When it swung open, Loren’s blood iced over at the emptiness that met him. The basket of soggy bread slipped from his numb fingers.
Loren hadn’t needed to worry about facing Felix. He ought to have feared the opposite.
Felix was gone.
Chapter VII
FELIX
When Felix started up the brothel stairs, he almost wished the underworld were real, if only so he could curse Elias’s name to it.
Somehow, Elias had timed Felix’s return for the helmet perfectly with the arrival of the last person he wanted to run into. Which meant Elias had outwitted him twice now. Felix couldn’t let that stand. But Loren didn’t seem interested in any score Felix kept. He glared from the landing, drenched, splotchy and bursting with self-righteousness.
‘For someone whose head is inching towards the block,’ Loren bit, ‘one would think you’d be more careful.’
Felix cast Loren a cool look, slipping past to pause at the door of his room. ‘You shouldn’t leave this unlocked. Who knows who might invite himself in.’
He pushed inside.
‘You’re a . . . an . . . ’ Loren said in a shaky gust when the door shut behind them.
‘Ass?’ Felix supplied. ‘You’re allowed to curse.’
Loren’s face flushed all the way to his freckles. ‘You were missing. I thought you ran. Or that the council had come whileI was away.’
‘Right, and brand you as my co-conspirator, gods forbid. Sink your political career before it begins.’ Felix rolled his eyes. ‘I’m not a fool, and I wasn’t escaping. Elias and I went to play dice. Is that so unforgiveable?’
‘Gambling is illegal.’
‘I don’t bend over the table to get fucked by laws.’
Rain dripped from Loren’s frazzled braid. ‘You’re vile.’
Felix stared. ‘You live in a brothel. Surely you’ve heard worse.’
Loren’s nostrils flared. Felix tensed, waiting for him to swing a fist, but he only crossed to the washbasin and tossed over a rag.
‘Wash. Food’s in that basket.’ He made a shapeless gesture. ‘Fruit, bread. Sleep in the bed if you want, I don’t care.’
‘The floor is fine.’
‘Fine. And don’t . . . don’t speak to me.’ Loren rubbed his eyes, then propped open the shutters. He climbed onto the windowsill, legs dangling, stared at the street, and went silent.
Felix stripped and scrubbed dried blood and grime. He didn’t have other clothes to change into, so he donned his filthy tunic again. It’d have to do until he was far enough from Pompeii that he could risk pausing to wash it. Then he scarfed half a loaf of olive-studded bread. Almost had the other half, too, until he remembered Loren probably hadn’t eaten.
Felix traced Loren’s silhouette at the window. Defeat radiated from his slumped shoulders. Evidently, whatever answer he hoped to glean while prostrating himself at Isis’s feet hadn’t materialised. This should have heartened Felix. He didn’t want Loren poking around in his business. Most days, Felix didn’t poke around in hisownbusiness, since that only led to dead-ends of disappointment. But to his surprise, he liked sullen Loren far less than chatty Loren.
Besides, if Felix was leaving tonight, they might as well part on decent terms.
Awkwardness stretched as Felix settled on the sill backwards, feet firmly planted in the room, and held out the bread. Loren furrowed his brow, but slowly accepted the offering.
‘Thank you,’ Loren said, picking at the crust.
‘Your food, not mine.’
‘Still.’ Rain picked up again, a half-there pitter-patter. ‘I hate this weather. Either commit to the storm properly or don’t bother.’
‘Are you giving the sky an ultimatum?’
