“After what happened to that boy who drove for the Whites? It’s hard enough finding a driver who won’t pull up after three laps just to make sure.”

“This isn’t happening.” Diana closed her eyes. “This is not happening.”

“Well, it is. And I’ve got work to do, Lady, so if you’ll pardon me—”

“How long do you think we’ll have an audience for this puppet show, if no one does anything? We have to—”

“We? You might be the Emperor’s pet, Lady, but you’re not one of us.” Normally Xerxes tolerated Diana well enough, but now his face looked like a stone as he jerked his slab of a chin at the door. “Get out, Lady. You don’t belong here.”

Speechless, Diana wandered out into the faction courtyard, where grooms and page boys rushed back and forth. It was autumn now, the air crisp and cool—and the rumors flying. There had been a battle up north. A victory, a loss, no one knew. Not even Marcella, who knew everything these days. But Vitellius had decided it was a victory, that his armies had crushed the Moesian legions, and the Circus Maximus was aggressively decorated to celebrate. Colorful banners flapped at every post, the spina was draped in flowers, and a flood of plebs in their holiday best and patricians in their finest silks jammed the tiered seats high. There would be smaller races all through the early afternoon, but the winner of the final crowning race would accept the victory palm from the Emperor’s own hand and take away the largest purse in the history of the Circus Maximus.

On such a day Diana should have been excited, flying everywhere in a fever of anticipation. On such a day the grooms should have been boasting and laying bets, the stable boys careening around in such excitement that they had to be smacked half a dozen times before they settled to work, and the charioteers should have alternately been bragging and praying as they waited their instructions. But all she could think of was the Volcanalia races, when she’d watched her Anemoi take the lead only to be muscled down in the last lap so the Blues could breeze ahead. Diana had escaped the Emperor’s box and run home all the way, weeping tears of pure rage. It had even sucked some of the pleasure out of her lessons with Llyn. “What’s the point of learning to drive a tight turn?” she’d burst out at him when he criticized her hold on the reins. “Nowadays, all any charioteer in Rome knows how to do is lose!”

He’d looked at her calmly. “You learn to drive a tight turn on my track, or you go home.”

“Easy for you to say.” Diana glared back. “You don’t care if the races are rigged.”