“It’s hardly backward and plebeian to expect good behavior from a wife,” Cornelia pointed out.

“Of course it is, my honey. Do you think Vinius or Salvius or any of my other husbands fussed about Thrax? Of course they didn’t. But Fabius has a thing or two to learn about patrician wives.” A flicker of hardness went through Lollia’s eyes as she rose, surprising Cornelia. Lollia might be flippant, but she had never been hard. “I’m paying the bills, after all. Doesn’t that entitle me to something of my own?”

“So where is Fabius?” Privately, Cornelia wasn’t sorry to have missed him.

“Off intimidating the Senate. They waffle, and he stalks around reminding them that his sword put Vitellius on the throne. These days it’s called politics.”

They passed from the bedchamber through the pillared halls to the peristyle. “So this is your new house?” Cornelia asked, looking around the jumbled array of pools and fountains, with banks of jasmine and water lilies and statues all jammed together. “It’s very . . . large.”

“I think you mean ghastly.” Lollia shuddered. “Fabius confiscated it from some Othonian supporter, down to the last slave, statue, and household god, and moved us in wholesale last week. I haven’t even figured out where all the rooms are yet, and he wants me to host a betrothal party.”

“Who’s getting married?”

Lollia settled into a scrolled silver couch beside a mossy urn and beckoned for fruit and barley water. “You, of course.”

“What?” Cornelia froze halfway down into her chair.

“Fabius said . . .” Lollia trailed off.

“What did Fabius say?” Cornelia felt suddenly cold, despite the sunlight pouring through the open roof of the atrium. “He hinted something to me at the races, but—”

“Oh, darling. Fabius doesn’t hint. He just gives orders.” Lollia waved away the flagon of barley water before it could be set down. “Wine instead, Phoebe. We’re going to need it.” She poured a cup as soon as the flagon arrived and pushed it into Cornelia’s hand without even bothering to water it down. “Drink up. Fabius, well, he wants you for one of his friends, I’m not even sure which. He’s handing out rewards to all of them. Money, estates, wives—”

“He has no legal authority over me!”

“Things have changed, Cornelia. This isn’t Rome anymore, not the Rome we know. The kingmakers rule this Rome. Fabius laughs every time his friends grope me at their parties, and he helps himself to any little knickknack from Grandfather’s house that takes his fancy, and he likes me to walk around the bedroom dressed in nothing but jewels . . .” Lollia massaged her head under her hair, dislodging reddish curls. “He makes me tired.”

“I will not be given away to some victorious soldier like a sack of loot!”

“Now you know how I feel, don’t you?” said Lollia. “One gets used to it.”

“. . . How?” Cornelia whispered.