‘Why’s that?’
Loren smiled. ‘Remember why I like the moon? It comes back. Isis symbolises that, to me. No rebirth without death. The sky will be dark tonight, but give it time.’
Felix wondered what that would look like.Try again. Except when Loren said it, it sounded more liketrust again. That, despite the hurts he had known, there were other things worth believing in. Other people, even.
Warm fingers brushed his knuckles, featherlight. Touch often settled sticky over his flesh, and even gentle hands triggered his instinct to flee. But there was something different about Loren. He didn’t touch in order to take. Felix wanted to flip his hand over, press their palms together, languish in the simple sureness of a gesture like that. Wanting carried a price he couldn’t afford.
It felt greedy, but he let Loren’s touch linger. This, and no more.
‘You said you recall some,’ Loren broached, delicate as vellum. ‘You told me your father died. Do you remember that?’
‘Yes.’ Closing his eyes against the sun, Felix’s vision washed red. ‘I remember that.’
Because for all he fought to live in the moment, that was the memory he couldn’t escape. His mind blocked out other pain fromhis past but kept this within reach. It left too much room to wonder. Speculate. For a little clawing voice to scratch the back of his mind, to burrow in, mutter.
To suggest Felix hadn’t decided to forget. Someone else made that choice for him.
Felix hadn’t realised how tightly he was clutching the helmet’s edges until Loren prised his curled fingers loose. Red welts carved canyons across Felix’s palms.
‘Thank you,’ Loren said. ‘For telling me.’
Another shrug. ‘You told me your secret. Reckoned I owed you one back.’
The wheels of the cart creaked and groaned. One of the mules brayed. Down the slope, Pompeii shone like a beacon. From here, Felix could see out to where sky met sun-brushed sea. He thought the conversation dead, but then—
‘Sorry again for kissing you,’ Loren blurted, all in a rush. When Felix only blinked, he hurried on, ‘I should have asked first. And I’m not very good, am I?’
‘Maybe,’ Felix said, drawing out the word, ‘you need more practice.’
‘Practice. Yes.’ Loren’s face flushed scarlet. ‘Now?’
Felix fought back a little grin. ‘Survive the mountain first. Then we’ll talk.’
Chapter XX
LOREN
Just as Loren’s thighs went numb from the rumble of the rough wood, splinters pinching, brain rattling in his skull, Stravo pulled the reins.
‘This is as far as I can take you,’ he announced. ‘Beyond here, the trail is impassable by cart.’
They’d stopped at a fork in the trail, where one branch narrowed as it wound up Vesuvius’s flank, past where trees withered and only sparse grass grew. The other path dipped to a mountainside terrace hosting a special selection of grapes. Loren knew all about them, an experiment with higher-altitude wines, still in its infancy when he’d left home. He hadn’t realised how far north his father had expanded in the years since.
It made sense, in the twisted way Lucius Lassius’s logic tended to work. He wouldn’t drag his son home yet, but he’d hover a hand over Pompeii to ensure Loren stayed within reach.
Felix stumbled a little when he slid from the cart, Mercury’s helmet tucked beneath his arm. It was almost a relief to have that freedom up here. On Vesuvius, they didn’t have to hide or sneak.
If Stravo thought anything suspicious about the helmet, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he gave Felix a cautious once-over. ‘Don’t return to the vineyard.’
Felix asked, carefully neutral, ‘Why is that?’
‘You may think you fooled Adolphus, but he’s shrewder than he appears.’
‘There isn’t anything to suspect.’ Felix flashed the ring again.
To Loren’s surprise, Stravo didn’t quell under the show of authority. Instead, he raised a brow, half-hidden by his hat. ‘You’re a talented actor, I’ll give you that. But you’re not our master’s heir.’
Wind rustled the grass. ‘How do you figure?’
