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‘No!’ Loren cried without thinking. Both men turned their attention on him. He wanted to shrink again, but he forced the tremor from his voice. ‘We don’t harm children. It’s against city code.’

‘Against code.’ Ax’s brow arched.

Loren sucked in a deep breath. Don’t show emotion , the first tactic of politics – and the one tactic he still struggled to master.

Never show the enemy what you value. Inevitably, invariably, they’ll use it against you.

Slowly, he rose, wincing when he put weight on his ankle – sprained, not broken, a small mercy.

‘She has no idea what she’s doing. In fact,’ Loren said, holding Aurelia’s gaze with a stern glare, ‘if you let her go, she’ll run home, and no one will believe her story. You can take me undisturbed.’

‘Says the boy who kicked me.’ Ax glowered. ‘What do you say, Gus?’

Gus grunted, bringing his vocabulary to an impressive two sounds. He hauled Aurelia up as easily as he would a kitten, then shoved her. She stumbled forward, glancing back with fresh fear.

‘Home,’ Loren repeated, praying to Isis and Mercury and Jupiter himself that for once in Aurelia’s life, she’d obey.

Her lip trembled. She took off, sandals slapping stone, in the direction of Livia’s shop.

Loren deflated. ‘You’re under orders? Take me to who issued them.’

*

If Felix wanted to discuss lessons from fathers, Loren had his fair share, and it started with this: keep your spine straight, no matter your circumstance. Anything less would degrade the family name.

Loren limped along with the dignity drilled into him from his first steps as a child, gaze trained ahead.

Ax led the way through alleys untouched by streetlamps.

Gus followed, gripping the sword he’d stolen from Aurelia.

These weren’t the statesman’s guards, Loren was positive, but Ax had called him temple boy .

If this was connected to the helmet – to Felix – Loren couldn’t fathom how.

A migraine settled in to match the ache of his ankle.

They headed to the eastern edge of the city, close to the amphitheatre, a few streets above Livia’s shop.

A single estate dominated this block, bordered on all sides by high walls.

Silence clung thick, the residents asleep or out at the street fair – but Loren would put money on the former.

The owner was said to be a recluse. No one ventured past these walls.

When Ax strode inside the front gate, Loren froze. ‘You can’t be serious.’

Gus grunted again, jamming the pommel into Loren’s mid-back.

Swallowing, he passed under the arch. It opened into a small receiving atrium, lit by a sconce.

A still plunging pool waited in the centre, and if not for orange light playing on the water’s surface, he would’ve fallen in.

Beyond stretched a corridor leading to an interior courtyard.

‘This is as far as we’ll take you. Our master waits in the garden.’

‘What does he want?’ Loren tried.

But Ax only gestured. Gus moved to guard the exit, shoulders wide, though Loren didn’t plan on running – couldn’t, because of his ankle, and wouldn’t, because he wasn’t Felix.

No sense delaying. Loren pushed his shoulders back and entered the courtyard.

Despite his nerves, he couldn’t ignore how lush the place was.

A portico of slender columns surrounded the rectangular central green, where stone paths wove between flowering bushes.

Water cut down the middle, a canal with bridges spanning its width.

The sliver of moon overhead barely illuminated the sea of soft grass.

Everything was still.

Loren knelt by the water’s edge to splash his flushed face. It didn’t help. When he glanced at his blurred reflection, frightened eyes stared back. Felix, wherever he was now, would never know what happened to Loren here. Probably wouldn’t care if he did. The thought settled sad on his shoulders.

‘There’s an old tale,’ a woman said, and Loren nearly toppled forward. Silhouetted by moonlight, she cast a tall, impossibly elegant figure between two columns. ‘About a young man called Narcissus who fell in love with his own reflection. Need I be worried about you, little priest?’

Shock rocked through him. It was the woman from the Forum the night before, who had stared at Loren like she found him far more interesting than council chatter about a missing helmet. She offered the same look now, but without the veil of rain, her gaze was infinitely more piercing.

Knees aching, Loren rose. ‘I’m not a priest, my lady.’

‘Loren, yes? I’ve been waiting awhile to talk with you alone.’

Talk?

Anger flushed through him in a bright flare. He’d been scared out of his mind for this? For a chat? She’d picked a grand time for it. He should be out searching for Felix. Loren tamped his bubbling fury down. Don’t show emotion .

‘Why did you bring me here? Who are you?’

‘My name is Julia Fortunata,’ she said. ‘I own this estate. Come.’

Julia disappeared into the shade of the portico, skirts trailing at her ankles, a complicated drapery of sheer lavender silk. Loren paused, counted to ten and limped after her.

Illuminated by lamplight was a summer triclinium, overlooking the garden.

An impressive spread of fruit and bread had been arranged on the low centre table and feather pillows cushioned the three surrounding couches.

