“Is the legion loyal to him?”
“Of course.” It went without question that every member of the legion would be blindly loyal to their commander.
“Do you think he’s a good leader?” she pressed.
Max had never stopped to consider that question. “I-I don’t know.”
“What about the people of the province? Do they like him?”
Another question Max had never thought about, but there was the whole business of the mysterious increase in taxes that no one would explain. “Lately there’s been a bit of agitation around taxes. Petronax raised the tax rate this year, and of course everyone is displeased. It’s to be expected, I suppose. No one likes paying taxes.”
“Especially not citizens of a conquered province,” she murmured.
Max gave her a surprised glance. A comment like that bordered on radicalism, especially coming from a governor’s wife.
Volusia lapsed into silence, and Max left her alone with her thoughts. They crested the hill and passed into forested territory. Slowing to a walk, the horses picked their way along a narrow path, avoiding fallen logs and rocks underfoot. Elephant was familiar with this trail, and moved confidently, while Volusia’s mount proceeded with more caution.
Birdsong echoed through the trees, and shafts of sunlight dappled the ground. Max took a deep inhale, filling his lungs with the fresh woodsy air. The rush of moving water grew louder, and Max guided them toward the spot he’d mentioned, where several large bushes festooned with red berries grew next to a narrow, fast-flowing stream.
He drew the horses to a halt and hopped off Elephant, then went to help Volusia down from her horse. His hands encircled her waist, and she grabbed his shoulders for steadiness as he lowered her gently to the ground. The pressure of her hands on his body, even through the fabric of his tunic, sent his mind straight back to that heady, foolish kiss ten years ago.
But she released him as soon as her feet touched the ground, and he didn’t allow his hands to linger on her waist. He busied himself securing the horses’ reins to the branch of a nearby tree. Elephant could be trusted not to wander off, but they had to set a good example for Volusia’s horse.
“Beautiful,” Volusia said, glancing around at the quiet scene. Her gaze lingered on Max. “You look so at home out here. One would never guess you’re a city boy through and through.”
“I’m no such thing,” he said with mock offense. “Just because I grew up on the streets and didn’t know anything existed outside the city walls doesn’t mean I have any love for the city.”
Her mouth opened, her cheeks flushing. “I didn’t mean—I know your childhood wasn’t—”
Dis, she thought he was actually affronted. “I’m joking, Volusia.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, let me apologize anyway. You never really spoke of your childhood, and I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
It was true; their friendship had never extended to discussion of Max’s upbringing, but he knew she knew the broad strokes. “I’m sure your stepfather filled you in. What did he tell you?”
She approached one of the redcurrant bushes and plucked a berry, then rolled it between her fingertips, inspecting it. “He said you were a street thief who conned Aelius and Crispina into adopting you. I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.”
Max let out a short laugh. Trust Rufus to cast Max in the worst light possible. “I was seven years old when Crispina found me on the streets. Barely smart enough to keep myself alive, let alone pull off a con.”
Volusia bit her lip. “I didn’t know you were that young. How did you—forgive me, I shouldn’t ask.”
Max usually didn’t like to remember that he had a life before Aelius and Crispina plucked him off the streets. As an adolescent, he’d gotten into many fights with posh boys who tried to shame him for his humble birth. Max never hesitated to use his fists to defend himself against their taunts, which led to many angry fathers marching to his house and demanding that Aelius punish Max for his insolence. Aelius always shrugged and promised to punish Max when their brat received an equal punishment for thinking they were better than anyone else.
But Volusia wasn’t taunting him. She had never held herself above him, even though she outclassed him in every way. She, for some reason, wanted to know about him, his past, and the thought made him feel warm. “You were going to ask how I ended up on the streets.”
She nodded as she plucked another berry.
“There’s not much to it,” he said. “I was unhappy, so I ran away.” His childhood memories were hazy and shifting, like trying to look at his reflection in flowing water. He could only ever seem to remember his father’s booming voice and hard fist, and his mother’s cold, dismissive face.
“You never tried to go back and find your family—your birth family, I mean?” she asked.
“No.” He shrugged. “I don’t need them. Aelius and Crispina have given me everything I needed, and more.”
She let out a soft sigh. “It breaks my heart to think that any child could end up without a home. I felt guilty leaving Lucius in Rome with his grandparents, even though I know he’s much happier there than he would be here. We would have had to take a whole extra carriage for his books.” She smiled wistfully.
It was still strange to think of Volusia as a mother, even though he’d always known she would be. “Your son is lucky to have you as a mother.”
“I do my best.”
