Sucking in a sharp breath, Felix tore his gaze away. ‘Sounds like horseshit. How would she know?’
‘Old people know things.’ Loren shrugged. ‘I wonder if we should tell her we have the helmet.’
Felix stared. ‘Did you hit your head when you fell?’
‘It’s only that I can’t stop thinking about what she said, that the thief must be a pawn of Mercury. That Mercury wanted it moved.’
‘I don’t give a shit about what Mercury wants. I took it because the payout was worth the risk.’Should beworth the risk, Felix amended privately, if he could ever sell the thing without meddling statesmen and temple boys interfering. ‘You keep asking questions, implying wild ideas, but you aren’t satisfied with the answers I can give. The helmet was shiny. I’m a thief. I take shiny things. Why can’t that be answer enough?’
‘Because. Because . . .’ Loren squeezed his eyes shut. Across the harbour, a dockworker shouted something crass at a ship coming in to port. ‘It simply can’t. Look at every myth out there. When humans act on behalf of the gods, it’s in ways that bring about their own ruin. If Mercury willed you to take the helmet, we could work with that. We could figure outwhybefore the consequences worsen.’
‘That’s another thing. You’re convinced there must be consequences. What if there aren’t? What if you let me take it and run?’
‘There are always consequences when mortals cross paths with gods. Icarus ignored the warnings and flew too close to the sun. Achilles wouldn’t fight when ordered, and his pride cost him Patroclus. Hercules—’
‘Stop,’ Felix snapped. ‘I’m not Hercules. Or Achilles. I’m just Felix.’
‘If I can’t figure out how to stop what’s coming,’ Loren said, voice small but serious, ‘you’ll be Patroclus. Dead while wearing another’s helmet.’
‘Shit choice of a metaphor. I don’t know who that is.’
‘Achilles’s lover? Be serious. You haven’t readThe Iliad?’ When Felix arched a brow, Loren had the decency to look sheepish. ‘I could teach you, you know. I’ve done it before.’
Felix only grunted, but his plan had worked. He felt a sting of guilt for derailing the conversation on purpose, anything to steer away from the damn helmet and the damn gods and the doom and gloom Loren seemed adamant was destined, all because Felix had done what thievesdo. But Loren was so easily distracted, he would have lost his train of thought soon anyway.
‘Might expand your vocabulary at the least.’ Loren kicked at the water. ‘I have a scrap of the poem I can show you, though it’s in Greek and my tutor couldn’t read a lick of it. I had to teach myself. The piece isn’t anything special, but it’s the part I liked best. You know Achilles, then?’
‘Everyone knows Achilles,’ said Felix.
‘Well, yes—’
‘Is it a battle scene?’
‘Well, no—’
‘A sex scene.’
‘No,’ Loren said, and – yes, there. That agitated flush, spreading from his cheeks down his neck. Satisfied, Felix sat back, resting his weight on his palms, face tilted towards the sun. The angle strained his stitches, but the warmth was nice. A gull let out a sharp cry as it soared overhead, shadow distorted on the waves.
‘All right,’ he relented. ‘Tell me.’
Loren huffed. ‘You’re mocking me.’
‘I swear, I’m not.’ Maybe a little. ‘Go on.’
Drawing a knee to his chest, Loren propped his chin. He still scowled, but he started talking, and his brow smoothed again, as though their spat over the helmet had never happened. Felix wished he could be so forgiving. Or forgetful about anything except what mattered.
‘Most wouldn’t call it exciting, but to me . . . Did you know Achilles played the lyre? He could hush a room with his talent, but the other men only wanted him for battle. Except Patroclus. In this scene, Patroclus sits and listens, the two alone in their tent. Their own shelter from a storm they only knew the start of.’
‘That’s all? Of the entire story, that’s the only scene you kept?’
‘Youaremocking me.’
Felix straightened too quickly. ‘No. It’s nice, but it is strange. Why that part?’
‘I think I’d like that, someday. That intimacy.’ Loren tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. ‘I know I tend to talk a lot. Too much. For once, I want someone who won’t mind listening.’
Felix eyed Loren as he gazed at the waves, his straight-nosed, sharp-cheekboned profile that begged to be immortalised in marble. The hem of his grey tunic had hitched up his thigh. Felix refused to notice. A breeze wafted in the sharp tang of brine and ruffled Loren’s hair free again. Everything about Loren was free, and none of Felix’s feelings made sense.
