Page 123 of Of Love and Treason
She made a small noise, the cross between a laugh and a cry. “This is the last time.”
“Yes.” Ignoring the pain shooting through him, he lifted his hand to clumsily caress her cheek with fingers stiff and crusted with blackened blood. He longed to feel the softness of her skin but couldn’t sense a thing.
“Pray for me, my love.” His voice went hoarse. Her eyes opened, clear and brown with black freckles around the pupil he’d never noticed before. He lifted his chin and touched the tip of his nose to hers. “Pray that God would grant me the courage to die well. Pray that He will work something good from my death.”
She pressed her lips together and leaned back, pulling a ragged breath through her nose.
“Iris, God is not a magic charm to buy in the market. He hasn’t promised to answer every prayer the way we want. There is no release for me this time.” He swallowed. “And He’s given me peace in accepting it. He’ll give you the same if you but ask.”
Her face turned, eyes rising to meet his, soul-deep sadness reflected in them.
His lips twitched but didn’t quite make it into the shape of a smile. “My one regret is not being thrown into prison years ago, so I could have loved you longer.”
Her lips trembled, and she smeared a hand across her wet cheek but didn’t answer.
“None of that, my love.” He touched her cheek again. He winced as his fingers left a trail of red on her jaw.
She sniffed, reaching up to wrap her fingers around his. The pain of her touch nearly sent him senseless. He fought back the black spots dancing in his vison and gritted his teeth.
“Tell Cato he can have my lyre, to remember me by—I’d give him my satchel to carry his own things, but they took it from me.”
Iris sucked in a steadying breath. “That reminds me. I have a message from Beatrix and everyone.” She pulled a small tablet from her belt.
“Will you read it to me?” Valens shifted, needles of pain shooting through the lacerations on his legs. He closed his eyes as she read, a pain deeper than his physical wounds stretching in his chest, forcing tears from his eyes. The letter shared prayers and encouraging Scriptures. Everyone sent their love.
Iris set the tablet beside her with a clatter.
“Thank you.” The words were choked, difficult to maneuver past the lump in his throat.
The lock clinked with keys.
“Time’s up.” Titus’s low voice came from outside.
Valens’s heart began to pound with a sort of panic. “Give them all my love. Tell them to pray for me. Tell Aunt Bea... tell her she’s been better than any mother to me. Tell her... thank you.” His lips trembled and he looked hard into her eyes, stretching through the agony to grip her hand. “Keep the faith, no matter what happens. God is good and does only good, even if others don’t. We can trust Him.”
“Come on, girl.” The door swung open, revealing Titus and an armored lanista built like a brown bear who dwarfed even Titus’s size.
Iris leaned forward and reached up to cradle his bruised face in her fingertips. He turned his head, kissing her fingers, struggling to breathe.Please, God, let her be all right. Comfort her.
Carefully, tenderly, Iris pressed her lips to his. “I love you.”
He couldn’t speak. Only stared into her eyes hoping she could read in his own everything he wanted to say.
“Girl. You leave now or not at all.”
She stood and reached for the tablet.
“Leave it,” Valens choked. “Please.”
She nodded and stumbled across the cell to where Titus and the lanista waited at the door.
Was that a glimmer of pain on the Praetorian’s face? Titus turned away before he could be sure. Iris paused in the passage and turned back, opening her mouth as if to speak. The lanista shut the door too soon.
LVII
IRIS HELD HER EMOTIONSIN CHECKuntil Titus had paid the lanista and the heavy door shut them onto the raucous street. After the silence of the near-empty Ludus Magnus, the roar of the streets glutted with people celebrating the Lupercalia festivities slammed her ears. Children darted through the crowd wearing wolf masks representing Lupercal, the she-wolf who raised Romulus and Remus, the twin founders of Rome. Everyone had donned their best garments, most in white and shades of red and pink. Those who had attended the sacrifices of the goats and dog at the Lupercal Cave bore splatters of blood on their foreheads for good luck.
Nausea threatened to spill her breakfast on the street. Iris leaned against the side of the Ludus and pressed her hands over her face, bending double and sucking in deep breaths. If it hadn’t been for his voice, for the shaft of white light filtering over him from the high, barred window that illuminated his eyes, she might not have recognized him. The questioners had been thorough.
