‘What Julia said,’ Loren started as though he’d only just remembered, here on the brink of wine-sleep. ‘’Bout. Smuggling ring. Temple. Servius. D’you think . . .’
Felix gently broke the hold as Loren mumbled into unconsciousness.
Do you think. No, thinking was one activity Felix strove to do as little of as possible. Thinking only complicated his life. Especially when it came to temples and smuggling and memory. Besides, he suspected what Loren meant to ask. His mind had gone there, too. Of course it had.
But this Felix knew with certainty: no matter how shrouded his other memories were, Servius was a man he wouldn’t have forgotten. Chasing coincidence was a waste of time. Felix discarded the thought. Forced it down, even as it threatened to bubble back up. Now he only hoped Loren’s impending hangover would erase it from his mind, too.
Felix jiggled the latch of Loren’s trunk until it popped to dig for the spare blanket tucked at the bottom. But when he pushed back the lid, he stilled. The laundry bag had drooped open. Silver glinted in the dark of the room, reflecting nothing. Delicately, Felix scooped up the helmet, cradling it in his palms.
Such a strange thing for Pompeii to prize and fear in equal measure – and such a strange thing to have pinned Felix in one city for the longest stretch of time since fleeing Rome. Yet there was something familiar about the helmet, a beckoning he couldn’t name. Wasn’t sure he wanted to name. Loren called it Mercury’s helmet. The shape, theweight, the style . . . but the harder Felix considered it, the further the answer seemed, flitting away on swift, winged feet.
And now he itched to follow.
His thoughts returned to the questions he’d considered on the docks, all those impossibilities he hadn’t allowed himself to wonder about before. That he had been drawn to Pompeii for a reason. That he was meant to pursue an answer here – one he had been too afraid to face.
Felix had no family name. He had no vineyard to return to, no heirship waiting. But he had the helmet. Something all his own. Something that understood what it meant to be untouchable.
Something to run to, instead of from.
Under the press of his fingers, Felix could have sworn the metal hummed.
Chapter XVIII
LOREN
Morning brought Loren two things: a hangover and the sick realisation that the world moved on. How could it, when Loren knew how Felix’s mouth tasted, had felt the planes of his chest under his palm? It should’ve been impossible. Everything had changed.
But when Loren woke, sunlight blaring through the shutters, to find Felix standing at the door, a third realisation hit: Loren had messed up spectacularly.
Their four days ended tomorrow. Tomorrow, Felix would leave.
Loren stood on unsteady legs, forcing back nausea, head throbbing dully. Julia’s toga still swaddled him, a suffocating mass of crinkled, wine-stained wool, and he fumbled for the pin. Distant-but-still-too-close memories teased him of Felix hauling him up the stairs, putting him to bed, unstrapping his shoes. Of Loren drowning in Felix’s curls.
If these were the memories Loren still held, what didn’t he remember?
He groaned and clutched his abdomen.
‘If you plan on vomiting,’ Felix said, offering out Mercury’s helmet, upside down, ‘aim for this.’
Loren glared.
Felix pulled it back. ‘It was a joke.’
There was no saving the moment once it passed. Loren stumbled to the washbasin, expecting to see days-old water with a veneer of soap scum, but found a fresh bowl instead. ‘Did you—’
‘Wash up,’ Felix snapped, ears burning red. ‘You slept half the morning away. I want to leave before night comes around again.’
Comprehension dawned as Loren reached for a washcloth.Felix held the helmet.
Panic seized him. ‘But it’s too early. You promised four days.’
‘Notleave. I want . . . I hoped you and I could . . .’ Felix ran a frustrated hand through his hair. ‘I’m tired of hidden truths. Of others knowing more about me than I do. You said I’m the only person who can touch the helmet. I’ll hold to my promise to return it tomorrow, I swear. But first I want to know why I was able to take it at all.’
‘You want to help.’ Loren blinked.
Wasn’t this what he wanted? He should be excited Felix might stop avoiding questions.
But Loren’s stomach churned all over again at the way Felix clutched the helmet to his chest. He wanted to figure Felix out, but he’d been terrified of Felix figuring out himself. Flashing visions lurked behind his eyelids.Black wave. Copper streak. Ghost-Felix at the crux.The helmet was there at the end of the world, connected to Felix. Learning more would come with a cost.
