Chapter XXII Loren #3
‘Bah!’ Nonna sank into a chair by the door. ‘I have taken care of myself all these years. I look forward to a break from the pestering.’
Livia grimaced. ‘Stubborn, both of you. But if anyone could survive this damned city, it would be her.’
Leaving Livia’s shop for the last time was a bittersweet goodbye, heavy on the bitter.
This had been Loren’s first home in Pompeii.
Now it stood stripped of all things familiar.
Old dolls, quilts and weavings, the gladius above the window, all packed away on the horses that would carry Livia and Aurelia far from the city.
He wouldn’t weep for it. Not if he wanted to keep firm his resolve not to follow. He swallowed the burning in his throat and turned his back on the shop.
At last, after a long goodbye from Nonna, where she squeezed Loren’s hand too tight and he wouldn’t meet her eyes, they departed .
Loren guided Livia, Aurelia and the horses through the chaotic streets, a mix of those few wise enough to leave and the stubborn majority.
At a point, not far from the shop, he caught a glimpse of Celsi in the swarming crowd, but when he tried to wave him down, he failed to catch the boy’s eye.
Celsi’s attention was fixed, weaving through the flock towards the wealthy side of town, clutching tight to a bundle of paperwork.
Some errand for the council, perhaps. Forms related to Umbrius’s death.
Better he didn’t see Loren, anyway. When the news broke that he’d signed as Julia’s heir officially, Celsi wouldn’t be pleased. That pout of his might become permanent.
Aurelia chattered away about everything and nothing, not realising that these were their final moments together.
Loren lacked the spine to tell her the truth.
She’d piece it together at the gate, where her tears would be Livia’s problem.
He hated to end things this way, but throwing another deceit on his already teetering stack was old hat.
Besides, he had vowed to decipher his visions to make things safe for her.
Whether or not the ground kept shaking in Pompeii, at least she’d be far away when he learned if he’d succeeded.
Her visions might ease beyond the city. She could know peace.
At the city gate, Livia left them waiting in the shade while she haggled for last-minute road rations, a poor excuse for giving Loren space to break the news to Aurelia.
She’d started a game of balancing on cobblestones knocked askew by the quake.
Watching her wobble made guilt swell afresh.
He had to tell her. Inhaling deep, he opened his mouth.
Across the street, a flash of copper ducked into shadow behind a fallen awning.
‘Be right back,’ he muttered.
Ignoring Aurelia’s shocked shout, Loren rushed into traffic, dodged an oncoming cart and plunged after Felix.
He had one chance, and he refused to lose it.
Skirting a corner, darting in a zigzag, he chased Felix through narrow side streets and alleys populated only by storage crates and stray cats.
Felix might be faster, but Loren knew the city by heart.
And even if his heart had misled him at every turn lately, at least he still had Pompeii.
By the time Loren caught up behind a residential block, his lungs burned. He snagged Felix’s wrist before he could round another corner.
An empty victory.
Felix’s back was towards him, but Loren traced the line of his profile. His familiar shape stirred all sorts of tangled feelings – the way his muscles had flexed and softened under Loren’s touch, that smooth, strong heat. The cool grass when Loren woke alone.
‘I waited for you.’ Loren slid his grip down Felix’s arm until their fingers curled together. His nerves fluttered, dangerous hope taking flight. ‘You left. But you’re here now. Aren’t you?’
For a long, honey-drip second, Loren thought he had him.
But the moment dragged, and Felix was a bowstring when angry. He pulled tighter, shoulders seizing, tensing to snap. To let the volley of arrows loose, send the spear hurtling, Achilles bringing down Troy.
Felix twisted free with a jerk. ‘Don’t. Don’t touch me. I hate when you touch me.’
The sting cracked whip-sharp, stealing Loren’s breath. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ Lithe even in blistering fury, Felix danced away.
Slanted light cut him in two. With the fresh distance, Loren took a moment to look him over, in all his messy-curled, stormy-eyed, agonised beauty.
To watch Felix was to witness a tragedy unfold, and Loren tried to wrap his mind around him, fit him into a mould he understood.
Myths he understood. Stories he made sense of. He cycled through the possibilities .
If not Achilles, raw from battle, Felix was the sun itself.
The same sun Icarus flung himself at over and over.
