“Legionary Maximus’s motives for defending me are irrelevant,” Volusia said sharply. Her gaze lingered on him, much softer than her words. In that moment, Max knew: she understood what he’d been so foolishly about to confess.
Because I love her.
He allowed himself to sink into the depths of her hazel eyes, to forget Hortensius, Glabrio, even the threat of a tribunal. It was the truth: the painful, aching truth.
Volusia drew her gaze back to the consul and the centurion. “All that matters is that I was put at risk because Petronax was afraid of what I knew about my husband’s death.”
“That brings us to the actual manner of your husband’s death.” Hortensius’s face assumed an expression that was likely supposed to be sympathetic but instead made him look like a pouting child. “I know such things are difficult to speak of, but your letter made no mention of any proof that Avitus was murdered. Did you find poison in the kitchen? Or speak with a slave who had been bribed to spike his wine?”
Volusia bit her lip, this time in dismay. “No, I…I admit I have no idea how he could have been poisoned. We ate from the same platters, drank wine poured from the same jug.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Unfortunately, if you have no proof that foul play was involved in Avitus’s death, then it will be very difficult to move forward here,” Hortensius said.
“But I told you about the wax tablet I found,” Volusia insisted. “Clearly Petronax was involved in something unsavory.”
“The tablet was just your husband’s musings. There’s not even a clear connection to Petronax.” Hortensius’s voice was slow and gentle, as if trying to placate a child on the verge of a tantrum. His tone infuriated Max, but he bit his tongue. Picking a fight with a consul was not going to help their situation.
Volusia pointed an accusatory finger at Glabrio. “It’s been established that Petronax tried to have me killed. Surely that warrants investigation on its own.”
Hortensius glanced at Glabrio. “Perhaps it does. I’ll draft a letter to Petronax to inquire why he gave that order.”
“A letter?” Volusia’s tone sounded as disbelieving as if Hortensius had suggested she grow wings and fly to Gaul to ask Petronax herself. “It will take weeks to arrive, and he will just ignore it and pretend it got lost on the way. A letter will not see justice done for my husband. Or restore the position that Max lost by defending me.”
Hortensius waved a hand. “As for that, I’m sure there’s a legion in Syria or Egypt that could use a legionary. He can easily be reassigned.” The consul spoke of Max as if he weren’t there. “As for Petronax, he has been a capable commander for many years. Such men are rare, and it’s inadvisable to make enemies of them, especially during these troubled times.” He leaned forward, his gaze earnest. “Without firm proof, this is all I can do. Quite frankly, it’s more than I should do, but I do want to help you, Volusia, if I can.”
Volusia let out a tight sigh. “I understand.”
Was she really going to give up that easily? Max waited for her to come up with something else, but she was silent. He itched to protest, but forced himself to stay quiet. This was Volusia’s battle to fight, and she understood these political machinations better than he did.
Glabrio stepped toward the door. “If my work here is done, I will return to my other duties.” He glared at Max. “You’re very lucky you have friends in high places, legionary, or else I’d have you dragged straight from here to a tribunal.”
Max rolled his eyes.
Hortensius rose from behind his desk. “I’m sure we’ll have your word that nothing of the sort will occur, centurion. The legionary acted honorably, even if he did disobey your orders.”
Glabrio gave a reluctant nod. Hortensius moved to escort him out of the study and back into the atrium. Max started to follow, but Volusia hung back, lingering in the doorway to the study.
“Max,” she whispered, gazing up at him. “What you said…were about to say…”
He let out a deep, shuddering breath. The words came back to him, still on the tip of his tongue after she’d interrupted him earlier. “I love you.” His heart gave a painful clench at finally admitting it. “I loved you when I was seventeen. I loved you when I stepped in front of Glabrio’s sword. And I love you still, Volusia.”
Consternation flickered across her face, and she opened her mouth. His stomach knotted, unsure of what she’d say. But before she could speak, Hortensius returned, having seen Glabrio off.
“I was wondering if I might have a word before you leave,” the consul said, then glanced pointedly at Max. “Aprivateword.”
“I don’t think we have anything more to say, Hortensius,” Volusia said. “You’ve made your position quite clear.”
He reached for her hand, which made Max’s teeth grind together. “You must understand, Volusia, I was speaking as Hortensius the consul earlier. I have a responsibility to hear all sides of a matter, and as much as I sympathize with your efforts, I can’t act unilaterally without proof.”
Volusia lowered her gaze. Max wished she would yank her hand back, but she allowed him to keep touching her. “I understand. I appreciate your sense of duty.”
“Now, if we could speak further…” He cast another significant glance at Max.
“Max, would you wait for me outside?” Volusia asked. “I’m sure this will just be a moment.”
Max narrowed his eyes. He had no intention of leaving Volusia alone with Hortensius. “I’ll wait in the atrium.” He took a few steps out of the study and planted himself in front of a column, where he still had a clear view of the two where they stood inside the study.
Hortensius gave an irritated sigh and lowered his voice, but Max could hear clearly. “As I said, before I was speaking as Hortensius the consul. But if you might permit me to speak as Hortensius the man, who has always held you in high regard…”
