‘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 crackFelix 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 andturned 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.’
