Kushiel's Scion (Imriel's Trilogy #1)

Kushiel's Scion (Imriel's Trilogy #1) Page 49

He sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Chapter Thirty-Three

On the following day, I attended the University proper. It is an ancient structure, situated alongside the Old Forum near the Curia, where the Senate still gathers. Once, I am told, it was used for judicial purposes; but the power of the magistrates and praetors who once legislated there has faded, their presence replaced by the trappings of academia.

Outside, students loitered before the colonnade, but inside, the marble halls bustled in a hushed fashion. The University Masters strode its halls, velvet robes flapping purposefully, respectful pupils trailing in their wake like so many ducklings. Unlike Master Piero's students, they all wore varying robes or hoods to indicate their status. Unsure where his lecture hall lay, I flagged down a passing student to inquire.

"Master Piero?" The Caerdicci student I had asked flapped one hand dismissively. "The madman's hall lies yonder, D'Angeline." He looked me over with scarce-veiled contempt. "So, has he decided to take on a fancy-boy, then?"

I stepped close to him, close enough to smell onions on his breath. My right hand hovered over the hilt of my sword. "And what if he has?" I asked softly. "Do you wish to make an issue of it, my friend?"

He backed away, raising his hands. "Oh, please!" he said in disgust. "Spare me the posture. Go, and find your Master."

I went, troubled by the exchange.

The lecture hall was one of the smaller spaces, but it was large enough to contain us all in relative comfort. We sat perched on the funny little stools the Tiberians favor, while Master Piero paced the room and goaded us to conversation, pressing us to define the idea of the greater good in societal terms. For the first time in three days, I heard him cite many of the great Hellene and Tiberian philosophers, urging us to do the same.

I knew them; I knew them all, or almost. In her own scattered way, Phèdre had been an excellent tutor, and she had always hired the best available. And so I contributed, though I felt my words to be rote. When we had finished, Master Piero beckoned to me.

"Stay," he said simply. "Wait."

So I did, cooling my heels while he listened to the concerns of others, nodding and compassionate. It was in that time that Lucius Tadius approached me.

"Montrève!" he said, hailing me. "I come bearing an invitation."

His eyes were heavy-lidded. I peered at him. "Oh?"

"Oh, indeed," he retorted. "I extend it on behalf of my sister Claudia Fulvia and her husband, Deccus Fulvius, who invite you to join us at the theatre later today and for supper at their domus afterward."

Wary though I was of politics, I was curious. Already, I was hard put to imagine what Lucius' sister was like. And whatever dealings Deccus Fulvius was mixed up in, he had been courteous at the baths. It would be impolite to decline. "My thanks," I said. "I'd be honored."

Lucius merely nodded and told me where to find the theatre, near the Tiber in the vicinity of the butchers' market. I promised to meet them there.

By that time, Master Piero was awaiting me. I bid farewell to Lucius and followed the Master into his private study, a small antechamber at the far end of his lecture hall. He closed the door firmly behind us and invited me to sit.

It was a strange study, almost barren of books, but filled with all manner of oddments—plants growing in clay vessels; a variety of animal skulls and the fully articulated skeleton of a bird; geodes; glass lenses and prisms; an unnervingly large snakeskin; a number of intricate shells. I found myself cataloguing them in my mind the way Phèdre had taught me during our memory exercises, and swiftly succumbing to despair. There were too many items to count. I wondered what their purpose was.

Master Piero watched me. "You have a curious mind," he said. "Why do you suppose I keep these things?"

"I don't know, Master." I indicated the nearest object, a nautilus shell sitting on the corner of his desk. "May I?"

"Of course."

I picked it up and examined it. It sat lightly in my palm, a solid coil. Its outer surface was vividly striped. Inside, it gleamed with soft pearlescence. "Hellene mathemeticians claimed it was a perfect spiral," I said. "A ratio of exact proportions building on one another to create a whole that is pleasing to the eye." I looked at him. "These are tools for thought, aren't they? Pondering the nautilus, one ponders the existence of perfection in nature."

He smiled. "You were taught well."

