to his island. And it bound him to immortality, too; but an immortality of endless aging. It was the angel Rahab who uttered the curse, and the only thing that would break it was the Name of God…"
As the candles sank low throughout the night, wax dripping, I told him the story of our quest to Saba. I told him about stowing away on the boat to Menekhet, praying Phèdre and Joscelin wouldn't send me away. I told him of our voyage down the Nahar, and sang the children's counting songs in Jeb'ez that our felucca-captain Wali taught me. I felt Lucius' cheek move in a smile.