Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [331]
I still had things to do.
I went to the banking house where I'd drawn on the letter of credit Jacques Brenin, Phèdre's factor, had given me. It had been a considerable sum and I'd been living frugally. Even with the payment I'd made to Ruggero Caccini, the balance would suffice for my purposes. At the banking house, they issued me the monies I requested and a new letter of credit for the remainder under the name I specified.
Lady Denise had been generous and thoughtful. She'd had our things collected from the insula weeks ago, after the first news from Lucca, and settled our debt.
But I had other debts.
By the time I was done, it was nearly time. The sun moved more swiftly across the sky than it had during the summer weeks. I hurried to Erytheia's atelier. Her door was closed, but she opened it to my knock, inclining her head in greeting.
"Prince Imriel," she said. "You are expected."
"Yes, my lady," I said wryly. It was the first time she'd acknowledged knowing who I was. "I know." I jangled the purse at my belt, newly bulging with coin. "I come as a patron, too. Have you sold it?"
Her brows arched. "The Bacchus? You know that was—"
I shook my head. "The Endymion."
"Oh." Erytheia of Thrasos touched her lips with paint-stained fingers, studying my face. "The model… ?"
"Dead, my lady," I said.
"I am sorry," she said simply.
"So am I," I said. "Is it available?"
"Well, there is a—" A flicker of calculation crossed her strong Hellene features, then vanished. "Yes. For you, yes."
The artist named a price and I agreed to it without bartering. It would have felt unseemly. As it was, it was strange to be in the atelier once more, filled with slanting afternoon sunlight and the strong scent of linseed oil. Wishing to retain my composure, I didn't dare glance at the painting. I paid her in hard coins. Her assistant Silvio was wrapping it in burlap when Claudia Fulvia arrived, enfolded in a thick woolen cloak.
Entering the atelier, Claudia drew back her hood. By accident or design, a shaft of light turned her glorious hair to a blazing crown. She didn't speak, merely tilted her head toward the door. The sunlight caught her eyes, turning them amber. Erytheia nodded, beckoning to Silvio. They departed with alacrity. I supposed we were past the point of dissembling.
"So." Claudia smiled. "You wished to see me?"
All the old yearning returned. Ah, Elua! It would have been good, so good, to lose myself in her. To purge myself of all the horror of battle, the shrouds and remnants still clinging to me, in the glory of her naked body. We were well matched, Claudia and I, at least in the bedchamber.
"Yes." I took a deep breath. "Tell me about my mother."
"Your mother!"
It caught her by surprise. I watched her carefully. Her voice was untuned, and a brief flare of outrage surfaced in her fox-brown eyes. Claudia was older than me. She thought it was some cruel game I played.
"My mother sent Canis," I said.
The outrage vanished and comprehension dawned. "Canis," Claudia murmured. "Your philosopher-beggar."
"Yes." I drew up Erytheia's paint-encrusted stool and sat, still watching her. "You lied to me in Lucca, Claudia. You may not have known who he was, but you knew he was Guild. You knew from the beginning."
She gazed at me unflinching. "And you knew there were things I was forbidden to tell you. I'd already erred once. I couldn't afford the risk. I'm sorry."
" 'Do no harm,'" I quoted. "It was the medallion, wasn't it?" The color drained from Claudia's face. "How did you know?" "Canis told me before he died." I'd rather risk lying to Claudia than putting Asclepius' priest in danger. " 'Do no harm.' And he told me my mother sent her love, and then he died with a javelin stuck through him that was meant for me. So I'm asking you, Claudia. It means my mother's in the Guild, doesn't it?"
Claudia sighed. "Imriel,