Page 98 of Vesuvius

Chapter XXII

LOREN

‘Our wayward son returns,’ said Ax, straightening from his slouch against the arch that opened into the Forum. He stepped neatly into Loren’s path. ‘About time. Lady Julia’s had me searching all over. My instructions are to deliver you post haste, with no sidetracking, stalling, or . . . or . . .’

They could be here all day while Ax struggled to name anothersverb.

Loren deflated. His morning had been bad enough, and he’d barely finished the long, sweaty trek back. All he wanted was to complete one last task before crawling into bed and suffocating himself with a blanket. Julia Fortunata didn’t factor into that agenda.

He peered past Ax’s shoulder into the Forum, more crowded than usual. People jostled and shoved, wrestling to get nearer to a scene or else listen to some proclamation, but Loren couldn’t see what. He had hopes. But he didn’t dare speak them.

He had learned the hard way lately how voicing hopes ruined them.

‘I’m not interested in a scolding.’ He took a steadying breath. ‘Tell Julia I apologise for how things ended, but—’

‘The way I see it,’ Ax said, ‘you have littlechoice here.’

Loren’s blood ran cold. ‘How do you mean?’

Ax flicked out a knife to clean under his nails. Casual enough. ‘Word spreads fast in Pompeii. With how you’ve acted lately – throwing public fits, stirring trouble – I wonder how the Lassius reputation will fare once the council finds out who you are.’

‘Are you threatening me?’ Loren hissed, eyes darting to see who might have overheard.

‘Then where will you hide? You’ve tricked everyone you know, taken advantage of their kindness while all along you were a wine-nursed brat.’ He shrugged. ‘Up to you. My lady only wants to talk.’

Ax wasn’t smart enough to piece this threat together. Loren recognised Julia lurking behind his words, and he had no qualms she would act on it. If she revealed his truth, there would be nothing left for him in Pompeii, and he had already lost so much. Elias would hate him. Livia would never look at him the same.

He scanned the crowd in the Forum again, searching for a clue that at least one promise had been made good on. But it was cruel of him to doubt. Felix had sworn he’d return the helmet before he left Pompeii. If he was no longer in the city, regardless of the sour state of Loren’s heart, Loren had to trust Felix had seen it through.

He steeled himself. ‘Fine. Make it quick.’

Ax gestured, and Loren turned back into the thick of town.

Let it be said there was no worse feeling than waking alone.

If he shut his eyes, Felix lingered behind them. A phantom sensation, a ghost of a touch. It haunted Loren from the moment he woke and rolled over, smiling, only to see a faded imprint in the grass. Still, he waited. Surely Felix was coming back. Surely.

But Loren’s signet ring was back on his own finger. If that wasn’t confirmation of Felix’s intentions, nothing could be clearer.

When they passed the brothel, Loren considered shouting for Elias to save him, but raised voices inside announced Elias was already havingit out with the landlord. Probably over money, how the price of freedom kept inflating. Maybe Loren should be the one to intervene, though last time he’d tried, Elias had been equally furious at him. Something about fighting his own battles. Interrupting now would break what remained of their strained friendship.

Arriving at Julia’s estate brought a fresh wave of dread. Ax waved Loren into the atrium and directed him to the study, but the sight of the plunging pool gave him pause.

‘Wait, Ax. Clovia, what became of her? Her burial.’

Ax’s eyes dulled, face hardening. ‘Lady Julia paid an undertaker to handle the body, but there will be no ceremony. No time.’

Loren frowned. ‘Time could be made. Without a funeral, her spirit can’t rest.’

‘And? Julia’s word is final. Don’t pretend to care, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit you.’

Ax slunk off, leaving Loren to wonder how many ghosts this estate held.

He found Julia perched on the sill of a shuttered window in the study, gazing at nothing. She wore a simple grey tunic, hair in a dishevelled knot, so far removed from the portrait-perfect statue she’d been at the festival. Her face drooped with exhaustion, creased with worry. But once Loren crossed the threshold, her armour slid back.

‘Hello, doll.’ She rose with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Your hair is different. I’ve never seen you without your braid.’

It was so beyond what Loren expected her to say that he tugged a lock by reflex. Silly, really, a child clinging to a toy. But as he’d waited in the grove for a boy who wasn’t coming back, his fingers worked by memory to separate into three and weave. Then he pulled the band off his wrist to tie the braid, and—

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