I set the shell down and chose not to tell him that I had gleaned that particular piece of knowledge in the Hall of Games. The game of rhythmomachy is based upon such numerical sequences. "Does that mean you have decided to accept me as a student, Master Piero?"

He rose without answering and stood at the open window, gazing at the Old Forum below, his hands clasped behind his back. "The rostra is empty," he mused. "Once upon a time, it was seldom so. Every day, someone stood upon it to address the people of Tiberium." He turned around. "You have a quick mind, Imriel nó Montrève, and a solid grounding in knowledge. But I am troubled." His brow furrowed. "Does your family know you're here?"

"Yes, my lord," I said. "Of course!"

"Your whole family?" he pressed gently.

"Yes." I took a deep breath. "The Queen of Terre d'Ange is not pleased, but she knows. And as I am of age, the choice is mine to make. Master Piero, I'm not exactly the only student here fleeing family ties."

"No," he said. "You're not. But Lucca is a minor Caerdicci city-state, not a vast and powerful ally nation. And Lucius Tadius is not pretending to be someone he is not." The furrows on his brow deepened. "I do not like lies, Imriel."

"Where is the lie?" I protested. "Master Piero, I am Imriel nó Montrève. In my heart and soul, that's who I am. And I am here to find out who that is."

"But in the eyes of the world, you are someone else, too," he said quietly.

Bitterness and anger welled in me. "Do you know aught of my history?"

"I do." Sighing, Master Piero turned his troubled gaze back to the window. "Not all of it, but enough. We are not all hidebound here at the University, Imriel, heedless of that which lies beyond the borders of Tiberium, our noses stuck in the dusty tomes. We do pay attention, some of us, to that which passes in the greater world. Even I." Abandoning the window, he sat at his desk and regarded me. "Would that I knew naught, for it would make my choice easy. I would dismiss you despite your promise."

"Master Piero—" I began in alarm.

He held up one hand. "But I will not. I will tell you freely that I believe you would be better served by the truth than by evasion, which is the subtle kin to a lie. But I will give you the chance to make that decision on your own." From a cubbyhole beneath his desk, he drew forth a sheepskin parchment. "I will write your name on my matricula and number you among my students," he said, rummaging for an inkpot on the desk's cluttered surface. "You may see the bursar about paying your fee."

"Thank you, my lord, thank you!" I said with relief.

"It is what I do," he said. "You may go. Tomorrow, we meet at the Temple of All Gods."

I hesitated, watching him inscribe my name. "Master Piero?"

"Yes?" He looked up.

"How might a student at the University come to study the arts of covertcy?" I asked.

He blinked at me. "Covertcy? Is that what you wish to study?"

"No," I said. "Not exactly. I wish to learn how a student who was present"—I counted on my fingers—" some forty years past might have learned them."

Master Piero shook his head. His homely face was as innocent of knowledge as a blank sheet of parchment. "I've no idea, young Imriel. 'Tis before my time, but I've never heard of such a thing. Not here, not at the University."

"All right," I said. "Thank you, my lord."

"Go." He waved his hand. "You know how to thank me."

I went.

Outside, beneath the colonnade, I found Eamonn loitering and waiting for me. "Well?" he asked anxiously. "What did he say?"

I smiled. "I'm his student."

"Yes!" Me gave me a bone-cracking hug worthy of his father, Quintilius Rousse. "I knew you would be!"

"Eamonn!" I wheezed.

"Sorry, Imri." He let me go. A pair of passing Caerdicci students shot snide looks in my direction. "I'm glad, that's all. Aren't you pleased?"

"Yes, of course." I watched the students. "Eamonn, am I imagining things, or is there a certain antipathy toward D'Angelines here at the University?"

"A bit, mayhap." Eamonn scratched his chin. "Truth be told, there aren't many here at the moment. Or any that I know of, other than you." He poked my arm. "Come on, let's go to the baths. We can talk there. Is Gilot about?"

"No." I laughed. "He's hovering in the courtyard at the insula, trying to find a woman to hire to empty the chamberpot."

