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Chapter V

FELIX

F our days . Felix didn’t have four days to sit still. Staying still screamed danger. Staying still meant a quick end to an already short life. Whatever protection Loren thought he could offer was nonsense. Felix trusted no one but himself to evade capture and escape Pompeii alive.

Naturally, the first thing he did when Loren left, muttering about returning to the temple to start his search, was break his promise and pick the lock.

The helmet greeted him from the crushing dark of the trunk. Shiny silver gleamed with the possibility of wine, bread, a horse, even, if Felix wanted. Oh, Felix wanted. Recognition tugged anew when he lifted the helmet out, that uncanny magnetic pull. Like the helmet wanted him in kind.

Loren was a fool for believing Felix would stay.

Warnings about superstitious Pompeiians and whips aside, he’d only needed Loren to lower his guard long enough to offer an opening.

The rest Felix could handle on his own. Helmet tucked in the laundry bag slung over his shoulder, he unpicked the locked door and stepped out.

And nearly tripped over the dark-eyed brothel boy. Elias sat on the tiny landing, blocking the stairs. He gazed up through his lashes, saccharine and venomous .

‘Fox was only a nickname,’ said Elias. ‘But you’re crafty when cornered, aren’t you?’

‘I bite, too.’

‘Another word for whore is lupa . Wolf . Shall we trade teeth?’ Elias grinned. ‘Loren said he’s keeping you out of trouble, but I think you are the trouble. That’s something he can’t resist. Usually to the detriment of everyone around him.’

‘So move. Trust me, I’m not trying to stick around.’

Elias rose, if only to use the rest of his body as a barrier. ‘Tell you what. Come drink with me first. Play a game.’

Felix sized him up. Elias was pretty, he’d give him that, but debauched. Short, with a head of loose brown curls, round cheeks, and charcoal-smudged eyes, he resembled a devious cherub. ‘You don’t interest me.’

‘Wasn’t offering, but I bet I can figure out what does interest you. Give me an hour of your time, and after, I won’t stop you from leaving.’ Elias turned to head downstairs, then shot a glance backwards. ‘Leave the helmet. When this explodes in your face, I’d rather not witness it.’

‘How—’

‘I told you, Loren can’t resist trouble. The same day the helmet goes missing, he decides to hide a stranger in his room?’ Elias arched a brow. ‘Or we could skip the drink and I’ll fetch the guards now. Gods know I need the reward money. Up to you.’

He flounced away, curls bouncing.

Felix knew Elias would do it. Prostitutes loved city guards as much as thieves did, but Elias seemed the sort to compromise his anti-authoritarian principles over a slight.

Felix left the brothel frustrated and empty-handed, tying his headscarf as they walked.

Alleys grew grim around them. Every city had a seedy underbelly, and Elias was leading Felix to the pit of Pompeii’s.

A few more turns, and an unseemly building loomed ahead, stinking of liquor.

Disguised as a bar, only an engraving of dice in the door’s keystone indicated it offered more than drink.

The rattle of tin cups and tossed stones echoed to the street.

Elias beckoned Felix inside.

For such an early hour, the place was packed.

The bar advertised wine but doled out beer, the vice of the truly plebeian, and men drank deep from sour jars.

Along the wall hung faded theatre masks, their exaggerated faces – comedy and sorrow – pulling strange shadows in the half-light.

A frazzled barmaid wove between tables, topping off cups.

No one gave Felix or his bloodied clothes a second glance.

At the counter, Elias batted his eyes for two beers, then herded Felix to the corner.

Felix was no stranger to places like this, but usually in towns where the threat of execution wasn’t so heavy.

He slid as far back as the sticky bench allowed, eyeing the crowd.

One group caught Felix’s attention, men dressed in neat tunics, heads bent in hushed conversation.

These men looked too expensive for such a foul place, but rich folks loved pretending to be poor – and intruding where they didn’t belong.

They reminded Felix of the statesman. Repressing a shiver, he tried to shut out the memory, but the statesman’s breathy murmur brushed through his mind – Once you remember what was taken from you . . .

