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Chapter X

LOREN

‘ I f you keep shifting,’ Loren said, dragging bread through his lukewarm bowl of mystery stew, ‘they’ll know you’re hiding something.’

‘I feel eyes on me.’ Felix’s grip on his spoon tightened. ‘It can’t be helped.’

Loren sighed through his nose and straightened.

They stood at a tall table near the counter, ignoring the suspicious glare cast by Nicias, the bar’s owner.

Loren should’ve insisted they take their food to his room, but Nicias, much like Nonna, had read Felix’s shifty disposition and declared they’d eat in-house that evening.

All to spare the risk of Felix stealing a dish.

Elias had a phrase to describe Nicias, but he used words Loren didn’t dare repeat.

The bar teemed with folks catching an early dinner before the night’s festivities.

Laughter drifted light, tipsy on the way to drunk.

Nicias’s dog thumped his tail against the counter, hoping for dropped scraps, and pots steamed and simmered.

Nothing struck Loren as out of place, but Felix’s mood had only worsened since they’d left the docks. Skittish, tense, quick to snap.

‘You had eyes on you all afternoon,’ Loren pointed out. ‘And last night you went gambling. ’

‘Around the gambling table, everyone is a criminal. Everyone has something to hide, so we all know better than to look. Here, these are normal people. It’s different.’

‘The world can’t be divided into normal people and criminals. That’s too simplistic.’

‘Right, I’m forgetting the wealthy.’ Felix blinked, unimpressed. ‘And politicians, who straddle wealthy and criminal.’

Loren’s stomach clenched, chasing away hunger. Another assumption, which Felix proved awfully good at making. ‘If it makes you feel better, I’ll be the first to admit my political ambitions are frivolous. But I could do without the jabs.’

‘Frivolous. Like it’s a game.’ Across the table, Felix turned to stone.

Gone was the boy who had teased and sniggered and listened to Loren blabber, evaporated with the warm mist curling off cobblestones.

‘At first I didn’t understand the angle you play at.

You complain about lacking power but didn’t hesitate to claim me.

You live in a brothel yet talk of tutors.

I could take coins from your pocket right now, and you wouldn’t notice. Because you don’t have to notice.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘You belong in a brothel and cheap bars as much as I belong in Pompeii. Which is to say, not at all.’

Loren’s heart skipped. Someone bumped his back as they squeezed past to the bar. Abruptly aware of curious ears, he ducked low and hissed, ‘That isn’t true.’

‘You’d make a great councilman. Doling out pity masked as charity. Did your father teach you that, or did he send you here to learn the art of manipulation?’

‘My parents have nothing to do with my business here.’

‘So they still live? Does Livia know that? Nonna? Or did you weave some sad story, make them feel sorry for you— ’

‘Enough,’ Loren snapped. ‘The world isn’t half so despicable. I came to Pompeii to make a difference. To make change. I’m sorry your father didn’t teach you decency.’

‘My father is dead.’

The confession startled him. Felix’s walls weren’t made of bricks and mortar; they were unscalable as the sheer cliffs on the Amalfi coast where Loren’s family used to go on holiday. This was the closest Felix had crept to revealing where he came from, what moulded him.

Guilt panged in Loren’s chest. ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘I’ll tell you what he taught me,’ Felix said. ‘The only difference between politicians and thieves is who lives and who dies. When his smuggling ring turned on him, I learned from that, too.’

‘Felix, I’m sorry.’ Loren reached for the hand curled tight on the table, but Felix wrenched back. His spoon clattered into his bowl, splattering them both. A fleck of gravy landed above Loren’s brow, but unlike the swift sting of rejection, it didn’t burn.

Voice flat, Felix said, ‘I have to piss.’

He stormed off. Disturbed by the outburst, several patrons watched him go. Nicias’s dog growled low, then slunk to lap the dripping stew.

Loren stayed frozen until the temporary hush broke and idle gossip resumed. He wiped his forehead. Bits of meat were caught in his braid. At the counter, Nicias cleared his throat and gestured sharply at the mess.

Loren needed to follow Felix. He knew that.

Humiliation kept him rooted in place.

Whatever others might say, Loren wasn’t clueless.

That afternoon, he’d had a breakthrough with his visions, he was certain of it.

Behind his eyelids, he had seen the guard’s sword slash Felix on a crowded street, and for once, Loren reacted in time to change the outcome.

He hoped that meant he was falling in tune with Felix, that it implied hints of friendship or at least an end to animosity.

Anything that might crack Felix open and help Loren figure out the mystery of who he was – why he was here.

Underneath it all, he even suspected he might like Felix, his kindness concealed within his prickly exterior, if they had time to get to that.