We strolled together to the baths. It felt odd to me to walk everywhere in Tiberium, but everyone did it, patrician and commoner alike. There were strict rules regarding the use of carriages during daylight hours, and no one rode astride within the city proper unless they were coming or going. The main streets were wide enough and more, but it would be impossible to navigate the smaller ones. I found myself missing the Bastard, and thinking I must make time to take him for an outing. Surely he must be pining.

At the baths, we were sweated, scraped, and soaked. Afterward, Eamonn talked me into availing ourselves of the services of the unctuarium for a scented-oil massage. I had to wait, first, while he saw the barber. Clad in a linen robe, I sat on one of the ubiquitous Tiberian stools while Eamonn stretched his length in a specially made chair, tilting his chin.

The barber on duty made a show of whipping the lather, spreading it over his face and throat with a boar-bristle brush. He dragged a keen razor over Eamonn's skin, scraping away lather and red-gold stubble. The sight of the blue-gleaming edge dragging against his throat made me shudder. Eamonn closed his eyes, heedless.

"You don't have to shave, do you, Imri?" he asked in the Alban tongue.

I shook my head, then remembered he couldn't see. "No," I said, replying in kind.

Eamonn smiled, eyes still closed. "Does it make you proud?"

"No," I said, feeling at my smooth cheeks. "Why, should it? It's a matter of heritage, nothing more." I shrugged. "There are differences. Do they matter?"

"Aye." Eamonn opened his eyes. "They do to some."

In the unctuarium, we lay side by side on marble tables while attendants massaged scented oil into our skin.

"Make no mistake, Imri," Eamonn said. "There's envy at work. You…" He gestured at me with a languid arm. "You D'Angelines, you got lucky. You're a pretty folk, and you're a strong nation. Your gods gave you gifts you can number. And," he said candidly, "D'Angelines are nothing loathe to boast of it."

I gazed at him through my lashes, eyes half-lidded. "I don't, do I?"

"True," he admitted. "You're different. But people here don't know you, yet. All they see is a D'Angeline face." He pillowed his head on his arms. "Give it time, Imri. They have long memories here in Tiberium. Their star has set, while Terre d'Ange's has risen; higher than ever, under the rule of Ysandre and Drustan. And now even D'Angeline scholars are disdaining the University for their own academies. It breeds resentment."

I sighed. "Can nothing ever be simple?"

"Ah, don't let it worry you." Eamonn grinned. "You worry too much."

"I have too many reasons to," I muttered.

Clean and fragrant, I returned to the insula to change my attire, reckoning the plain student's togs I was wearing weren't suitable for an evening with one of Tiberium's wealthiest citizens. Most of the clothing I had brought was simple and sturdy; well made, but nothing too fine. But I had brought one or two items I thought might suit, though they were doubtless worse for the wear after being crumpled in our packs.

A strange sight greeted me as I drew near the incense-maker's shop. A beggar had esconced himself near the gate that led to the courtyard of the insula. Somewhere, he had obtained a vast pine-wood barrel, still intact, though its staves were cracked and sprung. An opening had been cut into it and the beggar sat cross-legged in its confines, cradling a wooden bowl, neat as a statue in an altar's niche.

He poked his head out as I approached. "Good day, young sir!" he called cheerfully. His Caerdicci was good, but he spoke it with an accent I couldn't place. He shook his wooden bowl, rattling the few brass sestertii it contained. "The wise man frees his soul from the burden of wealth," he said. "Will you not lighten your burden?"

I raised my brows. "And burden you in turn, my friend?"

"Ah!" A smile dawned on the beggar's face. Beneath the dirt and the lank hair, he was younger than I had thought at first glance, not yet thirty. Still seated, he gave a little bow. "I see, you are kind. I thank you, young sir, for sparing me temptation. Perhaps, as my wisdom grows, I will learn to live upon air and sunlight." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "Or the sweet fragrance of incense, like the gods themselves. Yes! I shall become godlike in my wisdom."

Laughing, I dug into my purse. "Here," I said, depositing a silver denarius in his bowl. "Lest your mortal part fail you ere your ascendancy."