Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [308]
Stroking his hair, I told him about the splendors of Meroë, where Queen Zanadakhete ruled and soldiers rode oliphaunts in the streets. I told him about our journey southward, about the rhinoceros and the immense fish that Joscelin and I caught. I told him about the Great Falls. I told' him about Saba and the lost Tribe of Dan with their ancient bronze weapons.
As I was telling him about following the stars across the Lake of Tears, rowing and rowing, Lucius fell asleep.
Sleep eased the stark lines from his face. He looked ten years younger; almost like himself, albeit a worn, thin version. I held him close and kept talking, keeping my voice low. It seemed to soothe him, and I thought he'd like to know the story had a happy ending, even if he wasn't awake to hear it. But between the warmth and the peaceful sleeping weight of Lucius, I fell asleep before the end.
It seemed like only a few minutes.
"Montrève!"
I snatched the dagger from my boot-sheath, eyes snapping open. Lucius was standing a safe distance away, regarding me with a bemused look.
"I've seen the way you wake when startled," he said dryly. "O, dear my prince, you are an odd one, aren't you?"
I grinned at him, sheathing my dagger. "So I've been told. How do you feel?"
He stretched his arms, flexing his hands. The lines had returned to his face, but they were carved less deeply, and his color was better; much better. "I'll serve. I don't feel like a strong wind might blow me to pieces anymore. That's an improvement." He met my eyes. "Thank you. Someday I'll have to hear how the story ends."
I nodded. "Get us through this, and I'll tell you."
"I'll do my best."
Daybreak was nigh. A scuttling priest came with a breakfast of dates, black bread, and hard cheese. We both ate as much as we could, washing it down with water, then assisted one another in donning our armor with unself-conscious ease. There was a strange sense of intimacy between us, born of the night's shared sleep and the morning's imminence of death.
"You know I have to send you back to your squadron," Lucius said quietly.
"I know." I yanked the mended chin-strap of my helmet, testing its strength. "I'm ready. We're ready. And Eamonn's a good leader. You—Gallus—did a good job of training us."
"He wasn't all bad, was he?" Lucius mused. "Not wholly."
"No," I said. "And when all is said and done, he believed in you. He'd never have left if he didn't. Gallus Tadius believed you could do this. Remember that."
"I will." Leaning over, Lucius plucked something from the tangle of blankets and pillows on the pallet; a length of crimson cloth, loosened during the night. "Here." He knotted it firmly around my upper arm. "The badge of the Red Scourge."
I gave him a half-bow. "My thanks, my lord."
"Imriel…" Shaking his head at me, Lucius took my face in his hands. "Don't be an ass," he said, and kissed me.
It was sweet.
It was sweet and strong and firm. There was amusement in his handsome satyr's face as he drew back from me; what my own expression was, I cannot guess. I was struggling with an unexpected swell of desire.
"For luck," he said lightly.
"Luck," I echoed. The flamen dialis was standing in the doorway, his brows raised and his lips pursed in disapproval. In that instant, I despised him. I wished I could give him the sort of devastating look that Phèdre had given me the day I'd quarreled with Mavros, that deep, penetrating, self-aware gaze before which all accusations quailed and all shame rebounded upon the accuser.
Lucius did it for me.
The priest dropped his gaze. "Captain Arturo is awaiting orders."
"Right." Lucius donned his gilded helmet, which bore a tall plume of horsehair dyed red. It had belonged to Gallus Tadius once. He fastened his chin-strap and checked his sword-belt, then settled his buckler on his arm. He drew a deep breath, as though to better fill out the armor. Beneath the helmet's gilded peak, a look of grim resolve suffused his