Did everyone in Pompeii know something about Felix that he didn’t?

‘Do you know the rules?’ Elias asked, and at first Felix wondered if he, too, was prodding around in his head. All Felix ever thought of were his rules – Don’t get attached. Reject belief or pay the price. Stay in the present. But Elias only gestured to a handful of dice.

‘Sure,’ Felix said. ‘What’s the wager?’

‘Let’s trade something more fun than coin. Question for question.’

‘Loren tried a game like that already.’

‘Who do you think taught him to play?’ Elias gave a flat smile. ‘Roll. ’

The game began.

For a seasoned player, the rounds moved quick. Dice were matched and swapped in a heady mix of luck and strategy. To Elias’s credit, he had a fair dose of both, but when the last round rolled, he couldn’t compete with Felix. Few people could.

Face stony, Elias stared at Felix’s winning sweep. Clearly, he hadn’t anticipated losing.

‘I think I won an answer,’ said Felix.

After a slow drink, Elias reset the game. ‘I said you could ask. Remind me where I promised a response.’

Felix’s lips twitched despite himself. Elias was sharp. In other circumstances, they might have got on. Dropping his dice one by one into the cup, Felix’s attention drifted back to the rich men in the corner.

‘This city. Who runs it?’

‘The duoviri, of course.’

Heads of the council, Felix’s arse. At best, the duoviri ran their mouths. ‘A real answer. I wasn’t born yesterday.’

‘May as well have been. You’re, what? Fifteen?’

‘Seventeen.’ Felix bristled. He might be many things, but a baby face he was not. Besides, Elias could hardly be older than him.

‘You like your head attached to your neck?’

‘Ideally.’

‘Then reconsider that question. Better off asking, who holds the power?’ Elias followed Felix’s stare across to the group.

‘Pompeii caters to a specific bunch. Senators. Ex-senators. Lawyers. Rich bastards who travel here from Rome at summer’s end, and the council bends over backwards for them.

They have no choice. Pompeii is a Roman colony. ’

‘They’re tourists?’

‘Worse. Tourists with an agenda. I was a child, barely bought and brought here by my first master, when the last big quake wrecked the place. Wiped out most of the town, and we still haven’t rebuilt.

The council is scrambling to put together the taxes Rome demands, so there’s nothing left for local repairs, and the quakes this summer are driving more people out. ’

‘So you have a long line of rich tourists traipsing through a broken city while the capital demands more money, with few actual residents left to tax.’

‘Smart Fox. Rome’s envoys keep pressuring the council to levy deeper taxes. A couple of strongholds are resisting the proposals, landowners and merchants, but it’s only a matter of time before they give in, too. Or are wiped out.’

Felix studied him. ‘How do you know all this?’

‘Secrets of the trade, and you’re out of questions this round.’ Elias smirked. ‘Roll.’

The game continued. Matched. Swapped. Matched again.

Once Elias adapted to Felix’s style, he proved a formidable strategist, skill wasted throwing dice in a tavern.

When he won, Felix was only a little sore.

He swallowed a mouthful of beer to wash away the taste of losing – and the spike of nerves that came when Elias’s gaze turned calculating.

‘Don’t look so nervous.’ Elias winked. ‘I’m saving my question for later.’

As if that made Felix feel better, but he didn’t intend there to be a later. ‘Take your time.’

‘I will.’ Leaning closer, Elias cupped his chin in his palm. ‘You know, your questions remind me of conversations I’ve had with Loren. Politics. Local affairs.’

The comparison rankled Felix. He and Loren had nothing in common. Felix’s interest in politics revolved around knowing who to avoid. Loren wanted to be the type of man Felix avoided.

Elias continued, ‘It’s enough to make one wonder about you.’

‘Keep wondering.’ Felix pushed Elias’s dice at him. ‘Again. ’

Sparing the pieces a cursory glance, Elias locked eyes with Felix. His were blisteringly dark. ‘Just ask what you mean to ask.’

‘Why did you really bring me here?’

‘To stall you until Loren returned. Obviously. Why did you follow?’

