Marcella patted her hair, refreshed, and pulled back the curtains of the litter. Perhaps a little shopping in the Forum before the heat of the day settled in? As she stepped down, she saw a familiar head of pale hair in the throng of housewives and shopkeepers. “Diana!”

Diana waved, loping over with two slaves trotting behind, and Marcella smiled in greeting. She no longer felt irritated by Diana, or even envious of her. All the freedom you want, and you use it to make horses run in circles, Marcella thought tolerantly. I make emperors run in circles.

“Shopping?” Marcella greeted her. “I didn’t think you knew what shopping was.”

“Father wants a new block of marble from Carrara.” Diana pushed a stray lock of hair behind one ear. “I said I’d order it for him. Who was the boy getting out of your litter?”

“What boy?” Marcella said vaguely.

“Just now. Dark hair. Vespasian’s son?”

“Oh, him.” Marcella laughed, carefully careless. “He’s been in love with me all year, didn’t you know? Wants me to divorce Lucius and run away to a life of eternal bliss.”

“Mmm.” Diana paused to finger a little stone carving of a horse, and Marcella let out a breath. Diana might be stupid, but she was observant. Best not to forget that. “Oh, look at these.” Marcella tugged her cousin toward a stall with polished brass bowls and figurines. “I suppose you’re off to the circus next?” she asked brightly, fingering a gleaming platter.

“What’s the use of going to the races these days?” Diana demanded savagely.

“You’re not still angry with the Blues for taking all the races at Volcanalia, are you?” Volcanalia had been quite a celebration this year—fish from the Tiber had been ceremonially thrown onto a fire to appease Vulcan, god of fire and forges, and Vitellius had needed no excuse to turn the festival into a citywide fish bake. Everybody had enjoyed themselves but Diana, who had been spitting curses as she watched the Blues win every heat in the day’s races. “You can’t win them all, you know.”

“You can if you’re the Blues.” Diana glared at her own reflection in a polished copper pan, her mirrored face distorted and savage. “Did you know that damned Fabius Valens is having all the races fixed just to keep Vitellius happy?”

“So?” Marcella shrugged. “As long as racing has existed, there have been fixed races.”

“Oh, a race here and there gets thrown,” Diana snarled. “But not all the races. Not every single one!”

“So, tell the Emperor.”