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F elix thought Marcus’s neck was at risk of breaking from how quickly he was turning his head in every direction, trying to absorb all of the sights in Cyrene.

Different languages flew all around them in the harbor district: Greek, Latin with several different accents, Aramaic, Punic, Coptic, and even something that might have been Gaulish.

A hot, dry breeze blew over them, a reminder of the endless desert that lay to the south.

But here on the coast, the land was green, with mountains in the distance overlooking the sea.

The nine-day voyage had passed smoothly.

They’d stopped in Regium, at the southernmost tip of the Italian peninsula, to resupply, then left Italy behind to cross the great expanse of sea southwest to Cyrene.

Marcus experienced some seasickness at the beginning of their journey, but rallied quickly and soon struck up several friendships with the sailors.

They taught him how to harness the angle of the wind to attain the most efficient speed and how all of the various lines and ropes worked.

He took to it with great enthusiasm. Felix worried the boy might have discovered a new passion.

Lucretia might not be pleased if her son chose to spend his life on the seas.

His mind had returned to Lucretia with unrelenting frequency during their trip.

There was little else to think about during the long days of staring at nothing but an expanse of blue-gray water.

He knew he should have apologized to her—or at least tried to—at their last meeting, but really, what was the point?

It wouldn’t fix what he had done. It wouldn’t make her love him.

It would only assuage his own guilt, and he didn’t deserve to seek her forgiveness.

The best thing he could do for her was guide Marcus’s growth and learning, to give her a son worthy of inheriting what she built.

Marcus had disappeared into the crowds ahead of him, but now reappeared, doubling back at a jog. “There’s a ship over there carrying silk from Serica!” he exclaimed. “Can we go see it? I’ve never seen a Serican person before.”

“The crew won’t be from Serica,” Felix said, to Marcus’s disappointment.

“The goods will have changed hands in India, then Parthia, then sailed here from Syria. But we can take a look.” Silk had one of the highest profit margins of all luxury goods due to its rarity.

No one but the people of its far eastern country knew how it was produced, and its fineness was highly sought by the wealthy.

Marcus led him to the ship. A crowd milled around the dock next to the gangplank which led onto the vessel, and even more people clustered on the deck. It seemed to be one of the more popular cargoes in the harbor, and Felix would have some competition if he hoped to purchase any.

They eased their way through the crowd and onto the ship.

The wares must be held below deck, and a steady stream of people filtered down the narrow stairs.

“Let’s wait for the crowd to thin.” Felix pulled Marcus over to an unoccupied spot by the mast. “See?” Felix said in a low voice, directing Marcus’s gaze toward the sailors dotted around the deck. “The crew is not from Serica.”

Marcus absorbed this with a nod. “Well, they must be from somewhere rough. They look as if they’ve seen some excitement.”

Marcus was right; though every crew had its share of grizzled members, it seemed that each sailor on deck displayed an assortment of scars and the remnants of past broken noses.

Felix’s own nose, still healing, throbbed in sympathy.

The crew member nearest Felix sported a tattoo on his forehead of the Greek letter delta , marking him as a former slave, tattooed either in punishment for disobedience or after an escape attempt.

It wasn’t unusual to have a crew comprised of men with fraught pasts.

The more unusual thing was the way the sailors were positioned, which Felix noticed as his gaze passed over each of them.

They seemed to be stationed at regular intervals around the deck railing.

Many had their hands on the weapons tucked into their belts, and they surveyed the crowds on deck with forbidding glares, as if the people aboard were not merchants wanting to buy their cargo but their enemies in some way.

On the dock, another set of crew members shepherded more and more people aboard.

A trickle of unease ran down Felix’s spine, a gut feeling he couldn’t quite find a reason for. “Marcus,” he murmured. “I think we should disembark.”

“We haven’t even seen the silk yet,” Marcus protested.

Felix hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the deck as he tried to assess the situation.

Perhaps he was overreacting, but his intuition was sending up a flare that something wasn’t right.

He didn’t want to reveal his worries to Marcus in case the boy panicked, especially if he was wrong and there was nothing amiss.

“We can come back later if they’re still here. ”

Felix took a step toward the gangplank, but there were too many people in the way, having just been shoved aboard by two crew members—crew members who were now working to remove that very gangplank.

Breath stuttered in Felix’s throat as the reality of the situation crashed over him. “Hey!” he shouted at the sailors.

His shout drew the attention of the others on deck, who looked to the gangplank and realized that their mode of exit was being removed.

The brawny and menacing sailors jumped into action. Several let down the lines that held the sails, causing the huge swaths of canvas to unfurl. Others dealt with anyone protesting, doling punches and drawing their swords, daggers, or clubs.

“ Fuck ,” Felix hissed.

If he wasn’t mistaken, they were in the process of being kidnapped by pirates.

He had heard of events like this before: pirates were known to lure unsuspecting people onto their ship at a port, then sail away before anyone could escape. Their victims would be sold into slavery for a tidy profit.

“What’s going on?” Marcus demanded, his voice wavering with fear.

Lucretia is going to gut me if these pirates don’t do it first.

He had to master himself. There was no time for panic. Felix grabbed Marcus’s elbow, mind racing. The ship had already pulled back from the dock, putting distance between them and land. Chaos reigned on the deck as people panicked.

Most of the turmoil was concentrated on the side of the boat closest to the dock. The stern of the ship was comparatively empty. Felix dragged Marcus to an empty spot by the railing. They were already at least thirty feet from the dock, the gap widening by the moment.

A sailor spotted them and started toward them, perhaps guessing what Felix was about to do. There was only a moment in which to act, so Felix wasted no time in shoving Marcus hard over the railing.

With a shocked yell, the boy fell into the water, disappearing briefly beneath the surface. “Swim!” Felix shouted when Marcus’s head reappeared, arms flailing. He’d seen Marcus swim in the pool at the gymnasium, and knew he was more than capable of covering the short distance back to the dock.

Felix moved to leap after him, but an iron hand closed over his shoulder, and a fist smashed into his gut.