“She loves you.”
“I could do with less love and more privacy.”
Ruffling the flour from his hair, she laughed. “No, you couldn’t. You’re a hopeless romantic.”
Between the cracks in the door, Beatrix’s voice loudly and carefully enunciated each word.“I—don’t—mean—to—bother—you!”
Valentine shut his eyes.
“But—is—something—burning?”
“Oh no!” Iris pushed away from him and sprinted to take two blackened loaves from the oven amid billows of smoke. They clattered on the table, chipping like fragile clay. Valentine swung open the shutters and fanned the smoke with a towel.
Iris stared at the bread, hands on her hips. She moaned. “What am I going to tell Phoebe when she sees these?”
He turned from the window and looked at the bread, a mischievous grin playing at his mouth. “I don’t know, but I hope Lycia has bakeries.”
Stifling a laugh, she grabbed a loaf and raised it, as if to throw it at him. He ducked as the door opened.
Beatrix threw her hands up in defense. “Valens, what have you done now?”
Iris lowered the loaf to the table, charred edges flaking off. “I burned the bread.”
Valentine straightened. “It was my fault. I distracted her.”
Beatrix beamed at Valentine. “And I’m very proud of you.” She turned to Iris, her gaze growing worried. “You need to go to the clinic quickly. Your Praetorian friend is here.”
XLVIII
TITUS TAPPED HIS FOOTand stared down the physician, who crossed his arms and looked at the floor. What was taking Iris so long? The clacking of his hobnailed boot on the brick floor grated on Titus’s ears but he could tell it annoyed the physician, too, so he kept it up. He’d also annoyed the physician by barging through the door just as he lanced a boil on an old man’s foot. The old man had said he didn’t mind waiting outside as he scrambled out with barely a limp. Titus wasn’t sure why it bothered the physician so much if it didn’t bother the old man.
Sandals scraped on the far side of the door the physician had poked his head through earlier, calling for Iris. A timid knock followed, and the physician opened the door cautiously. Titus narrowed his eyes; had he expected someone else?
Iris stepped into the room, face flushed and covered in flour. Her forehead creased. “What are you doing here, Titus?”
He took in her rumpled appearance. “Are they forcing you to work?”
“Forcing—no.” She brushed at the flour on her stomach. “I was baking bread. What are you doing here? I thought you were going to send a message.”
“I wanted to be sure you were safe.” He looked at the physician. “Will you leave us a moment?”
The physician looked at Iris, who nodded and fluttered a hand.“It’s fine, Cato.” When they were alone, Iris turned worried eyes on Titus. “What is going on? How is Pater?”
“That’s why I came.” Titus tore his glare from the door the physician had retreated through. “The auction is this afternoon, and since it involves several prisoners, it’s being held in the Castra Praetoria.”
She worried her lip. “What can we do?”
Titus fished in his pouch and drew out a small wooden tile. He held it out. “If you can persuade one of your friends to do it, one person can get into the auction with this pass.”
Iris took the tile, her eyes going wide. “Right now?”
Titus gave a nod.
“Wait here.” Not waiting for him to reply, she fled through the door she’d come in by and, though it was closed, he heard her explaining to the physician in the hall. They both returned, the physician looking torn and hesitant.
“Titus, this is Marius Calogarus Cato,” Iris introduced. “Cato, Titus Didius Liberare—I’ve known him my whole life.”
Cato gave a nod. “It’s a private auction? I’ve never heard of an auction taking place in the Castra Praetoria.”
