Chapter XXII Loren
Chapter XXII
LOREN
‘ O ur 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 another s verb.
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 little choice 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 having it 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—
Felix had said ‘ Leave it loose .’
So Loren left it loose, as if that would coax Felix to his side again.
He shook it off. This was a distraction attempt. Loren wouldn’t let her win this round. He drifted past her to survey their battleground.
With the window closed, Julia’s study was stifling, dusty and dimly lit by a half-burned candle.
Parchment lay strewn across the floor, a series of drafts discarded for whatever disappointments they contained.
A platter of untouched cheese sweated in the heat.
This wasn’t the right setup for a scolding.
Loren should know. He’d faced plenty in his father’s office.
‘Julia,’ he said slowly, ‘why am I here?’
He peeked at the parchment centred on the desk, the sole draft to have passed her scrutiny. Even from a distance, Loren hazarded a guess at what it said. After all, he’d seen a version before.
Julia clasped her hands. ‘I’m prepared to forgive you.’
Incredulity hooked in Loren’s gut. ‘For what, precisely? For having the nerve to speak the truth? For not wanting some washed-up senator to get away with smuggling and murder?’
‘Settle, Loren.’
‘Don’t tell me to settle. Not when you lied. Not after threatening me.’
‘You take liberties,’ she said. ‘Remember, in Pompeii we’re not equals. Here, you are nobody. Do me the courtesy of hearing my case first. You wear the clothes I gifted. You owe me this, at least.’
‘Speak quickly, then, or I’ll leave and not come back.’
Always an ultimatum , the ghost murmured. This or that.
Loren shook him off his shoulder with a huff he hoped Julia assumed directed at her. She didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she began to pace, slow, even strides.
‘Most think me a recluse. Unsociable. If you thought the same, you were too polite to voice it.’ She shot him a wry smile he didn’t return. ‘But my estate wasn’t always so empty. For a time after my father’s death, I rented out rooms. I employed more widely. Built new baths. Expanded. ’
‘Was it unsuccessful?’
‘The contrary. I was booked throughout the year.’ Julia paused, jiggling the window latch, but didn’t push the shutters open.
‘Until I pieced together the truth about how he died. I’d been forbidden to visit his deathbed, robbed of my right as his only daughter to anoint him, to arrange his funeral.
And the undertaker refused to tell me, believing my constitution fragile. I stole the records months later.’
‘Julia—’
‘Poisoned. Strangled. Clovia’s death wasn’t my first brush with Servius’s methods. I learned quickly there are few people I can trust.’
‘Yet you deny her a funeral.’ Loren’s lip curled despite his effort to keep accusation from his tone. ‘You trusted her enough to make her your sole attendant, and now you condemn her to the same fate as your father.’
‘Disgust spoils your pretty face,’ Julia said coldly. ‘So does contempt. If you knew half of what I know, you would not regard me with either.’
Loren swallowed hard. ‘I wish I could help you. But my answer stays the same.’
‘You still don’t see it.’ When she spun to face him, her eyes brimmed. ‘You don’t understand the opportunity I offer. A route into politics, a stable life in Pompeii, a new family. I could give you everything.’
‘You want a puppet. You want my father’s name attached to yours.’ Loren stepped back, striding for the exit. ‘But you are no better than he is. I can’t put myself through that again.’
‘I want you, Loren.’
He froze.
Julia smelled victory. ‘When was the last time someone asked what you desired from your life? And didn’t force you into a mould? When someone wanted you, exactly as you are?’
Last night. Loren grimaced. What he and Felix had was different. And the knife it twisted hurt far more than Julia ever could. Not that it counted for much. Felix still picked flight in the end, and Loren was reduced to an afterthought.
His mistake for believing he was worth choosing.
‘Not your parents,’ Julia continued. ‘Or you wouldn’t have run. Not Isis, or the Priest would have valued you as more than an errand boy. And the seamstress-woman and her daughter have their own lives to worry about, you cannot keep clinging to them. Where does that leave you?’
A lump lodged in Loren’s throat. With one neat move, Julia had reached into his chest and torn out all the insecurities he harboured.
Had drawn the same conclusion he long feared.
He was a burden. His visions, his hopes, his love were all too big for anyone else to hold, and he was selfish for asking it.
She crossed the room in three ruthless strides.
They were the same height, but she still managed to look down her nose at him, make him shrink.
‘Fools. All of them. You’re remarkable on your own merit, Loren.
There’s no one more suited to be my heir, no one in the world who can secure my line and protect Pompeii from Servius’s influence.
This is mutual insurance on both our parts. I need you as much as you need me.’
‘You can’t mean that,’ Loren whispered.