Fabius threw the whip aside with a soft rattle. Dimly Lollia saw him surveying Thrax, a bloody mess against the column. “Get rid of this filth,” he ordered, and then she heard boots retreating down the long pillared hall.

She scrambled to her feet as soon as he fell out of earshot, still holding Flavia. “I need to put you down, my honey, let me go a moment.” But her daughter clung even harder, limpetlike, and Lollia had to undo Thrax’s knotted cords one-handed. She could hear the other slaves rustling behind her, but none came forward to help—of course they wouldn’t; Fabius Valens was their master and his will was law now. The knots took a long time, and Thrax dragged his forehead off the column and stared at her in mute gratitude. His gaze stabbed like a knife. If I hadn’t kept him with me—if I hadn’t just assumed Fabius wouldn’t care enough to touch him . . .

“Someday you’ll realize what a slut you are,” Lollia remembered Cornelia telling her once during a snarling fight.

Now she knew.

The last knot came loose under her shaking fingers, and Thrax collapsed. It wasn’t just his back that was in ribbons—both eyes were puffed and black, and his nose was smashed. All his golden beauty was in ruins, but Lollia had no time to grieve for it. “Thrax—Thrax, please, you have to get up. Can you walk a few steps? Just a few.”

He took her hand, slowly staggering upright. “Domina,” he mumbled. One bloody hand brushed her throat, where Fabius’s fist had already left a bruise. “Sorry—Domina—”

“Sshh. Come with me.” Still holding Flavia on her hip, Lollia led Thrax by the hand through the pillared hall. She felt the slaves staring from behind the corners, but Fabius’s ferocity had scared them all into silence. Thrax left bloody footprints on the beautiful mosaics, and the busts of the house’s previous owners stared down in blind accusation. If I live here a hundred years, this place will never be my home.

She summoned the litter, easing Thrax into it face down. His back was still bleeding freely, and she threw her fine rose wool palla over it, settling the cloth with gentle pats to absorb the blood. Not enough, but it would have to do for the moment. Flavia whimpered as her arms were detached, but Lollia pried her away ruthlessly and settled her in the corner of the litter. “Don’t cry, my honey,” Lollia said, crying. “And don’t jostle Thrax. He’s sick.”

“Where to, Domina?” the litter-bearer asked.

“My grandfather’s house,” Lollia choked. “Tell him the slave needs a doctor, the best there is. Tell him I’ll be sending Flavia’s nurse and her things.”

“How long will they be staying, Domina?”