"What?" Claudia's voice was incredulous.

"Stay here." Lucius was grim. "All of you. I'll go find out."

"I'm going with you," I said.

"So am I," said Eamonn. Brigitta merely narrowed her eyes.

"Montrève, you can't, you're—" Lucius paused and glanced toward the city. "I don't have time to argue."

"Then don't," I said.

We all went; all four of us, tearing hell-for-leather toward Lucca, and Gilot only stayed behind because I swore on Anna's head and in Blessed Elua's name that I'd dismiss him out of hand if he didn't. I meant it, too.

It was strange and unreal. Minutes ago, we had been laughing and jesting, anticipating our arrival. In a heartbeat, everything had changed. It might be nothing, of course. More often than not, fires happen by accident.

But the nearer we got, the deeper my sense of foreboding grew.

The gates of Lucca were sealed, the bridge drawn up and the portcullis closed. We drew rein on the far side of the moat. The tree-lined wall loomed over us.

Luccius shouted up at the guard towers flanking the gate. "Guards! What passes here?"

"Who asks?" a muffed voice called.

His voice was grim and precise. "Lucius Tadius da Lucca!"

The tip of a crossbow emerged from a high window atop the tower. "Show yourself."

Astride his black mount, Lucius opened his arms in a disgusted gesture. "What in the hell do you think I'm doing, you idiot? Look at me. Now open the gate and give us passage!"

Behind the crossbow, a guard peered out the window. "It's him," he called to someone inside, adding, "Sorry, my lord."

There was a grinding sound as the bridge was lowered and the portcullis raised. We followed Lucius across the bridge, the horses' hooves sounding hollow and echoing over the moat. The water stirred, sluggish and green. I knew that smell. It smelled like the fetid pool in the zenana. It stayed with me as we passed under the massive gatehouse.

Inside the walls, a contingent of the city guard awaited us. "My lord Lucius—" began one man, wearing a badge of rank.

"Captain." Lucius cut him off. "What the hell happened here?"

The captain gritted his teeth. "Valpetra."

Lucius swore violently and brought one hand down on his mount's withers in a hard slap. The black startled under him and he wrenched at the reins with cruel force, jerking its head. Its eyes rolled wildly, and there were flecks of bloody foam at the corners of its mouth. Eamonn and Brigitta exchanged a glance.

"Tell me everything," Lucius said in a voice as cold as winter.

It didn't take long. We learned in short order that a few hours ago, Domenico Martelli, the Duke of Valpetra, had entered Lucca with an entourage of men-at-arms under the pretext of bringing the peace offering of a wedding gift to the Correggio family.

Instead, they had kidnapped the bride and strewn havoc in their wake, setting fire to the bell-tower and disrupting pursuit.

"And you just let them?" Lucius roared.

The captain winced. "My lord, they came under a sign of peace. They struck swiftly, and fled swifter. We did our best. I lost seven men, and there was a young nobleman killed, too."

"Who?" Lucius demanded.

The captain glanced around. "Bartolomeo Ponzi," one of his men offered.

"Bartolomeo." Lucius slumped in the saddle, and I remembered that was the name of the young nobleman his betrothed had loved. Lucius closed his eyes and shuddered, then straightened as though shouldering a burden. When he opened his eyes, he seemed to have himself under control. "Where's Helena?"

"Halfway to Valpetra, I imagine," the captain said apologetically. "An hour earlier, and you'd have seen them on the western road. I'm sorry, my lord. Come, we'll escort you to your father."

"Is the city safe?"

"It is now." The captain's face was dour. "The fire's contained and we sealed the gate."

"Good." Lucius pointed south. "My sister and her husband are awaiting word. Send a squadron to escort them. After that, no one comes or goes. Understood?"

"Prince Gaetano…" The captain paused. "Yes, my lord. Understood."

He escorted us through the streets of Lucca. It was a lovely city, or it should have been, charming streets lined with buildings of pale ochre with red-tiled rooftops, glowing in the afternoon sun. It was a merchant city and one could see it usually did a lively trade, but today the shops had closed their doors and the streets were mostly empty.

