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

Kushiel's Scion (Imriel's Trilogy #1) Page 76

"How…" Gaetano Correggio licked lips gone dry with fear. "How can you be sure?"

Lucius smiled, or at least the thing that wore his face did. "It's what I'd do."

I tried to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. I didn't want any part of this conversation, let alone the tense standoff between their archers and our guards. But there was nowhere to go atop the wall. Lucius stood there with a sublime lack of concern, the wind ruffling his dark red curls. Gaetano Correggio stared numbly at the figure of his daughter.

"But he'll kill her," he said.

"Her?" Lucius laughed. "Not likely. She's his only claim to legitimacy."

"No." The Prince of Lucca shook his head. "No. I won't risk her. There's got to be another way." His features strengthened with resolve. "Guards!" he snapped. "Stand down." There was a moment's hesitation before they obeyed, lowering their crossbows. "Valpetra!" he shouted. "I want a parley!"

"Idiot," Lucius muttered.

I nearly thought he might challenge Gaetano Correggio then and there, but he merely listened and scowled as they hashed out the terms of a parley meeting. In the end, Valpetra agreed to withdraw the bulk of his army and enter the city with an armed escort. Fifty men, no archers. Gaetano was reluctant to accede, but after much haggling, Valpetra offered to bring Helena into the city with him. At that, the Prince of Lucca relented.

"Correggio, listen." Lucius grabbed his arm as he headed for the tower. "It's a trick."

Gaetano Correggio shook him off. "Let be, man!" He took a deep breath. "Lucius Tadius, I'm sorry for whatever it is that's happened to you. But you've got to get a hold of yourself and stay out of the way until this is over." He glanced at me. "You're his friend?" I nodded. "Do what you can." He raised his voice. "Guards, to me!"

He strode away toward the tower. The captain and his guards fell in behind him. Two or three of them cast dubious looks behind them. I had the distinct sense that they would sooner take orders from Lucius; or at least from Gallus Tadius.

Lucius watched them go. "I'm not in command here, am I?"

"No," I said. "You're… dead, my lord."

"Right." He frowned. "It comes and goes. Knowledge, this knowledge, the knowledge of this flesh…" He thumped his chest. "My filthy buggering grandson. Great-grandson. It's slippery as an eel, knowledge."

"You should go lie down, my lord," I said.

"Are you out of your mind?" He fixed his wintry gaze on me. "By the Triad, D'Angeline! I thought I saw an ounce of sense in you. You had the balls to come out here, and the balls to knock me down. But hell, I've begun with less. Come on. We've got a lot to do."

"We do?" I asked.

He raised his brows. "Do you want to die?"

It almost sounded like Lucius, and for a moment I wondered. But it wasn't Lucius behind those cold eyes. Still, I stood atop the high wall of Lucca while Valpetra's army began to organize a slow withdrawal, and I knew that whoever he was, Lucius or Gallus, I believed him. Unwilling bride or no, Helena Correggio gave Valpetra's claim its sole basis of legitimacy. If he meant to negotiate in earnest, he'd never risk bringing her within Lucca's walls. Gaetano Correggio was blinded by a father's furious grief.

The parley was a trick.

"All right," I said. "What do we do?"

Chapter Fifty

It was slapdash plan, cobbled together in haste. And it all centered around Lucius'—Gallus'—conviction that he knew, with absolute certainty, what Domenico Martelli, the Duke of Valpetra, would do.

"He'll try to gain control of the gatehouse," he said. "It's what I'd do."

There wasn't time for anything else. Archers. Archers in the trees atop the walls, hidden from view, positioned to assail Valpetra's escort within Lucca itself. All the openings in the guard towers looked outward; any other position atop the wall was immediately visible and vulnerable to attack from the outside. The trees would serve. It was the best Lucius could do on short notice. The only thing that aided our cause was that Gaetano Correggio and every noble of influence in Lucca was closeted in hurried discussion prior to the parley, giving us leave to lay our plans.

"I can shoot," Brigitta said tersely.

"Brigitta…" Eamonn murmured. She glared at him, and I thought it was an argument he would lose. Lucius paid no heed to their exchange.

"Good lass." He nodded in approval. "Hunting bows… whatever we have. Gather them. There's a store at the Tadeii villa. I'd sooner have crossbows, but Correggio's ordered the guard to stand down." He slapped his thigh. "Can we recruit any of the guard?"

