I pretended to recognize her as if for the first time. “Bee? Is that truly you? I would never have known… I thought perhaps a medusa, with the snakes of her hair all dead and limp—”

She kicked me in the shin.

I let the sheet drop back over the mirror’s face. We went upstairs to the bedchamber we had shared for most of our lives. In a secret hiding place in the wall of the chamber we found Bee’s first sketchbook with its scrawls, and a scrap of faded calico fabric wrapped around my childhood toys: a red-and-cream polished agate, a little wood play sword, and a tiny carving of a stallion caught in the flow of a gallop.

“You gave me an awful bruise on the head with that thing,” said Bee as I brandished the little sword. “You were such a beast, Cat. Always getting into fights.”

“I was not! I was always saving you when you got in fights! Like the time in the ribbon shop when that Roman girl yanked on your hair until you screamed while her mother pretended nothing was happening.”

She grinned as she galloped the toy stallion across the floor. “You had hacked off half her hair before her mother bothered to come look. It’s a good thing we can run so fast.”

“It’s not speed. It’s knowing how to distract the enemy.”

“Do you remember seeing her again years later when we arrived at the academy?” Bee laughed so hard she had to wipe tears away. “All grown up, and with her hair done in those knots and bows that were fashionable four years ago.”

“Thank Tanit that went out of fashion as quickly as it did. Your hair was too curly and mine too heavy and straight.”

“How she looked daggers at us! She started a whispering campaign, do you remember? To try to make us feel ashamed of being impoverished Phoenician girls.”

We shared a smile, for of course the girl hadn’t known we were shameless. We simply didn’t care what she and her circle thought of us. Our indifference had demolished her campaign. Not to mention the syrup we had secretly smeared on her knots and bows, which soon attracted ants.

“Let’s go down before Rory does something he oughtn’t,” said Bee, taking my hand.

We gathered our treasures. As we started down the steps I heard splashing.

“Oh, dear,” I said. “We’d better hurry.”

When we reached the scullery we found Rory happily washing himself as he sang a spectacularly obscene song. Fortunately he was sitting in the tub, and had filled it with hot water. The water was already grimy with his dirt.

“Am I supposed to eat this?” he asked brightly, holding up a sliver he had cut off the cake of soap. Then he laughed as he set back to scrubbing himself. “You should see your expressions!”