But time was running out. Felix didn’t want to be friends. He wanted nothing from Loren.

Forget the mess. Felix might be halfway to the brothel by now. But when Loren stepped around the table to follow, a man in leather armour blocked his path.

‘Need this?’ He offered a damp rag.

‘No thanks.’ Loren attempted to duck under his arm. Blocked again.

‘Too bad,’ the man went on, leaning closer. ‘Lovers’ spats make for unpleasant nights, if you catch my meaning.’

‘He wasn’t . . . we aren’t . . .’

‘Just friends?’

His tone prodded Loren’s defences. Loren eyed him: taller, spindly and older by a dozen years, dressed in the armour of some villa owner’s private guard. He leered down his thin nose and Loren’s breath caught. He knew this guard. He’d smacked into that chest the night before, in the Forum.

Fear washed over him. Was he being punished for eavesdropping? Had someone recognised him, turned him in? Celsi?

Loren stepped back, crashing into the table. Dishes clattered. He made to dart, but the man’s heavy hand locked on his shoulder.

‘What’s the rush? Name’s Ax. Let me buy you a drink. Nic’s got the good stuff.’

At the counter, Nicias, having heard his name, glanced their way, expression bored. Loren sent a silent plea for an intervention, any intervention and, after an agonising wait, Nicias rolled his eyes and turned to fill two cups.

‘Wait here.’ Ax left to collect.

No time to waste. Loren dashed from the bar’s pavilion and didn’t dare breathe until he made it to the next street.

Dark had settled over Pompeii, signalling the close of another wretched day.

From a few blocks away came the faint stirrings of the street fair, but Loren was far from a partying mood.

Chest heaving, he fought to silence his nerves, force himself to think, but he was never good at that.

Felix could be anywhere. Doing anything.

Loren guessed he hadn’t gone to play dice this time.

No, Felix would be skipping the city gate, helmet in hand, off to cause some cataclysm.

A predatory drawl sounded from behind. ‘Running? That’s no way to be.’

Cold shot through Loren’s blood. He jerked around. Ax approached from around the corner, hand on the pommel of his sword. A second, broader body lurked behind, face cast in shadow.

‘Come with us, sweets,’ Ax called. ‘We only want to talk.’

Nothing else to do. Loren ran.

Pompeii’s layout lived in his heart, her centuries-old layers familiar as childhood stories. Alleyways, alcoves, dead ends, hidden doors. The brothel wasn’t far. Only a few blocks west and down. He raced over uneven bricks and stones, arms flailing to stay steady. He would make it. He’d—

When Loren tripped, he sprawled like a rag doll.

Hot pain exploded from his ankle. He landed hard, hands shooting out to brace the fall, but the impact bent his wrists so far back they nearly snapped. Knees and palms scraped raw, he pushed to a half-sit, stifling a cry.

If Felix had been there, he would’ve sworn on Loren’s behalf. But he wasn’t there. It was just Loren on a quiet street, ankle screaming, as languid footsteps neared .

‘Look at that, Gus,’ said Ax. ‘Didn’t need to buy him wine after all.’

The other man, Gus, snorted.

Shivering, Loren drew his limbs close. ‘My friend saw you chase me. He went for the guards. They’re on their way now.’

Ax crouched and tugged Loren’s braid. ‘Your friend who left?’

Loren kneed him where it hurt.

‘Shit,’ Ax wheezed, staggering back. ‘You’ll regret that. Gus, lift him.’

‘Touch him, and I’ll run you through,’ said a girl.

Loren’s racing heart stilled. That was the last voice he wanted to hear, but he’d recognise it anywhere. Brave, stupid, brilliant Aurelia.

Somehow, he didn’t think chance had led her here this far past her bedtime.

She’d materialised from the night, brandishing her father’s old gladius, and approached Gus from behind. Expression fearless; if she knew the real danger Loren was in, the only clue was her shaking fingers.

Ax looked Aurelia up and down with a wolfish smile. ‘Your grip on that blade is all wrong, little girl. You sure you know how to use it?’

‘Aurelia,’ Loren bit. ‘Go home.’

Aurelia’s face tightened. She slashed the blade, technique clumsy, and the sword clattered to the ground. Gus snorted again – maybe the only sound he knew how to make – and with a swift grab, forced her to her knees.

‘Let her go.’ Loren crawled toward her, useless leg dragging. ‘She’s harmless. A child.’

‘I’m not—’ Aurelia started, but Gus clapped a hand over her mouth.

Ax’s eyes flickered between Loren and Aurelia, unamused. Addressing Gus, he said, ‘We’re only meant to deliver the temple boy. But give her a twist, a reminder why little girls have no business in the affairs of adults. ’