I thought about the way they'd gazed after him, and the captain's simple comment. Good. "A few, mayhap."

"Right." Lucius said. "Anyone they can spare, we'll post in the trees. But the gatehouse is the thing. That's a damn big army out there, and whoever controls the gatehouse controls our fate. They have got to be ready for an assault."

Gilot stirred. "I'll tell them." He gave me a crooked smile. "I understand soldiers. And I might as well be good for something, Imri."

I wanted to say no, and I knew it would break his pride if I did. "Go."

He went.

"We need more," Lucius said grimly. "Jupiter's Balls! It took me the better part of a year to put the Red Scourge together. I can't resurrect it in an hour."

"Bartolomeo," I said. "What of his friends?"

Lucius held my gaze. "Bartolomeo," he murmured. "Right."

While the elite of Lucca met and argued, preparing to treat with the Duke of Valpetra, we went to the impoverished Ponzi residence. They were holding a wake there. Incredible though it seemed, it was only a day since their son had been slain. Lucca might be under siege, but for the Ponzii, the worst had already happened.

The young nobleman lay on a bier. I didn't look at him, not right away. Instead, I watched Lucius circulate, speaking intently to those in attendance. There were quite a few; merchants and the lesser gentry of Lucca, left to grieve while the elite debated the city's fate. I followed, explaining to those who'd not heard the rumors that it was Gallus Tadius who spoke.

Most of them had.

Young men nodded at his words, pressing fists to their hearts and peeling away. I heard the sound of footsteps, running, and I knew they went to get arms; hunting bows, javelins, whatever they had. I was privy to Gallus' plan. I knew they would toss weighted ropes over the limbs of the oak trees atop the city walls, securing them and climbing to wait, hidden, in their foliage. The citizens of Lucca might witness their ascent, but from the outside it was invisible. The Red Scourge was rising.

How much of it was pride and anger given purpose, and how much of it was the pall that hung over the city? I could not guess. The dead were afoot, but they were not my dead; nor Eamonn's, nor Brigitta's, nor Gilot's. Were we immune to the thrall of violence, the surety of command? I thought so, or I wanted to think so. We followed Lucius because he was our friend. Loyalty. And we followed him because I weighed the same circumstances Gallus Tadius did, and came to the same conclusions.

Phèdre had taught me well how to gauge men's souls.

I wondered, in that fleeting hour, what Claudia thought.

But there was no time; no time. Only time to pay my respects to the dead. I did, at last, pausing beside Bartolomeo Ponzi's bier. He lay stretched upon it, his skin the color of old ivory. It was a little sunken, nothing more. One could tell he had been a handsome young man, the dark brown hair swept back from his brow. His mother had wept for him; a small, round woman. I'd seen her escorted from the room. I did not wonder that Helena had loved him. He had been killed trying to prevent her abduction. Valpetra had cut him down where he stood. There was somewhat about his dead features, the proud, angled jut of his nose, that put me in mind of Joscelin. I didn't even like to think it.

"Bartolomeo." Beside me, Lucius shuddered. He touched the waxy flesh of Bartolomeo's cheek. "Forgive me."

"Lucius?" I thought it was him.

"Love as thou wilt." His mouth twisted. "Isn't that what you say? He never got the chance. Montrève, do me a favor."

"What is it?" I asked.

He looked at me and it was Lucius behind his eyes, scared and haunted. "Look out for Helena. Gallus…" He paused. "He reckons she's expendable."

I nodded. "I'll try."

"My thanks."

I watched Lucius' presence vanish as we left the Ponzi villa; his stride lengthening with brusque purpose, his spine growing rigid. By the time we reached the courtyard, he was gone. And Elua help me, as awful as I felt for Lucius, I was glad to see Gallus return.

Eamonn was waiting for us, holding the horses. Brigitta was already gone, hidden in the trees, armed with a hunting bow she'd chosen at the Tadeii villa. With luck, she'd never need use it. That was the only good thing about Gallus' plan. If he was wrong and Domenico Valpetra meant to negotiate in earnest, he'd never know we were there.

We mounted and rode toward the gatehouse square. The city was filled with a muted buzz. The streets were mostly empty, but people had clustered on the rooftops. Atop every building, the citizens of Lucca huddled and whispered.

