It wasn't pretty.

Apoplectic with rage, he got to his feet. "You buggering little—"

"Lucius." I slid out of range and caught Eamonn's eye. He nodded, circling behind Lucius, or Gallus, or whoever he was. "Lucius, think!" I said, desperate. "Where is the virtue in this? What would Master Piero say?"

He paused, a flicker of puzzlement crossing his face. "Master Piero?"

Eamonn took one step forward, raised his arms and clenched his fists together, and brought his right elbow down atop Lucius' skull. He was tall enough to do it, and he packed a wallop like a mule's kick.

Lucius' eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled. Eamonn winced, rubbing his bruised elbow as our friend slumped to the floor.

"Imri?" Gilot entered the atrium. "They tried to pack me off to the servants' quarters, but I told them—" He halted, blinking. "What in the seven hells happened here?"

"Ghosts," I said wearily. "And Alais was right."

"What?" He stared at me.

I shook my head. "I'll explain later."

We had a long time to talk. After Eamonn had rendered Lucius unconscious, the Tadeii closed ranks and carted him away. The four of us were escorted to guests' quarters by polite, frightened servants. There we were made comfortable, while a steady stream of chirurgeons and priests entered and left the villa. Betimes we heard shouting, but no one told us anything. We ate the meal that was brought to us, availed ourselves of the villa's private baths and strolled in the gardens, and were no wiser by the time dusk fell.

The wing that housed the guests' quarters contained a comfortable salon with a colonnade that looked onto the side garden, and it was there that we gathered. The servants brought wine and lit the lamps and left us in peace.

"Imriel," Gilot said. "Come morning, we leave."

"We'll see," I said gently.

He bowed his head, rubbing unconsciously at his crippled sword-hand. The fretted lamps cast a patterned shadow on his profile. "You'd stay because Alais had a dream?"

"No," I said. "Because Lucius is my friend."

"Loyalty." Unexpectedly, it was Brigitta who spoke. She and Eamonn were sharing a couch, and she lay in the curve of his arm. If there was any doubt that they were lovers, it was gone now. They looked like a pair of basking hunting cats, the two of them. Her blue eyes narrowed. "Loyalty is a virtue."

Gilot sighed. "And duty? What of duty?"

"Master Piero did not speak overmuch of duty," Eamonn said thoughtfully.

"Master Piero!" Gilot's voice rose. "I am nearly sick unto death of Master Piero!"

"Gilot." I reached over to touch his arm. "Go, then. I would sooner you did. This is my choice, and I have to live with it. I need to stay, at least for a little while. But Anna is waiting for you; and Belinda, too. They need you more than I do. On the morrow, go."

"I can't," he muttered.

"Why?" I asked.

He laughed, although there wasn't much humor in it. "Loyalty."

In the end we retired to our chambers and slept, and nothing was decided. I slept alone for the first time in many months. It almost seemed strange to sleep in a proper bed and not a straw pallet, without Gilot snoring in my vicinity.

I awoke to find Claudia Fulvia in my bedchamber.

I sat bolt upright, reaching without thinking for my sword, which I'd laid in easy reach beside my bedside ere I slept. She stood in the doorway and watched without blinking as I pointed it at her. She looked very tired, and the shadows beneath her fox-brown eyes tugged at my sympathies.

"He's awake," she said. "And he's asking for you."

I rose without comment, donned a shirt and breeches, and followed her, padding barefoot through the villa.

At the doorway of the invalid's chamber, Claudia paused. "He seems to be himself," she said. "I don't know how long it will last." Her throat moved as she swallowed. "Be kind to him, will you? He's my brother."

I nodded. "I understand."

She touched my cheek. "Thank you."

I went inside. It was dim and smoky, and there were herbs I didn't recognize smoldering on the brazier. I coughed, waving my hand before my face.

"Montrève?" The figure on the bed stirred. "Is that you?"

"I don't know," I said. "Is that you?"

