Page 96 of Of Love and Treason
Valens remained by the stove, the room darker and colder without Iris. Guilt plucked at the edges of his mind. She stirred something in him, and it wasn’t simply pastoral concern. He paced the culina, ducking under a leg of cured lamb each time he made a full circuit.
He was attracted to her. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? Why bother denying it? He ran his hands through the hair above his ears and locked his fingers behind his head. Nothing could come of it. Not possible.
The objections lost their strength under the realization that Irisand her father had also planned to leave the city on Marius’s ship. With Valens free to join them, a relationship with Iris was very possible. So long as Quintus was released. If he wasn’t—Valens didn’t want to think about it. He wondered if Iris would still leave. Would she leavewith him?
He could still smell the scent of her hair and recall with startling clarity the feel of her body curled against his. Aunt Bea would be beside herself if she knew someone had finally caught his eye. His heart. Of course, it would happen just as he was forced from the city.
Valens sighed and sank onto a stool. What sort of claim did the investigator have on Iris? She’d always spoken of Titus with affection. How deep did it go? He had a fleeting vision of being called to a wedding only to find Titus and Iris waiting for him. The thought rankled. Until he knew, he would try to distance himself from her.
Easier determined than done. They were both hiding in the same house.
XLII
IRIS FIDGETED AS SHE WAITEDnear the mouth of the hedgerow maze, where statues of a man and a woman sat on either side of the path, reaching toward each other with longing but never touching. Clouds hung low and thick, their impending doom nearly as heavy as her father’s.
Despite her reserved state on the way to the gardens, Abachum had chattered about everything from the weather to imported pottery with hardly space to breathe between subjects. When they reached the sculpture gardens, Iris was ready to split up. Abachum wandered alone but stayed within sight of her.
Marble statues of gods and goddesses and a few heroes of myth and legend dotted the gardens. On nicer, less threatening days, the grounds swarmed with artists and lovers. Iris shifted from one foot to the other. Few wandered the gardens today and none of them were Titus.
He was late.
She paced. Pops and crackles erupted around her and a large raindrop splattered against her cheek. She shifted her palla over her head.
“Iris?”
She turned toward Titus’s voice. For a moment she stared, still unused to how his actual form did not match the image she’d held in her mind for the past seven years. His uniform of deep Praetorian blue stretched tight across a broad chest as he walked toward her,shoulders shifting from side to side with each step. He had not shaved and wore bad news along with his uniform. Iris’s legs began to shake.
“Sorry I’m late.” Titus squinted against the rain. “I only managed to get away now.”
Iris took a step toward him, dread coiling at the base of her skull, tightening every second he didn’t burst with good news.
“Pater?” Her voice shook. Rain slid down the side of her nose and skirted her mouth.
Titus took her wrist and led her away from the maze where the hedges might hide listening ears—if the rain hadn’t already chased them away. He rushed her beneath a round-domed pavilion of pale marble columns ringed by bushes crusted in dead flowers. Thunder rumbled and rain fell in a gray roar.
He gripped her hand. Water dripped from his dark hair, running down his neck and soaking his uniform in midnight streaks. Why wasn’t he saying anything?
“Titus.”
His chin dropped ever so slightly, and her body began to tremble.
“Tribune Braccus called an emergency council last night.” He avoided her eyes as he spoke. “The prefect had a notion to be lenient and was about to cancel your father’s debts when Braccus accused him of being a Christian.” Titus shook his head and spoke through clenched teeth. “Your father wouldn’t deny it. It’s all over the barracks how he tried to convert the council. He’s going to be sold at week’s end. He’s lucky they didn’t kill him.” He gave a roar of frustration and turned away, pacing and locking his hands behind his neck. “This could have all been avoided had he just recanted. It’d be scandalous—admitting to entertaining Christian beliefs—and he’d still lose his post, but now it’s his freedom.”
“He cannot recant,” Iris spoke softly, trying to imagine her pater standing up to the council. “Our God is true.” When she said the words aloud, peace smoothed the crumpled tension in her heart, even as her legs still shook.
He swung around, anger twisting his face into a strange shape.“Mars and Jupiter, Iris! You can’t be serious.” Thunder erupted, covering anything else he said.
“Where’s Pater now?” she asked when Titus and the thunder had calmed.
“In the Castra Praetoria prison.” He rubbed his chin. “Until the next slave auction.”
“Have you seen him? How is he?”
“Worried about you.” He avoided her eyes and didn’t elaborate.
“Will you take me to see him?” She craned her neck to catch his eye. “Please.”
“No.” Titus shifted away, massaging the back of one arm. “Because your pater admitted to being a Christian and Tribune Braccus brought the charges against him, the Severan policies dictate that all your father’s goods and property be awarded to the tribune. That includes you.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “We’ve orders to bring you to the tribune as soon as you’re found. Your pater would die before he let the tribune lay hands on you. As would I. Swear to me you will stay away.”
