“She was?” Still doubtful, Aetius released her hands. “All right. If you are lying, you know about it in your heart . . . Oh.” His eyes widened, his huge head tilted back, and he looked up into the sky.

Startled, she looked up, too. It took her a moment to spot the light in the sky. It was right in the middle of the great band of stars—a new star, brighter than any of the others, flickering like a guttering candle. People drifted out of the villa, drink and food in their hands, and their chatter faded as they gazed up at the strange light, their faces shining like coins in the last of the twilight.

Despite the warmth of the evening, Regina suddenly felt cold. “Grandfather, what does it mean?”

“Perhaps nothing, child.” He folded her in his arms, and she pressed her slim warmth against his strength. She heard him mutter, “But it is a powerful omen, powerful.”

During the night, after all the guests had gone home, Regina heard shouting. The raised voices, oddly like the cawing of crows, carried across the still air of the courtyard to Regina’s room. It wasn’t unusual for her mother and father to argue, especially after wine. But tonight it sounded particularly vicious.

With that going on, she found it impossible to sleep. She got out of bed, and crept along the corridor to Cartumandua’s room. The night sky, glimpsed through the thick glass of the windows, seemed bright. But she avoided looking out; perhaps if she ignored that strange light, she thought, it would go away.

When Regina had been smaller she had often come into Carta’s room to sleep, and though it had been some months since she had done so it still wasn’t so unusual. But when Regina appeared in the doorway Carta flinched, pulling her woolen blanket up over her chest. When she saw it was Regina she relaxed, and managed a smile, dimly visible in the summer twilight.

Regina crossed to the bed, the tiled floor cold under her bare feet, and crawled under the blanket with the slave. Vaguely she wondered whom Carta had thought had come to her room, whom she was afraid of.

Even here she could hear the drunken yelling of her parents. Though it wasn’t cold, Carta and Regina clung to each other, and Regina muzzled her face into the familiar scent of Carta’s nightdress.

“Are you better now, Carta?”

“Yes. Much better.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?”

“For making you sick.”

Cartumandua sighed. “Hush. I’ve been ill, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“You’ve been stealing food again,” said Regina, softly admonishing.

“Yes. Yes, that’s it. I’ve been stealing food . . .”

Regina didn’t notice the strained tone of her voice, for, cradled in Carta’s arms, she was already falling asleep.