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Chapter IX

FELIX

W hatever bond Livia and Loren shared was beyond Felix’s understanding.

It wasn’t that he didn’t miss his mother.

More like, he didn’t have a mother to miss.

She left soon after he was born. End of story.

Felix’s father never spoke of her, so he didn’t know what she looked like or what her favourite flowers were.

And if sometimes he pictured the twisting road leading from Rome – the same road he took eleven years later, in the after times – and wondered if she had his same eyes, well. That was his business.

Once Livia herded Felix into the fitting room, she wasted no time ordering him to remove his scarf and strip, leaving him in nothing but shorts. Discomfort lodged in his throat, but when he clutched his old tunic to his chest, a last shield, she prised it gently from his grip.

‘You’re safe here. I’m a seamstress, I’ve seen it all.’ She laid the tunic across a drafting table and studied old stains, mending stitches, blood splattered along the too-short hem. ‘How long have you had this?’

The tunic had been his father’s, still oversized on Felix when he fled. Intervening years wore it ragged as he ran between towns, fabric shrinking against his growing body. Still, he hadn’t shed it, even if that broke his rule about attachment .

Tangible items frayed, but they didn’t muddle the way of memories.

‘A while,’ Felix admitted.

‘You’ve taken good care of it. Clothes tell a story, love. Yours must be a rough one.’

His mouth dried and he turned his cheek. ‘It’s only fabric.’

Livia folded the tunic neatly, then riffled through a closet to find a piece that might fit. A burgundy wool piece drowned him, while an expensive cotton shift crept past his knees and made him itch to pull it down. Finally, she withdrew a navy garment.

‘Aurelia wove this fabric herself,’ Livia murmured, smoothing the hem. ‘Dyed the fibres and all. I thought I might save it for Loren, but he’s so slender in the shoulder . . .’

She draped it over his head, gathering and pinning and securing it around his waist with a leather belt. The linen brushed softer than the others he’d tried, like a cool breeze in the dead of summer.

‘Look, it has a pocket.’ Livia touched the pouch fastened to the belt.

‘I can’t afford this,’ Felix said as she made him turn for her, checking the fit.

‘Nonsense. You heard my warning to Loren. Besides, it seems you could use a kindness.’ She smiled, wide and warm, and he thumbed the expensive fabric and couldn’t meet her eyes.

Shooed from the fitting room, Felix re-entered the shopfront as Loren and Aurelia clomped down the staircase.

Aurelia’s hair was freshly braided, and her scowl had turned triumphant.

Loren, on the other hand, looked ill, mouth pinched and skin pasty.

Before Felix could read into it, his expression changed.

‘You look,’ Loren said, swallowing, ‘nice.’

‘Navy suits him.’ Livia fetched a stack of fabric squares and added them to Loren’s basket. ‘Run along. Deliver that fabric to Nonna before she chases me down. ’

Loren turned to embrace her again. Two hugs in less than an hour – Felix’s stomach roiled.

Leaving them to it, he mumbled his thanks and made for the door, winding on his scarf.

Despite the heavy late-morning heat, he could breathe easier out here.

Livia’s shop wasn’t just cramped, it was close .

Felix would take sweat over cloying tenderness any day.

The walls of Pompeii threatened to close over him, keep him as the city’s own. He needed to leave. Soon. But before Felix could make a break for it, Loren tripped into the street.

‘It’s easy for you,’ Felix blurted.

Loren gave him a funny look. ‘What is?’

Hugging. Touching. Asking simple favours without fearing the cost. But Felix’s stomach churned again, and he said, ‘Forget it. Where next?’

‘Nonna’s, to drop this off.’ Loren held up his basket. ‘I have questions for her, too. But I’ll walk you to the brothel first. I thought you could spend time with Elias until I’m back.’

Gods . Felix nearly groaned. What Loren meant was to stick him with Elias like a child who couldn’t be trusted – which, in all fairness, Felix couldn’t be.

Elias’s focus was keen as a hawk, and though Felix still hadn’t parsed the exact nature of their relationship, Elias would do anything Loren asked.

Sneaking off under his watch would prove impossible.

Loren, on the other hand, was more distractible.

‘Let me join you,’ Felix said. When Loren began to argue, he rushed to add, ‘I’ll go mad caged in that place. Or I’ll drive Elias mad. On purpose. I’ll do it, swear to Jupiter.’

Loren bit his bottom lip. ‘It isn’t safe, Felix.’

‘Safe as life.’ Felix pushed from the wall. ‘Show me your city.’

Felix knew he’d confounded Loren by asking for a tour.

