Kushiel's Scion (60 page)
"Please do," I said, sitting. Our shoulders brushed.
"Call me Claudia." She smiled at me and lowered her voice, pitching it beneath the surrounding clamor. "Are you one of Lucius' playmates?"
"No, my lady." I held her gaze, shaking my head slowly. "I'm no one's playmate."
"Pity," she murmured.
Soon the pantomime began, though for the life of me, I couldn't recount it if asked. It was a comical farce based on an episode of ancient Tiberian history, about two quarreling generals and the Menekhetan Queen who outwitted them. The generals sported enormous leather phalluses laced to their breeches. They acted the part of buffoons while the Queen led them a merry chase. In the end, they battered one another with their phalluses, staggering about the stage until they collapsed. The hero of the piece appeared to be a wise old senator, who was aided by his prying servant.
Although the Tiberians laughed until they wept, doubling over in the stands at the antics of the dueling generals, I had the idea that there was somewhat subversive about the play. Betimes, when the sage senator spoke, Deccus Fulvius nodded his head in approval.
For the most part, I found it hard to pay attention.
It was not that the comedy was rude and absurd by D'Angeline standards, though it was. It was the pressure of Claudia's thigh against mine, and my own acute awareness of it. My resolve to be good began to seem distant and childish.
A short way into the play, the shifting sun put us in shadow. Claudia turned, beckoning to one of the servants. "A blanket, please." She spread it over her lap, solicitously extending a fold to me. "We wouldn't want you to take a chill."
Precious little chance of that, I thought.
It was not long before I felt her hand beneath the blanket. She was a woman grown—I guessed her age to be in her late twenties—and there was no uncertainty in her movements, no girlish groping or fumbling. Her palm slid over my tensed thigh, slow and firm, savoring the contact. Doing nothing to dissuade her, I glanced at her strong profile. Her gaze was fixed on the stage below, and she was laughing at the players. It looked for all the world as though she'd no other thought on her mind.
Meanwhile, her hand continued unerringly.
I twitched when she reached my phallus, hard and rigid beneath my breeches. On my other side, Lucius gave me an odd look.
"Are you all right, Montrève?" he asked.
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth.
Smiling at the stage, his sister stroked my phallus, filling her palm with it, her long fingers skillfully stroking its trapped length. For a terrifying moment, I thought I might climax beneath her hand, right there in the theatre. I took slow, deep breaths, thinking about maintaining Elua's vigil; the cold ground beneath my knees, the icy stars above.
It got me through the performance. Mercifully, Claudia released me ere the end. I muttered a prayer of thanks to Blessed Elua, and set about regaining my composure. By the time the pantomime ended, I was able to rise without embarrassment.
Afterward, we went behind the stage to the players' rooms. Deccus Fulvius, it seemed, was the patron of this particular play. He greeted the players, congratulating them on a job well done, rewarding them with coin.
Lucius seemed to know them well. He mingled with them, laughing and jesting. I smiled to see him looking merry, although it left me standing with Claudia, which was a trifle unnerving.
"You're fond of my brother," she observed.
"We've only just met," I said. "But yes, I believe I am."
"I'm pleased to hear it." She sounded sincere. "He needs friends." Her voice shifted, low and amused. "And you seem to be a young man of singular will."
I looked her in the eyes. "I try, my lady."
I found myself regarding the pending meal with equal parts dread and eagerness. In Terre d'Ange, I might have enjoyed the game Claudia Fulvia played. But as Eamonn had reminded me, Tiberium was not Terre d'Ange. Noblewomen were not free to take lovers as they were at home. What the consequences might be, I wasn't sure, but I was fairly certain the wealthy and powerful Deccus Fulvius would not approve. And I didn't want to be in this position. After Valerian House and what had transpired afterward, I needed time to reflect.
I wanted her, though.
I wanted her badly.
