Page 103 of Of Love and Treason
“You fainted again?”
“I preferblacked out. It sounds more masculine.”
They both laughed. Valentine took a sip and watched her over the rim of his cup, eyes dancing.
“What?”
He shrugged and tipped his head. “I’m wondering how I could have walked into that bakery for years and never known you were there.”
She glanced at her lap, then grinned to lighten a mood that suddenly felt too serious.
“That’s easy.” She set her empty cup on the table and swung her feet off the couch. “You had eyes for raisin pastries.”
He laughed fully and she liked the way it clapped out of his chest. She gathered her palla around her shoulders. “Thank you for the calda and embarrassing conversation.” She stood. “I feel much better now.”
He offered the lamp to her. “Glad to help.” His lips tipped in a wry smirk. “Good night, Iris.”
She took the lamp, very aware of their fingers brushing in the exchange. “Good night.”
She left him alone in the triclinium and made her way to the room she now shared with his aunt. Beatrix snored softly, curled on the far edge of the bed, back to the door. Iris quietly slipped into the undisturbed side of the bed and blew out the lamp. She felt warmed and peaceful and wasn’t sure if it was the calda, the conversation, or the company that left her feeling that way.
XLV
“CULL THE PEACHES.”Titus muttered the daily password to the guard at the gate. The Praetorian prefect chose the stupidest passwords. Either he was a genuine idiot, or he enjoyed making his men murmur things like “Diana’s lip stain” and “bumpy rash” while expecting them to remain stoic.
Titus strode down the cobbled street toward the center of the fortress. The rain had not let up since the afternoon. He pulled his hood up, the smell of damp wool heavy around his face. Quintus had no cloak in his cell and Titus knew his leg would ache in the damp. He’d been allowed to see Quintus once since the rushed trial. Titus shook his head, trying and failing to reconcile the calm, dignified man in chains with the man who’d once drunk himself through the best of days. The change in Quintus had happened suddenly, overnight, around the time Iris had been healed. It didn’t make sense. Yes, Iris could see, but now they were in worse trouble than before. If there had ever been cause to make him rage for a drink, it should be now. Perhaps there was more to this god than he’d originally supposed. Even as the thought formed, Titus tried to shove it away. Foolishness.
The record building loomed ahead, stocky walls unadorned with anything of beauty. So unlike Iris. Even though she’d told him where to send a message, after the meeting in the sculpture gardens, he’d followed her and the boy to a house with a dual front clinic and shippingoffice. His worry eased knowing she was in a fine house and even more because he knew where to find her, if needed. He’d expected her to be hysterical at the news. She’d been shocked at first, certainly, but then had grown eerily calm. It was not lost on him that while this Christian god had been the cause of their problems, neither Quintus nor Iris had renounced him.
Once inside the record building, Titus heard his men celebrating in the hall long before he saw them. As he turned the corner, the three lifted cups and hailed him.
Adonis, whom Titus had relegated to the notarii offices months ago, waved a scroll over his head. “We’ve got him!” His single-toothed grin flashed. “We’ve got the proof!”
Titus snatched the scroll from Adonis, who knocked back a cup of celebratory wine and explained while Titus scanned the document.
“I’ve been watching and waiting, just like you said. Finally,finally, a woman comes in with this document and says her husband is dead and she wants the rug shop transferred to her name, as the rightful widow. Look how fresh the ink is.” He leaned over and pointed to the stamp and signature at the bottom. “I think this notarius is worth questioning again.”
Adonis moved his finger and Titus saw the name. His heart kicked into a victorious rhythm.
Notarius: Valentine Favius Diastema.
Damning evidence.
Titus grinned and clapped Adonis on the shoulder, pitching the man forward. “Well done.”
Bato pressed a cup into his hands. They did not celebrate long. As Titus tossed back the cup, he saw a page trotting down the hall toward them.
“Speculatore Didius Liberare, sir. You’re wanted in headquarters.”
“By whom?”
“Tribune Braccus, sir.”
Titus sighed and felt a curl of unease in his gut. He tossed his empty cup at Bato and gave a growl of frustration. “Not a word to the trecenarius until I get back.”
Tribune Braccus waited behind his desk looking pleased, which immediately put Titus on edge. He saluted and stood at attention, noticing that his commanding centurion Marcus Gracilus stood in the corner, arms crossed, mouth pinched.
“Speculatore Didius Liberare. You are being transferred to the Ninth Minerva.”