"Near enough." Lucius' voice held a familiar wry note. He propped himself upright against the pillows. "Sorry about trying to break your nose."

I sat on the edge of his bed. "You remember?"

"Yes." He gazed at me with disarming candor. "I'm scared. He'll be back, you know. All of this"—he gestured at the smoking braziers—"it's just a stopgap. He's still here" He touched his breastbone. "Inside me."

"I know," I said.

"You saw it, didn't you?" Lucius asked, and I nodded. "I'm not mad?"

"No." I shook my head. "I don't think so. Lucius, my cousin Alais had a dream, years ago. The women in the Cruarch's family dream true things, sometimes. She dreamed I was helping a man with two faces fight villains." I smiled, remembering. "I teased her about it. And I asked why, if the man was my friend. She told me, 'One of him was.'" I took his hand. "I suspect that would be you."

He smiled back at me. "You know, in a strange way, it's almost a relief. The worst possible thing has finally happened. I don't have to worry about it anymore."

"It's not over, though," I said.

"No." Lucius' smile twisted. "No, he'll be back. I can feel him, like some awful bubble inside me, and he'll push until I burst. And the damned thing of it is, I'm afraid we're going to need him."

"What?" I looked blankly at him.

An odd expression flickered across Lucius' face and his hand tensed on mine. Then it vanished, and he was still himself. "Montrève, listen." He squeezed my hand, then let it go. "I'm grateful for your friendship, truly, but you can't stay here. That's why I sent for you."

"I'm not leaving you like this," I said.

"You don't have a choice!" His voice rose. He took a deep breath and lowered it. "Montrève, I don't give a damn what your little cousin dreamed. Listen to me. Get Eamonn and Brigitta and your man Gilot, and get the hell out of Lucca. Now."

"Why?" I asked stubbornly.

He swore at me. "Are you too stupid to take an order, D'Angeline? Go!"

Somewhere in the villa, there was more shouting, and then the sound of running footsteps. I heard Claudia's voice at the door and rose.

"Imriel?"

I opened the door. "What is it?"

Her face was composed, but there was fear in her eyes. "Lucca's under siege."

Behind me, Lucius laughed. I turned to see him sitting on the edge of the bed. He gave me a broad, cruel smile, and there was no trace of Lucius in it. "Too late, fancy-boy!" he said cheerfully. "I thought it might be. Valpetra doesn't give a damn about the girl, she's only a means to an end. He wants the city. And I'll be damned if I let him take it." Rising, he donned his clothing. "Right," he said to Claudia. "Let's go see about this, shall we?"

Without waiting, he strode out the door.

"Stay with him," I said. "I'll get the others."

By the time I'd roused them and we'd managed to get mounts saddled, Lucius was already on his way to the city walls. The city was in an uproar. The streets were thronged with terrified people, mounted and on foot. The air was thick with fearful rumors.

Oddly, the one calm point was Lucius.

We caught up with him before he reached the gate. He was in the midst of a group of Tadeii and their retainers, riding purposefully and straight-backed. He'd acquired a sword, and it looked as natural at his side as though he'd always carried it. His father was there, and Claudia and Deccus, but no one made a move to deter him. I suppose they didn't dare, and I didn't blame them.

At the gatehouse, the captain of the city guard saluted him warily. There was another man at his side; a nobleman by his dress. He was of middling to older years, with a high brow and a somber gaze, and by his air of authority, I guessed him to be Gaetano Correggio; Helena's father and the Prince of Lucca.

"Right." Lucius ignored him, addressing the captain. "Let's have a look."

"Lucius Tadius?" the other man asked, bewildered.

"Not likely." Lucius dismounted with careless ease, handing his reins to a retainer. He jerked his chin at the guard tower. "Come on, man! Let's go."

"Captain, don't—" Publius Tadius began, then fell silent as Lucius turned to fix him with a cold, hard stare. There was a faint mark on one cheek where Lucius had struck him yesterday. He cleared his throat. "Yes, all right, go have a look. Gaetano, a word?"