After what had passed between us in the theatre, Claudia was the very model of a circumspect Tiberian wife. She excused herself as we entered their townhouse, or domus, as the Tiberians call it, going to check on proceedings in the kitchen. I gazed around the vast atrium, admiring the intricate mosaic on the floor. When a servant knelt to remove my boots, I startled, and wondered again about slavery.
"A little taste of luxury, eh, Montrève?" Deccus Fulvius chuckled. "I thought a poor scholar might enjoy it."
I slid my bare feet into the soft sandals proferred and smiled at him, feeling guilt-ridden as I never would have at home. "You're very kind, my lord."
Deccus shrugged. "Not at all." He eyed Lucius, who was gazing into the open doorway of a small room to the right with a queasy look. "Come, Lucius, the lares of the Fulvii mean you no harm. Let's take some refreshment."
I glanced into the room as we strolled past it toward the peristyle. The light was dimming, but from what I would see, it held only a small altar laden with masks and bronze figurines.
"The dead?" I asked softly.
Lucius gave me a tight smile. "Always."
It was pleasant in the peristyle garden, with dusk falling over the city; though not so pleasant as Phèdre's courtyard at home. I sipped wine and found myself missing her, missing Joscelin, missing Terre d'Ange. Deccus Fulvius teased Lucius and me for our adherence to Master Piero, citing numerous examples of his erratic behavior.
"Oh, let the lads be, Deccus!" Claudia appeared in the doorway, her figure silhouetted in the lamplight behind her. "Come and dine."
We adjourned to the spacious dining room, which was set about with couches. There, Claudia joined us as a hostess in her own right.
I must own, after playing at being the impoverished scholar, it was a pleasure to indulge in luxury. Servants circulated with bowls of scented water. Reclining on couches, we dipped our hands and held them out to be wiped on soft linens. And then the food arrived; course after course, all of it washed down with good wine.
I hadn't realized the extent of my own hunger. Forgetting politics, forgetting Claudia's hand on my phallus, I ate until my belly was groaning: oil-cured olives, salty oysters, tender mussels, a capon so tender the meat fell from the bone, spicy fish stew. The taste of garum pervaded everything. I found myself growing fond of it.
"My!" Claudia smiled at me. "You do have a prodigious appetite, Imriel nó Montrève."
"What do you expect at his age, my dear?" Deccus Fulvius asked cheerfully.
I read the answer in the slight flicker of her eyelids and felt warm. I coughed to cover my embarrassment, loosening my collar and leaning forward to select a pear from the tray of desserts. The beggar's medallion still strung about my neck fell forward.
"What's that you have there?" Claudia asked, amused. "A luck-charm?"
"Oh, this?" I plucked at the pendant, removing it. I examined it for the first time, realizing it had the crude semblance of a lamp stamped on both sides. "Nothing, my lady. A beggar gave it to me. He said it was ill luck to refuse his gift."
She laughed. "Oh, he did, did he? It's a clever trick. He's bought your guilt, hasn't he? I'll wager you feel obliged to toss him a coin every time you see him."
Lucius frowned. "May I see?"
I passed him the medallion.
He looked at it and grinned. "He's a Cynic," he said, tapping the fired clay. "The lamp, that's their symbol." At her request, he passed the pendant to Claudia, who examined it with mild interest before returning it to me. "Your beggar's a philosopher, Montrève. Might as well keep it, it might be lucky."
"A Cynic, eh?" I shrugged and strung it back around my neck. "All right, then."
Deccus Fulvius clapped his hands. "Enough of philosophy!" he said. "Tell me, young Montrève, what you thought of the pantomime?"
I opened my mouth to reply, but Claudia interrupted.
"Montrève," she said thoughtfully, tilting her head to regard me. She had light brown eyes like a fox, and the lamplight gave them an amber cast. "Something about that name's been plaguing me all night." I felt a stab of alarm in my belly. "Wasn't that the name of a D'Angeline poet you admired?" Claudia asked Lucius. "I seem to remember you were quite taken with his work some years ago."
Lucius snapped his fingers. "I knew I recognized it! Are you related?"
