Did Felix really think that would prevent her from blackening an eye? He apparently did, since he released his grip on her wrists. He was taller than she remembered, or perhaps she’d never been this close, never experienced the space between them shrunk to nothing.
“What are you—”
“We need to speak.” He opened his hand, offering a glimpse of gold and amber before he snapped his fingers shut and drew back. Tilla stalked inside, stride hitching as she gave them a quick up-and-down glance.
“Later,” he whispered, brushing past Adel. He flipped a towel over one shoulder and exited the baths the way anyone might stroll through the village square.
But the glimpse was all she’d needed. Gold and amber played in the light like the glow of a campfire in the night. She’d seen it before, every day of her childhood. An ember of light on her atta’s hand. She wouldknow it anywhere, the honey bits of amber nested within looping, knotted strands of gold. The burning spread to her nose and throat, cutting off her breath as if she’d inhaled the bath. Handed down from father to son, the ring was priceless. Treasured. At least to her family. To her atta. Without sons to bear either his name or his ring, she’d always assumed he’d be buried with both. For it to be here meant... it meant...
He would have never parted with it willingly.
Her legs went suddenly weak.
“You ill too?” one of the Hildas asked at her elbow.
Adel shook her head. “No.”Yes.
The Hilda didn’t ask a second time. She stripped and left a trail of clothes on her way to the heated pool. Adel’s hands shook as she fumbled with her own clothing and followed the others into the steaming baths. The chatter echoed off the ceiling, multiplying the voices from five to twenty. She sank to her chin, eyes burning, and not from the scented oil Dreda had just poured into her palm.
Atta was dead.
He had to be dead. There was no other explanation for his ring to be in Rome unless he’d been stripped after the battle. He was dead, and there would be no reconciliation, no redemption. No homecoming. Would Aipei feel Adel was responsible if she returned home without him? But where had Felix gotten the ring, and how did he know to show it to her?
The heat and questions were too much. She couldn’t breathe. Her fingers dug for a handhold on the slippery marble as she heaved herself out of the water. Berit backed away from the stairs, snatching up a towel and handing it to Adel as she climbed out.
“Are you well?”
“No.”
XXIX
FEW THINGS REQUIRED PERFECT BALANCE.Ballast in ships, the amount of rosemary sprinkled over a fleshy sea bass, and the amount of opium to numb pain without causing death.
Felix hunched over his scale and held his breath as he rubbed a pinch of fine powder between his thumb and forefinger, adding it to the tiny mountain growing on the scale pan. The fulcrum twitched.
He froze, eyeing the scale a moment longer. There. Perfect balance.
He straightened and wiped the excess powder from his fingers, measurements complete. Now all that was left was to combine the mountain of various colored herbs and powders into a smooth mixture and refill the jar of pain-relieving powder. He’d been able to quell Jovan’s demands for enhancing potions by administering small doses of this mild pain reliever. It helped ease sore muscles and would not leave them writhing in the throes of withdrawal when they stopped it.
The clinic door burst open. Felix whirled, elbow snagging the arm of the scale. He flailed to catch it and sent an empty jar crashing to the floor. Pottery exploded across the tiles, skipping and skittering towarda pair of bare feet. Adel stormed inside, ludus-issued tunic clinging to still-wet skin.
“Where did you get that ring?” She held out her hand, fingers wiggling impatiently, as she stepped toward him. Water droplets splattered at her feet.
Felix rushed forward to stop her. “You’ll cut yourself on the jar—”
“I do not care about my feet,” she snapped, gripping his arm. “The ring. Let me see it.”
Her blue eyes were stitched to his, roiling with fear, confusion, and desperate hope. For all the anger that had tainted her words when she’d spoken of her atta, for all his failings, she feared for him. Hoped for him. Loved him.
“Felix?” Her breath seemed suspended, hanging on his answer, afraid to hear it. “Where did you get my atta’s ring?”
“Telemachus.”
Adel went as still as a freshly bathed person could be in December. Her whole body shook as she raised a hand to cover her mouth. “How—how do you...”
Felix twisted past her and rummaged through the cupboard for a blanket. She was right behind him when he turned, the closest she’d ever chosen to be—nonviolently, at least. He shook out the blanket and reached around her, settling it over her shoulders. “You’re dripping on my floor.”
“The ring.”
