Kushiel's Scion

A strange exhilaration filled me. I yearned to follow the black water, to descend into those lightless realms. What an adventure it would be!



To walk the underworld like a hero out of legend, to speak with the storied dead…



No.



The word brushed my thoughts, as soft as a bronze-edged feather. I shuddered and drew back from the edge of the roof. My place was among the living. I clung to the thought and kept a firm grip on my place in the world.



In the city, the level of water began to drop.



How long it lasted, I couldn't say. It felt like hours, and I daresay it may have been. And yet it all took place like a dream. It may have taken minutes. The abyss gaped, the cataracts roared, the water fell and fell and fell…



And then it was gone.



All of it.



Atop the roof of the basilica, we blinked at one another like men waking from a shared dream, dazed. The streets of Lucca were wet and shining, filled with shallow puddles and strewn with debris, but the flood was gone.



"Straight to hell," Eamonn said.



In the tower, the abyss was gone. There was only an earthen pit some five paces in diameter, damp and muddy. No offerings, no dead lamb, no wax death-mask. The cracked halves of the marble slab that covered it lay on either side. Even as we looked, priests hurried down the winding stair and began dragging the slabs back into place, their robes trailing in the mud.



Others attended to Gallus Tadius, obscuring him from sight. A sentry appeared, descending from a high post. He leaned in close, nodding, then trotted back up the winding stair, vanishing behind an intact portion of the wall.



A few seconds later, we heard his horn sounding. Three short blasts, high and piercing: Stand and await orders. Our sentry replied with a single, brief note: Acknowledged.



He turned to us. "You're to assemble downstairs. Captain Arturo will be here presently. Check the upper tiers, there should be dry supplies."



"What of Gallus Tadius?" one of the other squadron commanders asked. Others echoed the query with rising anxiety. "Where is he?"



"He'll need time to recover," the sentry said wearily. "So we were told. Until then, Captain Arturo's in command."



There was some grumbling, but most of the men were too shocked to protest or wonder. The squadron leaders began shouting commands and the Red Scourge began trooping down the four narrow stairs.



I lingered atop the roof as long as I could, gazing toward the breach in the wall. Water was still flowing into the city, but it was merely a stream, scarce overflowing the aqueduct. For the most part, the river had returned to its proper course, where it was still swollen and flowing swiftly, trapping the bulk of Valpetra's army on the far side.



Not the cavalry, though.



More than a score of sentries were posted to defend the breach, vulnerable and exposed, their crossbows cocked and aimed. Valpetra's cavalry lingered out of range, their horses mired to the fetlocks, watching and assessing.



I pointed them out to Eamonn. "Think they'll charge?"



He rubbed his chin, his grey-green eyes troubled. "They might. They don't know what we've got here, and we can't afford to get caught wrong-footed." I watched him wrestle with a decision and come to it. "I don't think we'd better wait for Arturo."



Downstairs, the basilica was teeming with soldiers. It held all of us, but barely. The men of the Red Scourge spoke in hushed whispers of what had happened, and muttered in anxious tones about what would happen next. The sense of awe that had pervaded us atop the roof gave way to the exigencies of mundane reality. We squeezed rainwater from sodden cloaks and broke into the cache of stores in the upper tiers, passing around dry blankets and rags, rubbing down ourselves and our weapons. The entire place reeked of floodwater, wet wool and rank humanity.



As the last to descend, Barbarus squadron was stuck with a post on the damp lower tiers and last pick of the dry goods. I got a scrap of muslin. It didn't do me much good, but I wiped down my sword assiduously and watched Eamonn shove his way through the throng. It was always easy to spot him, half a head taller than anyone else. I wished he'd found a helmet.



He spoke to several of the other squadron leaders, and there were nods all around. Eamonn hopped up onto the rostrum.



"Right!" he called cheerfully. "Here's the thing, lads."



I laughed; everyone did. He sounded for all the world like Gallus Tadius. Eamonn grinned and waited for us to stop laughing.



"Here's the thing," he continued. "There are a hundred and fifty Valpetran horse-soldiers trying to decide whether or not to charge twenty sentries. We're going to give them a reason not to. Until Captain Arturo or Gallus himself tell us otherwise, we'll hold the gap and squadrons will rotate out every two hours. We'll go in order. Understood?"



There were cheers and shouts of agreement. The commanders of the 1st and 2nd squadrons—Cutpurse and Horsethief squadrons—hustled their men out the door. As motley a group as they were, they moved with brisk efficiency, settling their bucklers, striding with their spears held upright.



Canis was among them.



They were first in order, and if Gallus Tadius' plan held, they would be first in line when the full-forced attack came, bearing the brunt of it. Among the eighty men in Cutpurse and Horsethief, most were former prisoners who had chosen the red armband over the noose. A few were just unlucky.



