Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [322]
I gazed at him, at the shadow of Gallus Tadius. "Love the child."
"As simply as that?" he asked bitterly.
Kushiel's bronze wings stirred in my memory. "Yes."
Lucius held my gaze for a moment, then looked away. "You're a strange one, Imriel nó Montrève," he murmured. "Strange and beautiful and, I think, a little bit dangerous to know in your own peculiar way. I wish…" He shook his head.
"What?" I asked.
He looked back at me. "Oh, perhaps that my sister hadn't gotten to you first."
Fiercely and unexpectedly, I flushed a hot red to the roots of my hair.
Lucius gave a wry laugh. "One thing about Gallus Tadius, he was no fool. He saw things I didn't." He regarded me with rueful affection, then rose and extended his hand. "Come on. I imagine our guests are waiting."
By the time we arrived, they were all assembled in the dining room, reclining on couches. All of us exchanged formal greetings. Lucius bowed low over Helena's hand. Her fingers trembled in his grasp, but he whispered somewhat to her as he straightened, and I saw her expression soften. They would be all right, I thought. Both had been used cruelly by hard men in different ways, but both had survived. In time, they would be all right.
So we drank and dined and strove to make pleasant conversation, although it was hard to talk about anything but the siege. It was still too fresh in all our minds. If the evening could be counted a success, I reckon it was due to Eamonn. He overrode every awkward pause and silence with cheerful anecdotes, his sunny good nature on full display. He told stories of his childhood in Alba, and stories of his courtship of Brigitta that made everyone laugh. He even told stories of the siege that made it bearable. He charmed them all, men and women alike. I knew he was doing it a-purpose, and I loved him for it. As always, Prince Barbarus had more tact and shrewdness than anyone credited him.
I was glad, so glad, he was alive and well. And I was glad when it was over.
We said our farewells in the atrium. Helena took both my hands in hers, and her fingers were warm and didn't tremble at all. She gazed at me without fear, her blue eyes wide and candid.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For what you did, and for what you said to me. I will always remember it."
I bowed. "Be well, my lady."
Her fingers tightened on mine. In Terre d'Ange, I would have given her the kiss of parting without hesitation. But this was Lucca, and she was Domenico Martelli's widow and Lucius' betrothed. I returned the pressure of her fingers, then let her go.
After the Correggii had departed, I found Lucius eyeing me oddly. "You didn't…"
I shook my head. "No."
He blew out his breath in a sigh. "Good."
On the morrow, there were more farewells to be said. Quentin LeClerc and a score of his men gathered in the villa's courtyard to escort us. They had procured a mule-drawn supply wagon, and Gilot's casket was loaded ceremoniously into it.
There wasn't much else. Eamonn and I had travelled light, expecting to spend no more than a few days in Lucca. After enduring weeks of the siege, most of our clothing wasn't fit to salvage. I was clad in what would have been my wedding finery, a velvet jacket and breeches in Courcel blue, trimmed with silver; Eamonn had been reduced to rough-spun woolens.
We bade farewell to Publius Tadius and Lady Beatrice in the villa. He shook our hands solemnly and thanked us for our service to Lucca and the Tadeii. She enfolded us both in a warm, heartfelt embrace.
"You be good to that wild girl of yours," she said to Eamonn, rising on tiptoe to take his face in her plump hands. "Remember your vows."
"I will, my lady," he promised.
Lucius walked into the courtyard with us. LeClerc and his men were waiting, holding our mounts. The Bastard was restive and stamping, his hooves ringing on the paving-stones, snorting plumes of frost. It was a bright, crisp day, with only a few wispy clouds in the blue sky. Lucius stood beside the wagon and laid his hand on Gilot's casket.