Page 38 of Of Love and Treason
“Long ago God spoke to His people, Israel, through a prophet, revealing who He is and what He has done for all those who choose Him over all other gods. ‘But now, OJacob, listen to the Lord who created you. OIsrael, the one who formed you says, “Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.”’” Beatrix spoke in quiet reverence, and the words echoed deep within Iris with a power that made her scalp prickle. “‘“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through riversof difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you. For I am the Lord your God.”’”
Iris’s throat burned. As much as she hated to admit it, fear clung to her heart as naturally as weaving came to her fingertips. She found safety in habit and routine. Or at least, she had. This god seemed far, far from safe, yet safety was what he offered? She wanted it, wanted to know more—yet another voice whispered doubts. How could this god offer safety when his followers were thrown into prisons and fed to the arenas? How could this powerlessness help her?
Iris nodded at Beatrix as if she were a madwoman babbling on a street corner. “Thank you.” She picked up her cane and stood. “But I should be going now. I will think on what you’ve said.”
“Oh, but there’s so much more.” Beatrix spoke as if taken aback by her abruptness.
Iris slid her cane in front of her, searching for the doorway. “I have to go; my pater will worry. But thank you for the calda and conversation.” She hesitated. “It was very kind of you to stop everything for me.”
Beatrix took her arm and together they made for the front of the shop. “Please stop in anytime you like, dear.” She took a breath. “My nephew has been very busy lately—working all hours—but he would love to answer your questions, I’m sure.”
Iris stepped outside. The wind had picked up since her entrance into the shop. Beatrix followed her out and locked the door behind them.
“Will you find your way home all right?”
“Yes.” Iris smiled.
Beatrix clasped Iris’s hand in both of hers, her grip warm and firm. “If God is calling you, you are right to seek Him. He is not far from those who seek Him with their whole hearts.” She whispered, “I will pray you find Him.”
XIV
VALENS’S CHEEK RESTEDagainst his pillow. One eye opened. Shut. Opened again. Jerking upright in a panic, he yanked a tunic over his head and snagged his sandals by the laces, bolting for the door.
“Is there a fire, Valens?” Bea faced the polished bronze mirror set into the wall in the main room where it caught the best morning light.
“Sorry, Aunt Bea, I’m late.”
She chuckled and turned a face smothered in white cream toward him. “Late? The market is hours from opening. I just got up.”
He stopped as her words registered and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.
Bea waved a hand toward the low dining table between two pink-cushioned couches. “There’s breakfast, such as it is.”
Valens shuffled toward the couches, exhaustion settling over him as the panic of waking wore off. He sat, realizing he’d forgotten his belt. He dropped his sandals and rubbed his hands over his face, groaning.
Bea moved toward him in a whirl of lemon and basil scent. “What’s going on, Valens?” She settled across from him. “You’ve been out all hours lately. I’ve hardly seen you but in passing.”
Valens rested his chin in his hands, elbows on his knees. “I’ve taken on some extra work.” He hesitated to reveal anything more.
Her head tilted to one side, eyes narrowing beneath the heavylayer of cream. But she didn’t press. “I don’t like you being out after dark; I worry for you.”
“I’ll be all right.” He surveyed the table before him with an air of casual indifference. Sliced bread, soft white cheese, dates, and honey.
“You’ve been mugged before.”
Valens leaned forward and smeared a piece of bread with cheese and honey, topping it with a date. “Who hasn’t?” He forced a grin and took a bite. What he wouldn’t give for a raisin pastry.
“I don’t like it.” Bea’s mouth tightened. “I don’t sleep well when you’re away.”
“But hasn’t that been your plan all along? To get me out of the house?”
Her brown eyes widened. “Are you courting someone?” Her voice rose to a hopeful squeak. Before he could deny it, she clapped her hands and rushed on. “Oh! That reminds me: your friend stopped by the shop.”
Friend? What friend? Heat prickled his neck—shame rather than embarrassment, though Bea wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. How long had it been since he’d seen Iris? A week? Two? He hadn’t forgotten about her—not exactly—he’d just been preoccupied. Since the meeting with Hector, roses hung above the doorway of the Centaur’s Cup every time he’d passed. His evenings were crowded with secret weddings, church gatherings, and sometimes both. He woke so late every morning he hadn’t had time to stop for a pastry, much less a conversation.
The cream on Bea’s cheek twitched as her lips wrestled into an uncharacteristic grimace. “Do you think that’s wise?” Her words were gentle but held a note of censure.
“What?” Valens asked around another mouthful.
