Page 32 of Of Love and Treason
They stood just under the edge of the barrel roof where the Via Biberatica met the main road. Rain poured down, splattering on the street in wet snaps. Iris could feel the drops wetting the hem of her dress. She took a deep breath. Now or never.
“You said you would pray for me.” She balled both hands on the top of her walking stick. “Did you? Don’t say yes if you didn’t. I—I need the truth.”
“I did.” His voice was low, almost breathless. “Why?”
She sucked in a breath, trying and failing to calm the suddenpounding of her heart. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Because every time I see you and you promise to pray for me, I’ve had flashes of sight afterward—just for a few seconds and it’s gone again.”
There. It was out. She had finally admitted it aloud. Her pulse rushed in her ears. He didn’t say anything.
“Was it you?” she asked.
He hesitated. “No.”
Her gut plummeted.
“If it was anyone, it was my God.”
Tears burned in her throat. “Why would your god do this? Why toy with me?”
Valentine’s hand settled on top of hers, warm and solid and kind. Vastly different from the tribune’s greedy touch. “He’s not toying with you, Iris. He’scallingyou.”
“Callingme? For what purpose?”
“He calls us all to—” He didn’t finish. In the next moment, he’d withdrawn his hand and taken a step back. “I’m sorry.” His voice laced with something like panic. “This is Alta Path. Can you find your way home from here?”
Taken aback by his sudden change, she could only stammer in reply.
“There he is!” a new voice growled far to her right. It was unfamiliar, male, and rough.
Footsteps crunched through the rain.
“Go home quickly,” Valentine said in a rush. “If I don’t see you again soon, find Beatrix—the perfumer. She can help you. And be careful.”
Just like that, he left again and took all her answers with him.
X
“HECTOR.”VALENS FORCED A STIFF SMILE.“How’s Lillith?” Dread grew in his gut as he flicked his gaze between Hector and the two men with shoulders like bulls who flanked the ex-legionnaire. They were going to clap his wrists in irons; Valens was sure of it. His eyes darted toward Iris, still standing where he left her, looking as if she could not decide whether to go home or sit and cry. His heart twisted, but he would not drag her into whatever this was.
“Not here.” Hector’s lips barely moved as he spoke. “We need you to come with us.”
Dwarfed by the colossus of the three men, Valens didn’t have much choice but to comply. They surrounded him, one on either side and one just behind. Iris had begun to pick her way down the edge of Alta Path. As the three men escorted him away, Valens prayed she would safely find her way home and find his aunt for her questions. He might not see her again.
“What is this about?” Valens asked in a feigned tone of innocence. “Where are we going?”
“Not yet,” Hector clipped from behind. They cut between the forums of Trajan and Augustus where clusters of men argued philosophy under the porticoes near the libraries. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead and stuck his tunic to his skin. The carcer came into view and his pulse quickened. This was it. He’d made an illegal contract with a speculatore and now he would pay the price. But theywalked past the prison and kept going. They were not headed in the direction of the Praetorian Fortress, but they could just as easily dispatch him in an empty alley. The white-and-gold temple of Jupiter towered above them on Capitoline Hill, full of figures in flapping robes. He caught a glimpse of several augurs with their curled wands, then turned his focus back to the march. The four kept a quick pace until they’d crossed the white Pons Aemilius bridge. No one spoke. No one took notice of three brutes escorting a man out of the city. Anyone who did notice would probably think he hadn’t paid rent and needed to be taught a lesson. They’d kill him quietly outside the city.
The Via Aurelia carried them to a small, run-down inn far outside the walls of the old city—a place for travelers who didn’t have the money for an inn closer to the Forum. The three herded Valens into the humid warmth of the adjacent tavern and pushed him to an empty table of greasy dark wood covered in a sticky film. The walls of the place had once been pale-golden block but were stained dark with the grime of smoke, grease, and unwashed hands. The men settled around him, one beside and two across the table. One of the men, not Hector, hailed the tavern keeper for wine.
At this time of day, after lunch and before the midafternoon rush, the tavern was quiet. Two of the four other patrons looked like they’d been drinking since the night before, and the others were silently eating a grayish soup. The tavern keeper, a barrel-shaped man with spindly legs and gray hair matted into long cords, brought them four cups, water, and an amphora of cheap wine.
Surprised and relieved not to have been gutted in an alley, Valens didn’t dare refuse the wine. “What is this about?” he asked.
No one answered until they had each taken a drink. Hector flicked his eyes around the room before leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table.
“What you did for Lillith and me. That took courage.”
The unease in Valens’s gut lifted slightly. That did not sound like the speech of a man about to kill him or drag him to the magistrate. He hazarded a glance toward the other two.
