“I promise.” She knew nothing could be done by going to the fortress, but would that mean she never saw her pater again? She pressed her fingers to her forehead, the coldness soothing.
“I’m sorry, Iris.” Titus sighed and slipped an arm around her, tugging her shoulder into his chest. The molded leather armor he wore beneath his tunic made the embrace stiff and cold. “Truly, I am. Quintus has been like my own father. This is just as painful for me.”
“Which market will they take him to?” She smeared the tears from her cheek with the back of one hand. “Could we... if we had the money...?” Her voice broke. Wishful thinking. The money Valentine had offered the first time had saved the six children of the executed Christians. There couldn’t possibly be enough left to redeem her father as well. The prefect’s decision to sentence her father to labor seemed merciful, yet Iris knew with the state of his leg, Pater would not last long in a marble quarry or an ore mine. That he would die was certain, but it would be slow and painful.
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll find out and send word when I do.” Hisgrip on her tightened. “No offense meant toward your father, but in his physical state, I can’t imagine he’d go for much.”
She nodded, his words offering a flicker of hope. The rain beat the ground, sending small rivers of water snaking through the grass.
“I have to get back.” He pulled his mantle over his head, uncovering the tip of the gladius strapped under his arm. “Are you safe?” His tone gentled as he studied her face.
Iris nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. When I find out more about the auction, where shall I send the message?”
Her stomach seized. “I thought we agreed you shouldn’t know where I am.”
Titus shrugged. “The trial’s over and I wasn’t called to testify. Danger of questioning is over. I want to be able to reach you quickly if something were to change.”
She hesitated.
His eyes narrowed as they fixed on her. “They’re Christians, aren’t they?” When she did not respond, he swore. “You’ve got to leave. It’s not safe.”
“And go where?” she countered. “I can’t go home or to the market. Paulina won’t have me back, and I have no other friends.”
His boots screeched against the marble floor as he shifted his weight. “Christians are now considered traitors against the empire. It’s only a matter of time before they’re all rounded up.” He gave a shake of his head and rubbed wide hands over his face. “You have to get away from them. When the order is given to imprison all Christians, I won’t be able to help you. My oaths and orders take precedence over my opinions.” His voice sounded strange and pleading.
She’d never known Titus to beg. She said nothing but felt the weight of the implication of his words.
“Your orders take precedence, yet you’re not taking me to the tribune now,” she whispered, her eyes sliding up to meet his.
Titus kneaded the muscles at the base of his neck and dropped his hands to his sides. His right thumb spun the gold ring that had belonged to his father. He didn’t speak.
“You have to make a choice, Titus.”
“It’s not that simple. I wish it were, but it’s not.”
He flinched as she touched his arm. “If you see Pater, tell him we’re praying for him.”
Titus bit back a sharp laugh. “If your god cannot even keep him out of prison, do you think he will save him from slavery?”
“Godispowerful, Titus. Look into my eyes and tell me He’s not.”
He gave a derisive snort. “Pray if you must, but do not hope too greatly.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Do you have an escort back? We’re a long way from where I left you last night.”
“I have someone.”
He did a quick scan of the grounds. “The boy?”
She nodded. “He’s trustworthy.”
Titus did not look convinced. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Where can I send you a message?”
“Titus—”
