A man draining the last dregs of his wineskin tripped into her, spraying the mouthful over her shoulders and neck. The man swore and apologized, patting at her with a puffy hand. Iris ducked past, hardly noticing. She broke through the thick stream of bodies spilling from the southern gate and moved more quickly as the crowd thinned at the edge of the walkway. Slaves pulling refuse carts entered through an archway hung with iron-barred gates.
Scanning this service entrance, her eye snagged on a flash of Praetorian blue. It wasn’t so much the uniform as the way this Praetorian didn’t stride or march or swagger. He stumbled forward and swayed. Her heart stopped.
Her steps matched his, tripping, wobbling, jostled by the crowd. The roar of people seemed to fade into a dull hum. Their gazes tangled. She didn’t have to ask. His arms hung at his sides, his expression of defeat telling her everything she didn’t want to hear.
“Iris,” Titus choked. His mouth opened again but nothing came out.
Her breath quickened. In... Out... In. Out. In-out. Why did it feel like she wasn’t breathing at all? She stared at him.
Say something. Say something. Confirm it. Deny it. Say. Something.
“I tried...”
Her hands covered her mouth. A sharpness sliced through the center of her chest, cutting off her lungs completely. Titus came forward and caught her arms as her knees went liquid.
“I tried my hardest—you have to believe me.” He dropped to his knees with her as she collapsed. The world went mute. She sucked in a shuddering breath, unable to utter anything but the hiss of silent screams.
Valentine was dead.
No matter how many times Iris repeated the words in her head, they didn’t seem true. Didn’t seem real—wouldn’t have seemed real, except for how the pain confirmed it.
Only the occasional sniffle broke the silence in Marius and Martha’s triclinium.
Beatrix sat on the couch beside her, stiff, her clammy hand gripped around Iris’s. She had not said a word since Titus had returned Iris to the villa with the confirmation.
Valentine was dead.
Titus hadn’t stayed.
“‘I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren.’” Marius’s voice pushed from his chest, straining with effort. “‘Concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest...’” He swallowed. “‘Lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For—’” His voice broke. “‘For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so... God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus.’”
The door opened and they looked up. Cato shuffled inside, tear-streaked and pale. He’d left at dawn without a word.
“You know,” Martha spoke gently.
“I watched.” The words were torn from him. Cato let his head fall into his hands, shoulders releasing with deep, groaning sobs. Delphine stood and wrapped her arms around him, tugging him to a couch and holding him. Beatrix sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. Iris gripped her hand tighter as Marius finished quoting the passage about the future and glorious return of God, who would raise the dead with a blast of a trumpet and all believers would be caught up together to meet the Lord in the sky.
“‘Therefore comfort one another with these words.’” Marius squeezed his eyes shut, tears tracing the lines of his leathery cheeks.
Iris longed to be comforted. But first, she wanted to scream. To beat her fists into the ground and rage. The ache built inside like a lump of hot marble, pressing at her chest until it seeped over inscalding streams down her face. She couldn’t hold it in anymore and left the room, clamping a hand over her mouth. The courtyard was dusky and quiet. The cold felt good against the charred ache in her chest. She sank to the ground beside the potted almond tree, melting beneath the weight of grief too heavy to carry. Her throat was on fire; the smell of tears burned her nose. She finally let them out, sinking as each sob ripped from her gut until her forehead pressed against the coldness of the pot.
Her mind ran with images. Valentine twirling Lalia and Rue. Winking at her from across the crowded room at the secret wedding. His ceaseless care for the poor and widowed, and his kindness in writing notes to them. This day, the world had been gutted of compassion and love.
As the burning sharpened, she recalled a night not so long ago when she’d felt the same sense of crushing hopelessness and Valentine had been there to comfort her. Who would comfort her now?
“No matter what happens—good or bad, by our estimation—it can always be redeemed by God for good if we trust Him.”Valentine’s voice spoke the words in her head, his mild tone changing ever so slightly with each word. The gentleness remained but the voice grew in power and contained a tremor of wildness that both shook her to her core and left her in a glass-sea calm.
Do you trust Me?
The Voice came from both inside her and out, wild and firm and achingly gentle. The sound of it made her weep. Did she truly trust a God who could open her eyes and yet allow His people to die? Yesterday she had. This morning she had. It had been easy, then. God had shown Himself to her—powerful, kind, good. It was easy to trust God when He did everythingshewanted Him to. But if she could only trust Him then, who was truly God?Her?Or Him?
Do you trust Me?
Did she?
Could she?
Iris curled herself into a tight ball as if the pain would somehow become smaller too.
