She took a deep breath, still in the grip of the terror and rage that had come upon her when she thought Marcus was in danger. She leaned back against the wall, attempting to find steadiness in its cool solidity.
But anger still pulsed through her, prickly and scorching. She was angry at Felix, of course, but there was an undercurrent of resentment toward Marcus as well. And beneath even that…she was angry at herself.
She must have done something wrong for Marcus to go to Felix of all people with his problems instead of her. Even though Marcus didn’t know the extent of her rivalry with Felix, he’d still preferred to confide in a stranger instead of his own mother.
Maybe she’d been too focused on her business. She often put in long hours at her office, after all. She’d thought Marcus wasof an age where he appreciated some independence, but perhaps she should have been more mindful. Paid more attention.
It had been different when Cornelius was alive. Then, he’d been the one who wasn’t there—either out for the day at the office or away for weeks on voyages. Lucretia had spent nearly all her waking hours with Marcus, except for when he started attending school. She’dknownhim, then.
Now, it felt as if she didn’t know him at all. He’d turned into a surly, secret-keeping stranger. The pain of it sat heavy and aching in her chest.
And then there was Felix. Marcus might be able to plead some plausible ignorance of how things stood, but Felix knew exactly who Marcus was. She couldn’t help but believe he’d had some sort of ulterior motive. He must have been nurturing this strange friendship with Marcus in the hopes of finding out something that could further his efforts to destroy her.
Rage flared. She needed to exact retribution, both for this as well as Felix’s continued attempts to stymie her trade activities. Just last week, he had stolen one of her most trusted captains by offering a ridiculous wage.
It was time to enlist the help of a force more powerful than herself: the gods. Lucretia believed she was in good standing with all the important deities. She observed all the proper rites, paid for regular sacrifices each month, and donated to the upkeep of various temples. She directed most of her piety toward Neptune, god of the sea, and prayed every day for the safety of the men who crewed her ships. Now, it was time to make good on that devotion.
She was going to put a curse on Felix.
Lucretia emerged from the alley and walked to the nearest temple, outside of which she purchased a thin sheet of lead roughly the size of her hand along with an iron nail. Sheborrowed a sharp stylus from the seller, with which she inscribed a careful message on the surface of the lead.
From Lucretia of the Cornelii to the divine Neptune. I ask that you visit your wrath upon Lucius Avitus Felix so that he ceases in his efforts against me. In return, I will fund the sacrifice of three fine pigs, the fattest that can be found, in honor of your majesty.
She read the message over. For a moment, she wondered if she should be more specific about exactly what kind of “wrath” she was requesting, but decided to leave it up to the god. It wouldn’t do to be too prescriptive.
When she was satisfied with the wording of her curse, she rolled the lead sheet into a tight scroll and hammered the nail into it. She handed the curse seller an extra bronze coin for his help, then walked toward the harbor.
The curse felt heavy and smooth in her hand. She had never cast a curse before, and she held the item gingerly, as if it were already imbued with Neptune’s power.
Curses were supposed to be deposited somewhere deep, like the bottom of a well or buried in the ground. The sea had to be deep enough, Lucretia reckoned, and it seemed more likely that it would catch Neptune’s attention this way.
When she reached the harbor, she walked out onto the furthest dock. The waves lapped gently at the side of the wooden structure, and the sun was just beginning to set, casting a fiery glow over the water. She tightened her fingers around the curse, drew back her arm, and threw it as hard as she could into the sea.
When the tiny scroll of lead disappeared beneath the waves, Lucretia released a breath. It was done. Now, she had only to wait for the gods to do their work.
Chapter 12
Felix’s arm throbbed as he returned home after the incident with Lucretia. His steward’s eyes widened when he beheld the wound, but Felix waved off his help. He wanted to be alone.
In his bedroom, he shed his bloodied tunic and dabbed a wet cloth against the wound, wincing. He was lucky her aim hadn’t been better. Even her small knife could have seriously wounded or killed him if it struck the wrong spot.
The image of her, fierce and vengeful, stuck in his mind as he cleaned his arm. There had been a moment where he actually feared she was going to slit his throat. He could still picture the fury in her eyes, the hardness of her jaw as she questioned him. If his answers had been anything less than satisfactory, he had no doubt she would have killed him for harming her son.
He had known from the start it was wrong to see Marcus without his mother’s knowledge. But he had done it anyway, his sympathy for Marcus outweighing his better judgment. This was what happened when one was guided by emotions, not logic—the result was a near-death experience in an alley and a bloodied arm.
He should never have come between Lucretia and her son, not that he meant any harm. Their business feud could continue, but Marcus should never have been part of it.
And poor Marcus: Felix regretted disclosing the truth of his bullying to Lucretia. It was clear the boy hadn’t wanted his mother to know, but telling the whole truth had seemed like the only way to stop Lucretia from dismembering him. He wanted to apologize to Marcus, to explain himself, but he knew Lucretia would have his balls if he made any attempt to communicate with the boy.
But perhaps an apology was still in order, if not to Marcus directly.
Felix summoned someone to help bind his arm, as he couldn’t tie a bandage one-handed. Then, he found a blank wax tablet and a stylus. Ignoring the throbbing in his arm, he wrote:
Lucius Avitus Felix to Lucretia of the Cornelii: I wish to reiterate that I truly meant no harm, though I recognize it was wrong of me to have any interaction with your son without your knowledge. Please accept my apologies. Marcus is lucky to have you as a mother.
He read over the note. He felt as if there should be more to say, but those few lines seemed to be all that was appropriate. He couldn’t, after all, tell her how magnificent she’d looked, eyes blazing fierce as Minerva, as she threatened him. Couldn’t admit how his pulse had raced as she pressed her knife to his throat, both with fear and an unwilling excitement at her proximity.
He found himself wondering if the wound would scar, if he would forever be marked by her.