"Dagda Mod," Eamonn muttered. "It's like Tiberium after the rioting."

"No," I said. "It's worse."

I couldn't have said why, not exactly. But the pall that hung over Lucca was different. It wasn't just the smoke, although as we drew near the center of the city we could smell it. There was somewhat else. The other smell, the fetid Daršanga smell, lingered in my nostrils. The air felt heavy and oppressive. Despite the sun's bright warmth, I was cold. Even the Bastard felt it, his hide twitching the way it did when flies plagued him.

In Lucca's central square, the bell-tower stood, fire-gutted and smoldering. Its stone outer walls were scorched and intact, but the wooden interior had largely collapsed and the roof was gone. A few lines of men stood passing buckets, tossing their contents inside the gaping opening. Others stood around muttering. Sullen tendrils of smoke wreathed the tower's crown, but it seemed for the most part, as the captain had said, the fire was contained.

So why did the sight of it fill me with dread?

Here and there, men made the old Tiberian gesture to avert evil, thrusting their thumbs out of clenched fists. Others spat on the ground. I listened to their muttering, and heard the same word over and over.

Lemures.

I looked over at Lucius. His face was stark and bloodless, and he was staring at the dark maw of the burned tower. His lips worked soundlessly.

"Lucius." I touched his arm. It felt rigid as a board. "What is it?"

He turned his stare on me. "The mundus manes?"

"The what?" I asked. "The world? What?"

"The mundus manes!" he shouted. "Sweet Apollo, are you an idiot? The pit! It was in the bell-tower!" He whipped his head around, pinning his stare on the captain. "What happened to it?"

The captain made the sign against evil. He was pale, too, though nothing like Lucius. "The cover cracked in the heat of the fire, my lord."

Lucius put his face in his hands. Another shudder wracked him.

"I'm sorry," I said, bewildered. "I don't understand."

Eamonn cleared his throat. "It's the opening to the underworld. They uncover it once a year to appease the spirits of the dead and let them walk abroad." He shrugged at my expression. "I was in Tiberium last autumn for the festival. But I didn't notice anything."

"They're not your dead!" Lucius cried raggedly.

His shout rang in the square, and heads turned to stare.

"I'm sorry." Breathing hard, Lucius took up his reins. The color returned to his face so abruptly that he looked flushed. "Sorry. Come, my family is waiting."

No one said anything. We followed silently and Lucius sat bolt upright in the saddle as he rode, his back as straight as a spear, his hands steady on the reins. For some reason, even that made me uneasy.

The Tadeii villa was gracious and sprawling, occupying a generous tract of land. The gardens were green and lovely, laid out in stately lines. A pair of men-at-arms met us and the captain of the city guard ceded escort duty to them. Lucius rode up the pathway without looking to the right or left. Servants hurried from the stable to take our mounts.

"Careful," I murmured, handing over the Bastard's reins. "He bites."

Lucius was already striding toward the villa. Glancing helplessly at one another, Eamonn, Brigitta, and I followed.

It was an awkward moment, to say the least. We hung back discreetly, though it was difficult. The three of us weren't exactly a discreet trio. In the atrium, I sidled around, trying to get a look at the proceedings. I felt guilty doing it, but something was wrong, very wrong, and I was worried about Lucius.

"Oh, my boy!" It was his mother who greeted him first, her eyes red with weeping. She embraced him. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. That sweet girl!"

"Mother." Lucius returned her embrace. "I know."

"Son." His father's voice was hard and dry. He was a tall man with thinning hair and a mouth that had grown bitter with disappointment. One could see at a glance that Lucius and Claudia got their looks from their mother. "The honor of the Tadeii is at stake."

Lucius straightened, his face changing. "Yes, Father."

The air was heavy, too heavy. I struggled to draw breath. There was darkness in the villa, darkness in the city. Darkness, crawling all around Lucius Tadius da Lucca. I backed away from him, bumping into the open doorway of the household lararium. Eamonn shot me a worried look; even Brigitta looked concerned. I shook my head at them.

"Yes, Father!" There was mockery, cruel mockery, in the older Tadius' voice. "Do you expect me to count on. you to restore our honor?"