‘You threatened me,’ Felix hissed. ‘Over the . . .’

The crowd was loud enough that he didn’t fear being overheard, and both being street-scum, he and Elias blended in. Besides, thieves protected their own. But naming his crime would carry finality, regardless of what Elias already knew.

‘Please. You followed because you were curious. I know that because I know Loren. He isn’t a liar, but he holds a mess of secrets in his head.

You can’t ask him a question and expect a straight answer.

Whatever he told you about the helmet, you couldn’t possibly be satisfied.

’ Suddenly suspicion twisted Elias’s face.

‘But you wasted your question asking after tourists. As if, maybe, you’ve already made up your mind about the helmet. And what use you might make of it.’

‘A bath,’ Felix said dryly. ‘Food. A roof.’

‘You aren’t thinking big enough.’

The words, though casual, sent a chill down Felix’s spine. He eyed Elias in a new light. Outside, day had turned to dusk. Without stray bars of sunset streaming through slitted windows, shadows fell harsher. They dripped down the planes of Elias’s face, ageing him before his time.

Loren and the statesman both called the helmet divine. Powerful. Deadly. A tingle raced across Felix’s palms, a craving to touch, to hold skin-warmed silver again. To make the helmet his own.

He wet his lips. ‘Do you want it?’

The spell cracked when Elias snorted. ‘Gods, no. I want you – and it – far from Pompeii when you use it.’

As if it wasn’t just a glorified piece of metal. Magic was still horseshit. It had to be. Or else . . .

The air thickened until Felix couldn’t breathe. He shoved back, bench legs screeching, and stormed off. Dice weren’t the only thing being played that evening. He shouldn’t have followed Elias. He shouldn’t have been curious.

Curiosity led to caring, and caring never won Felix favour.

The statesman had also said, Your father is dead.

Even if he brushed the comment off as a lucky guess, Felix couldn’t shake how it rattled in the hollows of his mind, where memories should be, but weren’t. An emptiness with only a fearful ache to fill it.

Whatever once fitted there was no longer his to hold. But that never stopped him wondering.

Maybe Elias had been right: Felix did have an interest in Pompeii’s politics beyond self-preservation.

That if he asked the right questions, caught a fraying thread about the statesman’s identity, Felix might trigger an answer to what he lacked.

But his story was nothing special. In the end, all threads snapped.

He was one in a long line of fatherless boys, and the statesman was some no-name tourist, and Felix should know better than to dwell.

Out in the muggy evening air, where rain clouds hung heavy, Felix’s headache returned in full force.

Mind muddled like this, picking out the details that mattered, the lifesaving details, proved impossible.

The city sparked with nightlife, sounds stacking on his frustration.

Further down the street, a handful of boys circled in the careless way only close friends could.

Something throbbed low in Felix’s gut as one boy burst into laughter and slapped his friend’s back.

An easy gesture, foreign to someone like Felix.

Dangerous for someone like Felix.

Elias’s hand landed on his shoulder, not gripping, but not friendly, either. The impact echoed down his vertebrae, like an earthquake.

‘You feel like an omen,’ Elias said. ‘I can’t have you lurking around my city. ’

‘I’ll be gone by morning.’

‘Then here’s my question: what do you intend to do with your time left?’

But Felix had no real answer. Intentions never counted for much.

Rain began to patter, and he tore his eyes from the laughing boys to face Elias.

Before he could formulate an answer – or an excuse – a man twice their age sidled up.

No words were exchanged, but Elias’s eyes drooped, seductive but threaded with reluctant resignation, and the man pushed him against brick. Felix took that as his cue to leave.

‘Hey, Fox?’ Elias called. Felix looked back to see the man lick a stripe up Elias’s neck. ‘Loren can be self-righteous, but he’s a good person. I don’t want to see him hurt.’

Envy raked through Felix’s gut. Clearly Elias had a tense history with Loren, but he still looked out for him. What must that be like? To count on someone to watch your back? By design, by his rules, Felix would never know.

Elias turned back to his client, and Felix walked alone.