But Aetius’s face was stern.

Aetius was a big man, a slab of strength and stillness, out of place in this glittering setting. She had expected Aetius to come to the party wearing his armor. But he had on a simple tunic of unbleached wool, with strips of color at the hem and sleeves. He wore a soldier’s shoes, though, thick wooden soles strapped to his immense feet with strips of leather. Though he wore no weapon, Regina could see the scars cut deep into the muscled flesh of his arm.

Marcus had told her that Aetius had served in the field army, and had spent four years in Europe under the command of Constantius, a British military commander who had taken his army over the ocean so that he could make a play for the imperial purple itself. Constantius had been defeated. The field army was dissipated or absorbed into other units, and never returned—save for isolated figures like Aetius, who now served with the border forces. Marcus had muttered gloomily about all this, and the weakened state of the army in Britain. But Regina understood little, and had a sunnier outlook than her grumpy old father anyway, and she thought the story of Constantius was rather exciting. An Emperor from Britain! But when she asked about his adventures Aetius just looked at her, his pale gray eyes sunken and dark.

Now he crouched down on his haunches to face Regina, holding her small hand in one huge paw.

She stammered nervously, “What have I done wrong?”

“Where is Cartumandua?”

Regina glanced around, realizing for the first time that the slave girl was not in her customary place, a few paces behind her. “I don’t know. I didn’t get rid of her, Grandfather. It’s not my fault. I—”

“I’ll tell you where she is,” he said. “She’s in her room. Throwing up.”

Regina began to panic. Being told off by Aetius was a lot worse than any admonishment from her mother, and definitely from her father; if Aetius caught you, it really did mean trouble. “I didn’t do anything,” she complained.

“Are you sure? I know what you used to do,” he said. “You would make her run around in circles, until she was dizzy. Your mother told me about it.”

It was shamefully true. “But that was a long time ago. It must be—oh, it must be months! I was just a little girl then!”

“Then why is Carta ill?”

“I don’t know,” Regina protested.

His eyes narrowed. “I wonder if I should believe you.”

“Yes!”

“But you don’t always tell the truth. Do you, Regina? I’m afraid you’re becoming a spoiled and willful child.”

Regina tried not to cry; she knew Aetius regarded that as a sign of weakness. “My mother says I’m a good girl.”