I heaved an inward sigh of relief. "After a fashion," I said. "I was adopted into his heir's household."
"What poet?" Deccus Fulvius asked his wife. He sounded disgruntled.
"No one you would know, my love." She smiled sweetly at him. "He wrote poems in the old Hellene style, lauding the noble virtues of manly love."
The senator gave a dismissive grunt.
Lucius leaned back on his couch, folding his arms beneath his head and gazing at the ceiling. " 'O, dear my lord, let this breast on which you have leant, serve now as your shield,'" he quoted in a soft voice. He turned his head. "Did you know him? Is it true he was once a prince's lover?"
"Oh yes, it's true," I said. "But no, I'm afraid I never knew him. He died before my birth. He studied here in Tiberium," I added. "They both did."
"Time was when all the best D'Angeline nobility sent their sons to the University," Deccus Fulvius said in an accusing tone. "In the last generation, it's changed." He pointed at me. "Your folk have forgotten where they come from. We civilized you."
Because I was his guest, and there was a grain of truth to it, I didn't argue. "Yes, my lord," I said. "That's why I wanted to follow in Anafiel… de Montrève's footsteps." I caught myself stumbling over the name, though I don't think they noticed. It was a piece of irony, that. During his lifetime, Anafiel Delaunay was disowned by his father and took on his mother's surname. It was only after his death that he reclaimed the name that was his birthright, Anafiel de Montrève. His poetry, declared anathema in his lifetime, was released after his death under his given name. For a time, it had been quite the fashion.
But it was Phèdre who made the name he had borne in his lifetime famous.
And I had no intention of uttering it here. As Master Piero had said, they were not all hidebound. The name Delaunay might well ring a different chord than that of Montrève.
"There is a story," I said, shirting the topic, "that Anafiel de Montrève learned the arts of covertcy when he studied here in Tiberium, the better to serve his lordship, Prince Rolande. I asked Master Piero, but he'd never heard of such a thing."
All three of them looked blankly at me.
"Covertcy?" Lucius mused. "That would be useful."
"Bah!" Deccus scowled. "What's to teach a spy? Mind your loyalty doesn't stray, keep your ears open and your mouth closed." He shifted on the couch. "Now, back to important matters. Tell me, Imriel nó Montrève, what you thought of the pantomime."
I answered in diplomatic terms, which didn't entirely suit Deccus Fulvius. He pressed me for my deeper impressions.
"But what about the plot?" he insisted. "Did you grasp its relevance?"
I spread my hands, helpless. I couldn't very well tell the man I'd only grasped one word in three because his wife was fondling my groin. "Forgive me, my lord. I'm not well-versed in Tiberian politics."
"Deccus!" Claudia said with asperity. "The lad's only been here a few days. Let him get acquainted with the city before you try to drag him into your political snares."
"Forgive me, my dear," he apologized to her. "You're right, of course. But I wanted the impression of fresh eyes, untainted by bias."
She rose gracefully from her couch, bronze silks shimmering. "Well, why don't you settle for Lucius' tainted gaze and submit him to your inquisition. I'm sure he'd be happy to share his thoughts with you." She beckoned to me. "Come, let's give them their moment of intrigue. Have you seen our frescoes?"
"No, my lady," I said. "I haven't."
I could hear then behind us as Claudia led me away, talking pantomime and politics. My skin felt too tight, prickling with danger. I knew, without a doubt, that what I was doing was folly. And I knew I was going to pursue it anyway.
Lighting a taper at a lampstand, Claudia led me past the entrance to the peristyle. The servants who had attended us so solicitously stayed out of our way. We trod a corridor, entering a smaller room that lay off it. There she raised her taper, illuminating the darkness.
"You see?" she said. "Very fine, aren't they?"
There were two frescoes on the wall, both of them depicting a man and woman joined in the act of love. In one, she straddled him; in the other, he rode between her thighs. I had seen finer work in the Houses of the Night Court, but they were not poorly rendered.
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