My erstwhile philosopher-beggar gave me a long look as he left, filled with meaning I couldn't decipher. All I could do was shrug. After what we'd witnessed, I didn't much care. If there was somewhat Canis wanted me to know, he should leave off pretending to be a deaf-mute.



But all he did was shrug in reply and leave.



Eamonn ordered us to get what rest we might, since no one knew what the next hours would bring. Someone found a stash of charcoal untouched by the flood in a storeroom, and lit the braziers. The basilica grew marginally warmer and a good deal smokier. We lounged on the tiered benches, checking our gear. There were oatcakes and salt cod in the caches, so we shared those around, along with skins of water to wash it all down. Through the windows, I could see the cloudy sky lowering. However much time had passed, it must be nearing sunset. I wrapped myself in my damp cloak and tried to doze.



In time, Captain Arturo arrived, accompanied by a lieutenant.



He looked exhausted, and I daresay he was. The city guard had carried a heavy burden these last weeks, with worse yet to come. He listened as Eamonn and the other squadron commanders reported and nodded with relief.



"Good men," he murmured. "Good plan. Stick to it."



"Where's Gallus Tadius?" someone called. Others took up the call, turning it into a chant. "Gall-us, Gall-us, Gall-us!"



Captain Arturo winced. "Resting, damn you!" he shouted. "The man opened a portal to hell! Can you not give him a moment's peace?" With an effort, he gathered himself. "He'll be with you by daybreak," he said curtly. "We're keeping a watch. Valpetra's men won't attack before then."



Some cheered; some groaned. I understood both parties. The waiting was hard.



Captain Arturo raised his hands and spoke, trying to placate them.



The captain's lieutenant snaked through the crowd, clambering over the tiered benches. It was the young one, the one with the rosy cheeks and the peach-fuzz. The one Gallus Tadius had struck. Wrapped in my cloak, I watched him come. I didn't realize he was coming for me until he leaned down, whispering in my ear like an inept lover.



"He wants to see you!" he hissed.



I knew.



I'd known since I saw Gallus Tadius cast his death-mask into the waters. But I couldn't show it, not here. I sat up, raking a hand through my damp hair. "I'll come," I said quietly, settling my helmet on my head and grabbing my gear.



I told Eamonn what I was about, and he gave me a puzzled nod. I did my best to slip away unobtrusively, following Captain Arturo and his lieutenant through the streets of Lucca. There were a few people about, cleaning up flood-borne debris, but for the most part the citizens of Lucca huddled in the upper stories of their homes. The flood may have been banished, but Valpetra's army had not.



They led me to the Temple of Jupiter. It hadn't been spared by the flood, but the god's mighty effigy was none the worse for wear. He sat in his marble throne, staring out toward the entrance with a fierce gaze. Captain and lieutenant alike offered a salute in passing, touching their fingers to their brows, and I followed suit. At the doorway that led out of the main chamber, the flamen dialis met us. He looked weary, too.



"Prince Imriel." He inclined his head. "This way."



There was a small sanctuary beyond the central chamber where the water hadn't penetrated. They'd laid a pallet in there, piled high with pillows. A half a dozen candles were blazing atop the small altar and in niches built into the walls. I entered, gazing at the figure reclining on the pallet.



Lucius.



He looked awful. Beyond weary, beyond exhausted. Even by candlelight, his satyr's face was haggard and grey. Still, he shoved himself upright as I entered, and a trace of his old smile flickered. "Montrève."



"Lucius." I set down my buckler and spear, removed my helmet, and sat on the edge of his pallet. "He's gone, isn't he?"



"I'm afraid so."



Chapter Sixty-One



We didn't speak of it at once. The lieutenant had stayed behind, but Captain Arturo entered the sanctuary after me. Lucius listened to his report, then nodded. "Thank you," he said. "Tell me… tell me if anything changes."



"Aye, sir." There was fear in his eyes, and a question writ large. What will you do if it does? He knew. But all he said was, "The men are counting on you, my lord. Your men."



"I know," Lucius said. "I'll be there."



The captain hesitated, then departed with a salute. Once he had gone, Lucius gave a shuddering sigh and buried his face in his hands. A deep tremor shook him.



"Sweet Apollo," he said in a muffled voice. "I can't do this."



"I think you may have to," I said quietly.



"I know," he said. "Believe me, I do."



"How much do you remember?" I asked him.



"Enough." Lucius raised his head and gave the ghost of a smile. "Knowledge is a slippery thing, Montrève. But I know what he had planned. I still do." He studied me, his hazel eyes steady in their sunken hollows. "You weren't surprised."



"No," I said. "I knew it when he dropped the mask."



"He knew." Lucius shivered. "Sweet Apollo, he knew."



I propped my elbows on my knees. "He was making atonement, Lucius."



"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."