Page 72 of Vesuvius

‘Also a fool. Also died.’

‘I can leave, if you’d rather.’ Felix shifted to stand, but Loren flailed in protest.

‘Don’t. I would rather listen to you talk poetry than be awake with my thoughts.’ Fumbling with an amphora, Loren squinted at the maker’s stamp, then passed it to Felix. ‘I was under the impression wine was meant to help.’

‘How much did you drink?’ Felix said, sloshing it around. Nearly dry from the sound.

‘Opened it new.’

‘Jupiter, Loren, what were you thinking? You’re supposed to water this anyway, not drink it straight.’

‘I was thinking I didn’t want to think. But it only made everything louder.’

Felix took a draw from the jug. Sickly-sweetness washed over his tongue. ‘Horrible. Who made this? Lassius?’

That startled a pained laugh from Loren. ‘You have no idea, do you?’

‘I don’t care what you rich folk say. Lassius wine is swill.’ A smirk curled Felix’s face. ‘I stole from his villa once.’

‘No.’ Loren still giggled, a drunken babble. His whole body shook with it as he pressed his forehead to Felix’s shoulder, and Felix felt the burst of each laugh echo warm and sharp down to his fingertips. ‘Tell me that’s a joke.’

Strangely proud, Felix nodded. ‘He owns the big vineyard south of here, a day’s ride by the main road. Has more property than he knows what to do with, so I took as many bottles as I could. Doubt he noticed them missing.’

‘Felix.’ As abruptly as it started, Loren’s laughter died. ‘You can’t tell me these things.’

‘Why not?’

Weight retreated from Felix’s shoulder. Not that he cared.

‘Because Lassius is my father.’

Felix waited for the joke to drop. And waited. But Loren fished under the neckline of his toga-tunic-abomination and withdrew a gold ring fastened to a cord. With a sharp tug, he snapped the leather.

He dropped the ring into Felix’s palm.

‘I didn’t want to tell you,’ Loren said, which Felix took to meanI’m only telling you because I’m drunk out of my skull.‘But Julia knows, so. Fuck it.’

Felix’s mind melted. ‘Julia knows?’

‘You didn’t hear her?’ Loren’s pretty mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Not a soul in Pompeii should know my real name.’

‘Your real name.’ Not melted. Disintegrated.

‘Lucius Lassius Lorenus. Ridiculous, isn’t it?’

Neither laughed. Felix stared at the signet ring, emblazoned so clearly with the Lassius family crest. Reversed, so when pressed to damp clay or puddled wax, it would face correctly. For a long moment, Felix found he couldn’t make any sound at all.

‘Say something, Felix. Say you were right all along, that I’m some rich boy choking on privilege. I know you think it already. May as well air it. Or tell me—’

Felix slipped the ring on. Loren cut off with a strangled cough.

‘Keep it,’ Loren choked out. ‘I don’t need it. Don’t know why I kept it this long. Figured I’d flash it someday to get myself out of trouble, or into trouble, but obviously this was a mistake. I’ll crawl back to them. I’ll leave tonight.’

The thought came over Felix, in a slow spread, that for all he thought he and Loren were different, perhaps those differences linked them. After all, weren’t they both searching for a place to belong? Where rules didn’t matter?

‘No,’ Felix said. ‘You aren’t going back there. Pompeii is your home.’

The chamber fell eerily silent. Felix dragged his eyes from the ring, turned to look, and—

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