Felix’s hair stood on end, a chill rolling down his spine. He snapped his fingers beneath her nose. ‘Aurelia, stop.Stop.’
She blinked, eyes clearing.
Then she kicked his shin.
Pain replaced the chill. ‘You’re a little terror,’ Felix hissed. ‘What did you mean by that? Whose hand?’
But she merely looked confused. It struck Felix that wherever Aurelia had slipped, she hadn’t carried back memories when she resurfaced. Interrogating her would do no good. He knew better than anyone that some memories could not be coaxed out.
‘He’s in danger,’ she said at her normal bratty pitch. ‘Because of you. If you won’t help because he’s your friend, do it for that.’
Felix wanted to protest, wanted to shout that he owed Loren nothing, that Loren could shove his questioning up his arse, and that if he wanted to waste money on food out of pity, it didn’t mean a thing. Attachment invited vulnerability. Attachment led to a swift end, either of time or freedom, and that mantra had kept Felix alive this far. He wanted to say all that.
But Loren had charged into traffic for him. He’d watched Felix’s failed escape attempts but still trusted him enough to confide secret musings about Achilles. And after dinner, despite Felix lashing out, Loren had followed him – and stumbled right into danger.
Guilt crawled through Felix’s belly. Maybe he did owe Loren a favour. Maybe this could clear their debt.
‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure he’s safe. But then Iamleaving. And you won’t breathe a word of this to him.’
‘Coward,’ said Aurelia. ‘They took my father’s sword. Bring that back, too.’
They crept through alleys, quiet as cats. For all Aurelia’s brashness, at least she was capable of silence when they needed it most. She showed Felix to a walled estate, where they took stock from the shadows. An ox of a man holding a gladius guarded the entrance.
‘That’s one of the men who took Loren,’ Aurelia whispered. ‘I don’t see the other.’
‘What did they want with him?’
‘I attacked. I was too preoccupied staying alive to find out.’
Felix tried to picture Aurelia wielding a weapon against a grown mercenary, but the image was too ridiculous. ‘Where did your father’s sword end up?’
‘Oh,’ Aurelia said brightly. ‘He’s holding it.’
Felix’s eye twitched. ‘Aurelia, look at the size of him. How am I meant to get past?’
‘Around the corner’ – she pointed – ‘the garden wall dips. Even someone short as you shouldn’t have an issue climbing.’
‘My height is average.’ Felix sniffed. ‘You’re shorter than me.’
‘Yes. But I’m twelve. And still growing.’
‘I suppose you aren’t coming?’
‘As you pointed out,’ Aurelia said, ‘it’s past my curfew.’
Felix stepped onto the street. No harm being seen, not yet. Ox Face’s eyes tracked him until he turned the corner and scurried down a side alley.
Aurelia was right. Here the imposing barrier was lower. He’d scaled hundreds of walls before. All he needed was a handhold. Scrambling up took no work, even when it strained still-fresh stitches. From the roof, he scouted out the building. Steam curled from a private bath, nearly masking a manicured interior garden.
Careful not to dislodge any tiles, Felix crept until he could drop into the open window of a bedroom, then slipped into a corridor. Empty. A place like this should have servants and slaves and children and guests. Instead, he found only silence but for the buzzing in his skull. Sweat rolled from his hairline. From his pocket, he drew his stolen knife.
Two dark hallways later, he caught the flicker of a sconce. Voices, muffled around a corner. Felix flattened himself against a wall, hardly daringbreathe.
‘I was told to cut you off past a jug,’ said a woman, ‘and you’ve had two.’
‘It’s not even the good stuff, Clovia, c’mon,’ drawled a man. ‘Mistress’ll be tied up with the boy all night. She won’t care if I have another.’
The boy. Felix’s heart skipped.