The same sun Patroclus died under, wearing the clothes of another man.
Both sacrifices for nothing. Perhaps Loren was the gap in Achilles’s armour, trying – failing – to protect Felix from himself, waiting for the arrow to strike home.
Perhaps his mistake had been attempting to mythologise Felix at all.
‘That isn’t what you said last night,’ Loren said, training his voice steady.
Felix let out a cruel snort. ‘Were you that lonely? That desperate?’
Loren had heard that before, from a mouth both similar and not. Curls disappearing into a silver helm. Memories, seductive and deadly. Marble splintered through his stomach. For a moment, a twist of the light, he saw the splay of mist-drawn wings.
‘The helmet,’ Loren breathed. ‘Where is it?’
‘Sold it.’
‘ Where is it? Did you – did you put it on?’
Felix’s face hardened. He took another step back, crossing fully into shadow. ‘You told me not to. I put it back. Like you wanted.’
‘This isn’t what I wanted.’ Telltale stinging warned him: compose yourself before you embarrass us further. But not from Ghost-Felix’s scratching voice. It was an old scolding from Loren’s father, still hounding him for being too much . ‘You were what—’
‘Saying that will only make it hurt worse.’
‘You could stay. In Pompeii.’ Pleading now. Loren couldn’t help it. ‘I can’t – I can’t lose you.’
But Felix only shook his head. ‘You never had me. You saw what you wanted to see.’
The accusation stung worse than any words before it.
Loren swallowed it in a slow, choking slide, the fears he’d held all along deepening their roots in his gut.
Who was Felix? Loren thought he knew a version of him, one removed from his nightmares.
One who shared his bread, and listened, and chose Loren back.
Here in the alley, that Felix no longer existed. Maybe he never had. Maybe he’d been a ghost all along.
‘Is this why you run from town to town?’ Loren snapped before he could stop himself. ‘You trick, lie, steal, then leave before the fallout. Before you risk caring. Who are you, under all of that? You accused me of being a liar. Maybe I am, but at least I’m honest about what I want.’
Felix’s lip curled, and Loren hoped, however naively – however cruelly – that the words had hurt him. Hurt Felix the way Loren’s heart had been breaking all morning.
Then Felix said, ‘How much longer will you chase what will never want you back? You never should have left your father’s vineyard.’
‘What are you saying?’ Loren said slowly, roots twisting fresh.
‘I’m saying stop living in your dreams,’ said Felix, face hard. ‘I’m saying goodbye.’
Desperation mounted, filling Loren’s chest with wasps. He tried, ‘Come with—’
‘Telling me what to do again?’ Felix stepped once more, another foot of uncrossable distance, saying without speaking, Here, and no further. ‘Go home, Loren.’
Loren fled.
His feet worked mindlessly, carrying him swiftly through the maze of alleys and alcoves, streets and pavements. It was a primitive need, to put distance between you and that which hurts you.
Go home .
Pompeii was Loren’s home. But as he moved, lungs tight, awareness dawned that Felix was right. Pompeii didn’t want Loren, either. He had spent so many years clinging to the city that all he’d done was bruise it. Everything he had ever loved bore the indents of his nails .
With that realisation came another: He couldn’t stay.
It blazed through him in a grand sweep that no distance was vast enough to ease the wound Felix tore.
The last rational part of his brain, long neglected, begged him to realise his senses were addled, he was acting on impulse, he was breaking a contract, he was throwing away a future.
He would deal with the consequences later. Right now, he needed to leave the city. He needed to let Pompeii breathe, away from the crush of his hand.
When Loren reached the gate again, he said nothing to Aurelia, who gave him a knowing look far beyond her years. At least she held her tongue. He hoisted himself onto a horse just as Livia concluded her business with the merchant and returned. She stopped short at his change of heart.
‘Nice weather for a ride,’ Loren said, even as his ribs threatened to crack from the pressure of holding himself together.
Warm fingers squeezed his numb hand. ‘Egypt is even nicer. A fresh start.’
He stared ahead at the road winding out, unable to meet her eyes. What a truly miserable oracle Loren had turned out to be. Waste of a gift. For the first time in his life, he had no idea what the future held. Nor did he want to know.
Time to take notes from Felix’s strategy. Live in the moment, and that’s it.
Loren pulled his hair forward and began to braid.