The temples were crowded, too; mostly with the poor, hoping to claim sanctuary. We passed the Temples of Jupiter and Mars on the way to the gatehouse, and fearful faces peered from the open doorways. A squadron of the city guard was posted before both temples. Gallus Tadius—I had begun to think of him thusly—cursed at the sight. At the second temple, he dismounted and collared the reluctant squadron leader. "Lieutenant!" he roared. "Who ordered you here?" The lieutenant was a rosy-cheeked lad with a fuzz of blond down on his upper lip. He looked all of seventeen, and his voice quavered when he answered. "Captain Arturo, sir! Prince Gaetano's orders!"

"Greedy bastard," Gallus muttered. "I should never have told him Valpetra would sack the temples." He thought a moment, absentmindedly clutching the lad's tunic in one fist. "Right. Follow me." "Sorry, sir!" the lieutenant squeaked. "We can't. Prince's orders!" Gallus let him go and promptly knocked him down with a backhanded blow. "Idiots!" he said in a scathing tone. "Look at the lot of you. Green as they come, not a set of armor among the bunch. What do you think you're going to do if Valpetra brings his mercenaries in here?" He stood over the lad and shook his head. "A hundred bowmen could hold this city against an army. But no, Gaetano has to open the gates. Listen, boy. You hear fighting, you bring your men on the double."

The lieutenant rubbed his cheek. "Yes, sir!"

Gallus remounted and we continued. He muttered beneath his breath as we rode; numbers, arms, angles of trajectory—I don't know what. All the facts and figures that a good condottiere takes into account. Eamonn and I followed in his wake, glancing at one another.

"Imri." He touched my arm. "If this goes badly, don't hesitate to surrender and claim asylum."

"As what?" For a wild moment, I remembered how Lucius had reacted when I told him who I was. "My mother's son?"

"A political hostage." Eamonn's grey-green eyes were grave, as grave as I'd ever seen them. "You're a D'Angeline Prince of the Blood."

"What about you?" I asked. "What of the Dalriada?"

He shrugged. "We're a lot smaller and a lot farther away. Just remember, will you?"

"I'll try," I promised for the second time that day. "You do the same."

The square outside the gatehouse was packed. Gaetano Correggio, the Prince of Lucca, was there. Publius Tadius was beside him, and a few other noblemen I didn't recognize. There were no women. The bulk of the city guard flanked them, all on foot. I had to own, Gallus Tadius was right. They weren't an imposing sight. In accordance with the terms of parley, they were armed only with short-swords. None of them wore armor, only padded crimson gambesons.

"Stupid," Gallus seethed. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

There were mayhap a hundred members of the city guard all told. Forty of them had been dispatched to guard the temples. I cast my gaze over the ranks before us, and guessed that mayhap fifty were present; an equal number to match Valpetra's escort. That meant there were ten at best in the gatehouse itself. Less, if any were in the trees.

We drew rein behind them.

It was hard not to look. There were only two oak trees atop the walls that afforded sufficient cover to hide our archers and grew within striking range. Their dense foliage rustled, the leaves only just beginning to turn autumn's hues. I wondered how many archers were hidden within it, poised on thick tree limbs, prepared to shoot. I glanced at Eamonn and saw a muscle in his jaw jumping. I knew he was thinking of Brigitta. It was the first time, I think, I'd ever seen him afraid.

Gallus Tadius relaxed in the saddle, his hands loose on the pommel.

There was a small window in the chamber above the gate proper, overlooking the square. A guardsman's head poked out of it.

"Prince Gaetano!" he bawled. "Domenico Martelli da Valpetra and his bride Helena Correggio da Lucca request entrance! They bring an escort of fifty men, and their army has withdrawn!"

Gaetano Correggio nodded curtly. "Admit them."

Within the gatehouse, a winch was turned. Gears groaned as the portcullis rose and the wooden drawbridge lowered. I saw them, then, silhouetted in the opening. Two scouts, scurrying ahead to confirm the terms of the parley, ensuring that no ambush awaited them. Valpetra and Helena, riding. The hollow echo of hooves over water, the steady tramping feet of the men who followed them, clad in steel armor. They passed through the vast doorway of the gatehouse and entered the square, facing off against Gaetano Correggio. The mercenary soldiers fell into neat lines. The gears ground once more as the portcullis descended, the drawbridge closing like an angry mouth.