Tactical advantage. Loren was easier to deal with like this, so consumed by talking about this and that and everything between that he left Felix ample opportunities to escape.

A sidestep down an alley while Loren was locked in conversation.

Pushing over a cart of cabbages to cause a scene.

Vaulting across the street just before a rush of cart traffic hit.

All so tempting. Felix’s fingers twitched with anticipation.

But whenever he nearly committed, Loren would glance back and catch his eye with a grin.

Or ask his opinion on a vase in a potter’s stall.

Or pass him a sample of fruit. It was maddening how Loren treated Felix as a friend.

Then again, he was friends with everyone in Pompeii, and everyone knew him.

Worse, they liked him, in that baffled-but-amused way adults indulged chatty children.

If Loren wasn’t talking taxes with a merchant, he was shouting a greeting or gripping a hand.

Knowing people didn’t pose a risk to him.

He doled out smiles without fear of being recognised as a pickpocket.

When city guards patrolled by, Loren didn’t cringe.

Felix kept his head down, scarf tight despite the heat. Loren had no idea. No idea how good he had it. Maybe Felix should have taken his chances with Elias.

An ancient woman dozing outside a bakery – Nonna, he guessed – wasn’t amused when Loren nudged her awake to deliver Livia’s fabric. Felix winced when her pinch left an indent in Loren’s cheek.

‘Who is this?’ Nonna demanded, turning her glare on Felix. ‘I do not like the look of him. Shifty. Reminds me of my husband, may Charon carry the old bastard’s soul swiftly.’

‘This is Felix,’ Loren said gently. ‘He’s a ward of Isis. I’m showing him the town.’

‘Bah! That priest stuck a criminal with you? May Charon carry his soul swiftly, too.’

‘The Priest still lives.’

‘For now,’ Nonna said darkly. She heaved upright, bones and chair creaking, and brought a covered dish onto the table. ‘Come into the shade, sit. ’

Felix caught a slab of flatbread when she tossed it his way. He blinked at her, then at Loren, who grinned.

‘If you hover enough, she feeds you.’

The wrinkles around Nonna’s mouth deepened, and she beckoned Felix with a crooked finger. ‘Let me tell you a thing about Loren. This will help you.’

Felix slid his stool as close as he could with a table in the way.

‘He is a sweet boy. A good boy. But he hasn’t a seed’s worth of sense.

He is like a sparrow. Flits around, head empty, pecking for scraps.

’ She waved her hand, a loose-wristed gesture, as if warding off pests.

Still, she threw flatbread to Loren. ‘We must eat good bread while we can, and I fear that time runs short.’

Loren’s face twisted in the middle of his bite, like the bread turned to ash in his mouth.

Felix’s own hunger vanished. He knew that look – Loren’s superstitious, doom-foretelling look, same as he’d met the helmet with, same as he wore before he hit Felix with the bowl. The look that left Felix questioning what Loren knew but wouldn’t say.

‘Don’t—’ Felix started.

‘You heard about the helmet,’ Loren said in a rush, leaning forward. ‘You think it means something.’

Nonna scoffed. She worked a lump of dough with deft hands, kneading it into a round. ‘You do not live as long as me without learning to recognise a divine sign. What have I said for years now? Only a matter of time, but Livia says no, no, surely nothing. Foolish woman.’

Loren flicked a glance at Felix. ‘Do you, ah, that is – who do you think might have taken it? And how? Clearly, the gods didn’t want it touched.’

‘My grandfather’s grandfather saw it given to the city, brought to us from bloodshed in Corinth and left to be ogled at here. By Rome. Conquerors stealing from the conquered to gift to the conquered.’ She spat over her shoulder. ‘If Mercury did not want it moved, it would not have been moved.’

Mercury. The name flitted through the void of Felix’s memory again. Teasing. Mocking. Like peering through the shutters of his own life, unable to open the window, while others faced no barrier. He bit his tongue against the frustration.

Loren’s mouth pinched. ‘Mercury is a trickster. Stirring trouble for trouble’s sake?’

‘Your mistake is rationalising the actions of gods with what you as a human would do. They are not like us, and Mercury is different from even his brothers. Remember, he alone can traverse between the living and dead.’

‘That’s right.’ His frown deepened. ‘He’s a psychopomp. He escorts souls to the underworld to face judgement. Do you worry that power could be accessed through the helmet?’

‘I am less afraid of the helmet than I am of the pawn able to take it. Whether the thief knows it or not, he has more in common with the dead than the living. Two boundaries that should not be blurred.’ With a knife, Nonna split an X into her dough.

‘What is a house dog if not a wolf stripped of its wild? Dream-walker. Plane-crosser. Power waiting to be used.’

Enough.