Dressed in his scruffiest tunic, his braid still sporting bits of stew, this was far too lavish a place for someone like Loren .

The Pompeiian guise of him, anyway.

‘Augustus and Axius are given to theatrics,’ Julia said, sinking onto the left couch.

The light cast her features into greater relief – sharp eyes, a classic nose, burnished gold hair pinned in an extravagant updo, greying at her temples.

‘If they went about their task too enthusiastically, I apologise. I gave them orders to escort you here, not drag you. Will you sit?’

Loren remained standing, even as his ankle throbbed. ‘They chased me through the streets. I thought . . . It doesn’t matter.’

Julia had raised a cup of wine to her lips but lowered it untouched. ‘Tell me.’

If she hadn’t been the first person to inquire about Loren’s well-being in days, maybe he could have resisted the command. But her gaze was steady and curious, and Loren so badly wanted someone who would listen.

He caved.

‘I have . . . a friend. He ran into trouble with another patrician in the city. I worried they found us out. Trying to protect him from the executioner’s whip is Herculean.

’ Talking felt freeing, but Loren pinched his inner elbow to keep himself in check.

He wondered how much Julia already knew about Felix’s ‘trouble’.

How much the council had already guessed about their thief – and the helmet.

And what Loren might persuade Julia to divulge in turn.

‘Do you often befriend troublemakers?’ she asked.

‘He isn’t exactly my friend. I’m afraid I don’t have many of those.’

Fewer and fewer by the day.

‘We have that in common.’ Eyes sparkling, Julia relaxed into a traditional sprawl, legs tucked to the side.

She popped a grape in her mouth, nudging the fruit bowl towards Loren.

‘Tiresome, isn’t it, to offer your best to the world, only to be spat back out.

Oh, don’t give me that look. I told you, I’ve had my eye on you for a time. ’

Releasing a shaky breath, Loren finally sank onto the couch across from her, leg unable to bear weight any longer. ‘I cannot imagine you’re impressed with what you’ve seen.’

‘The contrary. My associates tell me you lurk in the back of every public forum meeting. You’re the right-hand man of the Priest of Isis, and foreign cult or not, that’s no small feat.

’ When she paused to sip, Loren didn’t bother correcting her.

‘Last night, you stood in the rain just to hear Umbrius’s plan for catching a thief.

You’re bright, and you care, and that’s more than can be said about half the old councilmen.

Tell me what’s holding you back from joining the council properly. ’

This conversation was straying too close to the accusations Felix had flung over dinner.

Frankly, Loren was tired of repeating himself.

‘What else besides Pompeii? Its barriers prevent commoners from creating change. Cicero was spineless, but he was right when he said power is under the control of the wealthy, not the masses. My family . . .’ Loren huffed.

On reflex, he rubbed the cord he wore, his gold ring skin-warm.

‘I can’t prove I come from wealth or authority.

I’m not from the city, my lady. Running for office is a fever dream.

And even if I earned funds to buy a position, I’d be laughed out. ’

Loren broke off when his eyes stung, years of irony crashing down – irony that the only tool that would help hung heavy around his throat, but in Pompeii, it was the tool he swore he’d never use.

He blinked hard and busied himself with the fruit, if only to occupy his trembling fingers.

He bit into a pomegranate seed, let the too-tart juice ground him. ‘Sorry, my lady. It’s frustrating.’

Julia’s face stayed blank for a moment, then she barked a laugh. ‘Listen to you. I knew I picked you for a reason.’

‘Picked me?’

‘Last night, you looked surprised to see me with the council. What business does a woman have listening to the affairs of men? Even councilmen’s wives tend not to get involved.

But’ – she swirled her wine – ‘I am no one’s wife.

What I am is a landowner, and that grants me some sway over decisions affecting the city.

Imagine how the council feels listening to a woman’s opinions. ’

‘They resent you,’ Loren guessed.

‘My position is tolerated at best. Tenuous at worst. With no male heir to lend me legitimacy, I worry how much longer my influence can last.’ Her expression turned rueful. ‘Last week, a proposal was brought forward to challenge the rights of a woman to inherit property.’

‘That’s unfair,’ said Loren, wary. His patience was wearing thin. Nothing Julia said offered substance about the helmet. If Felix was long gone from Pompeii, Loren had bigger problems to worry about than council meetings and inheritance. ‘But I don’t understand how this involves me.’

‘You and I have more in common than you realise. I need an heir, someone capable. Educated. Ambitious. You need someone to unlock doors for you. Otherwise, your hope of creating change is fruitless.’ The reminder stung, but Julia continued, ‘Loren, you need a family name.’

‘What are you saying?’ Loren asked slowly.

‘I think, my doll,’ Julia said, smile honeyed, ‘we have much to discuss tonight.’