I leaned in the doorway of the lararium to brace myself. The altar was ablaze with newly lit candles and the offering bowls were full. The wax death-masks of the Tadeii patriarchs were sweating in the heat. One, prominently displayed, had cracked in twain. I reached for it without thinking, holding up the split halves and examining them. It was a strong face, set in cruel lines, scowling.

Only a mask, broken and empty.

I knew, then.

"As opposed to you?" Lucius' voice was mild and insulting; at least until he raised it in a roar. "Ye gods, man! What's become of the Tadeii that you reckon yourself a man?"

I walked out of the lararium carrying the split halves of the death-mask in my hands; past Eamonn and Brigitta, to where Lucius stood. His father was dumbstruck; his mother looked terrified and confused.

Lucius scowled at me. "What's that you've got there, fancy-boy?"

I held up the halves of the mask, framing his scowl between them. I didn't need to see to know it mirrored his own. The resemblance was already etched in my memory, and the chill I'd felt earlier had settled into the marrow of my bones. "What does it look like?"

"Looks like me." He grinned, and it was an expression so unpleasant, I wished he'd scowl instead. "What do you care? Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Imriel," I said. "Who are you?"

Lucius leaned over and spat on the floor with elaborate disdain. "Gallus," he said carelessly. "Gallus Tadius, and if you don't know it by now, you damn well will."

Chapter Forty-Nine

What followed was pandemonium.

Publius Tadius, Lucius' father, shouted at his son; Lucius shouted back. His mother, Beatrice, wept and begged them to cease. In the midst of it, Claudia and Deccus arrived. She looked at the scene in utter shock.

"What in the world?" she asked.

"Grief's driven your brother mad," Eamonn murmured. "He thinks he's his own ancestor."

I held up the broken halves of the death-mask. "Gallus Tadius." "Lemures!" Deccus, solid Deccus Fulvius, blanched. But the hair on the back of my neck was crawling, and I was in no mood to mock Caerdicci superstition. Whatever possessed Lucius, I didn't think it was simple madness.

At that moment, the atrium echoed with a resounding smack as Lucius roared, "Enough!" and dealt his father a casual backhanded blow across the face. "Right," he said into the stunned silence that followed. "Let's all get acquainted." He pointed at Claudia. "You're a Tadius." "Lucius," she whispered. "It's me, Claudia." "Claudia." He nodded at Deccus. "Husband, right?" "Deccus." The senator coughed. "Deccus Fulvius." "A Fulvius!" Lucius clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Good man. The Fulvii know how to hang on to power, don't they? Not like my spawn." He strolled over to Eamonn and cocked his head. "And what do we have here? A fine barbarian warrior, by the look of you! Who do you serve, lad? You'd be welcome in the Red Scourge!"

"My thanks, my lord," Eamonn said with careful diplomacy. "I'm Eamonn mac Grainne of the Dalriada."

"Prince of the Dalriada," Brigitta announced, lifting her chin.

"Ooh!" Lucius laughed. "That's a fierce piece of chattel you've got there, Prince Barbarus!" He chucked her under the chin. "That's all right, sweetling. I like a bit of fight in a woman. Fierce women and fierce horses. All the better to break 'em." Brigitta's eyes blazed, one hand twitching toward her dagger, and Lucius laughed again. "Go on, sweetling! Make a move."

Eamonn clenched his fists and cast an imploring glance in my direction.

"Lucius!" I called.

He turned to me, abandoning Brigitta. "Lucius isn't here right now," he said in a conversational tone. "But you know that, don't you, fancy-boy?" I nodded. He came closer. "You're D'Angeline. What's a D'Angeline doing here?"

"I'm Lucius' friend," I said steadily.

"Friend!" He laughed. "That's a fancy word for a fancy-boy." He studied my features. "You're too pretty by half, you know that? I'm going to do you a favor."

Someone—Claudia, I think—let out a gasp as Lucius' fist plowed toward my face, but I was already moving. I swept his fist aside with my left forearm and slid inside his guard, planting my left foot behind his right leg. I splayed my right hand on his chest and shoved and he fell, hard, onto the atrium floor.