Page 42 of Of Love and Treason
Titus Didius Liberare, Speculatore, II Gemina
Castra Praetoria, Rome
XVII
IRIS WAITED IN FRONT OF THE LAMP SHOPuntil the tavern keeper of the Centaur’s Cup sent her father outside. She and Hector had worked out a plan to send Quintus across the street to the lamp shop when he spotted Iris waiting. Now she wondered if Hector had seen her at all. She made another careful pass up and down the block, hoping this time the bright orange of her shawl would catch Hector’s attention. She sighed in annoyance at the tavern’s policy against women. Not that she especially wanted to go inside, but it would certainly save time.
The sharp scent of lamp oil hung in the street, mingling with late-season roses. Iris hadn’t visited Bea again, although the questions and half answers ate at her in the quiet moments of the day. Valentine had come to the bakery yesterday morning; she’d caught the sound of his voice and tried to fabricate an excuse to go up front. Refilling bread baskets? By the time she’d found the nerve—and a basket of cheese pastries—he’d gone. The waiting and the whirling of her mind was maddening. She resolved to visit Beatrix again.
Sandals slapped across the street toward the lamp shop, but it was not her father’s stumbling limp.
“Iris? It’s me, Val—entine.” He added the last bit with a chuckle.
Her pulse jumped. How, in a city of nearly a million, did Valentine manage to behere?
Her mouth turned up in a grin. “Valentine? I haven’t run into you in a while.”
“I’ve been working all hours lately. I haven’t forgotten about our conversations.”
Something warm prickled in her chest.
“Are you selling lamps now?” He stopped beside her, smelling of ink and sandalwood. “Is that why I haven’t seen you at the bakery?”
“Do you need a lamp? I hear Galerius has a fine selection.” She motioned at the shop behind her.
“Itis, actually, a very nice selection.”
She heard him begin sorting through the table of lamps set against the outside wall of the shop. “Here’s a whale with the wick coming from the blowhole.” There was a thunk and the sound of fabric sliding on skin as he reached for another. “This one’s stamped with bees; I like that. That one’s got a mermaid. Here’s a foot.”Clink.“That one’s shaped like a—” He turned around again. “You’re selling some inappropriate lamps here, miss.”
She bit back a laugh and winced. “Could you imagine me working in a lamp shop? Bread is far more forgiving when knocked on the floor. Galerius is kind enough to allow me to loiter in front of his shop while I wait for my father. He’s across the street.” She felt her face go warm and wondered what Valentine would think when her father came stumbling over—in a jailor’s uniform. “Pater has a heavy mind,” she tried to explain. “He says the wine helps, but sometimes it’s best if I walk him home.”
“I see.” His voice shifted toward the Centaur’s Cup. “What does your father do?”
Her palms went damp. She’d been dreading this question. If she told him the truth, he might not speak to her again. Christians and jailors were not on friendly terms.
“I visited your aunt, the perfumer.” Iris smoothed the wide belt at her waist. “She’s very kind.”
“She is.” A smile lit his voice. “She told me you stopped in. Did she answer your questions?”
“Some.” Iris nodded. “Others, she said you could answer better.”The breeze, with its smells of herbs, oil, and dust, teased strands of hair around her forehead.
“Oh? Like what?” His sandals scraped as he shifted his weight, appearing to settle in for a conversation.
Iris took a breath. “Beatrix said the gods don’t heal me because they can’t, but your godcanheal me but doesn’t. If he can, why doesn’t he? Why tease me with glimpses here and there, and only when—?”
“Marrrrish!”
The familiar step and scrape of her father’s tread stumbled into the street, silencing her question. Her heart sank.
“Excuse me,” Iris mumbled. Her face flamed as she turned away from Valentine. “I’m here, Pater.” Walking stick in hand, Iris hurried toward the slur of her father’s speech.
“Marr—” Quintus stopped, then tried again. “Arr—Irisssh.”
Her father slung a heavy arm over Iris’s shoulders, nearly toppling them both in the street. Iris’s stick jabbed into her ribs.
“Pater, what happened? You’re never this bad.” She kept her voice low, hoping Valentine had gone.
“Bad?” Quintus shook his head. “I’m shel—shel—celebratingour good fortune. I’m very close. Our problems will soon be gone, my girl.” He patted the side of her head, knocking her palla back and skewing her hair.