The four of us exchanged glances.

"I'll go," I said.

I left the Bastard in Gilot's keeping and followed Lucius and the captain into the guard tower on the right. No one moved to stop me, either. We climbed up the narrow winding stair and entered the chamber at the top. Lucius peered out the window, his shoulders blocking my view.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, then withdrew. "I can't get a good look out this piss-hole. We're going out on the wall."

I caught the captain's arm as Lucius unbarred the heavy wooden door that led to the walls. "Captain, listen. He's not himself."

"So I see." He blinked. "Who is he?"

I hesitated. "Gallus Tadius."

"Oh." The captain thought about it. "Good."

Since there was nothing else for it, I followed Lucius, ducking my head and clambering through the door. I emerged into daylight, high atop the city wall. It was as broad as a Tiberian road. There were two walls, actually, an outer and an inner, both of them thick and sturdy, with dirt packed solid between them. Truly, the tall oaks that grew atop the wall it were rooted in that very soil.

And beyond the wall was an army.

There must have been two thousand men. There was a small cavalry contingent and a company of archers, but the rest were foot-soldiers. They were fully armed, short-swords and long spears, shields slung at their backs and their armor gleaming in the sun.

Lucius stood in plain sight, legs planted, hands on hips, contemplating them.

"Lucius!" I hissed, ducking back into the shadow of the guard tower.

He glanced over at me. "Oh, sweet tits of the Vestals, fancy-boy! They're not idiots, they're professionals. They're out of bowshot and so are we. Get out here."

I went.

My knees trembled as I did. There is somewhat unnatural about exposing oneself to an entire enemy army without cover. Lucius watched me with amusement.

"Well done," he said when I reached him, clapping my shoulder. "At least you're not a damned coward like the rest of 'em."

I heaved a sigh. "My thanks, my lord."

On the ground, a pair of figures rode forward; a man and a woman, the former leading the latter. Neither was armed. He wore elaborate robes glinting with cloth-of-gold trim. Her gown of red silk flowed over the crupper of her saddle. She kept her eyes downcast.

"Valpetra," Lucius muttered. "That must be the girl."

I glanced at him. "Do you… understand… what's happening here?"

He shrugged. "Enough."

"Lucca!" The man on the ground shouted. He grabbed the woman's unresisting hand and raised it. "How do you like my new bride? Come out and see her!"

There was a scramble at the door of the guard tower as Gaetano Correggio emerged, accompanied by the captain and a handful of guards. The Prince of Lucca stared at the scene before him and paled.

"That's my daughter," he whispered.

"His wife, now." Lucius shrugged. "That's him, right?"

"Domenico Martelli, Duke of Valpetra." Gaetano pronounced the words as though they were poison on his tongue. "Valpetra!" he shouted. "Let her go, damn you!"

The distant figure laughed. "Is that any way to greet your new son?" he called. "Lucca, I have a lawful claim by marriage as your heir. Open your gates and make me welcome!"

"And if I don't?" Gaetano asked grimly.

The Duke of Valpetra gestured. Behind him, a mounted figure barked an order. A squadron of soldiers unslung their shields and marched forward. The company of archers followed, taking up a kneeling position behind their line. "I'll open them for you!"

"Guards!" Lucius roared. "Take aim!"

They obeyed him without thinking, raising crossbows to their shoulders. Gaetano Correggio turned his stricken face toward Lucius. "What do I do?"

"Tell him to take your poxy whore of a daughter and go home," Lucius said promptly. He laughed as Gaetano gaped at him, too shocked for anger. "Oh, come on, man! This isn't about the girl. He wants Lucca." He nodded in the Duke's direction. "Unless matters have changed overmuch in a generation, Valpetra's a piss-poor holding compared to Lucca. That's a mercenary army he's hired, and I'll wager a mountain of gold against a steaming heap of dung that he's promised them spoils in lieu of wages." Lucius shrugged. "You want to see your temples stripped, your women raped, and your sons put to the sword? Go ahead, open the gates."