“By Jove, I overlooked that.” The Emperor’s face split in a reluctant grin as he slapped the victory palm into her hand. “Promise me you’ll leave the racing to the professionals from now on, and I’ll forgive you.”

“Oh, I promise,” Diana beamed, and the cousins were there to catch her when her legs gave out.

“Your hands,” Cornelia mourned. “They’re in absolute shreds—”

“You should have seen the look on Tullia’s face,” Marcella crowed. “The Emperor might forgive you, but she never will!”

Diana didn’t hear them. She just stared down at the branch in her hand. A simple cutting of palm, curling a little at the edges. By tomorrow it would be a dried husk, lighter than air. Her palm, for her first and only race.

“Come on, girl.” Vitellius swung his bulk up out of his chair. “I’ve a mind to go down to the stables. Only so much perfume a man can take before he wants a sniff of good honest hay. What did you name those horses of yours?”

“After the four winds, Caesar.” Hurting everywhere, still clutching her palm, Diana staggered after the Emperor. Derricus fell in behind her, still unsmiling, and in this giddy mood she couldn’t hate him. She waved everyone into the Reds faction stables, where an impromptu party had clearly broken out among the grooms. They hid the wine jugs when the Emperor and his party trailed in, but no one could hide their grins.

“Ah, very nice.” Vitellius paused in appreciation before the Anemoi, unharnessed now and being curried. Rose petals still caught here and there in their manes, but the grinning grooms left those alone. “From what stud?”

“From the stables of Llyn ap Caradoc.” Diana rattled off the lineage of each horse, heaving up a bucket for Eurus. The horses were cool enough to drink now without cramping, and Eurus slurped the whole bucket down in a few swallows. She laughed and filled another, moving to Notus, who slobbered on her shoulder as he drank.

“Yes, I like them.” Vitellius ran a hand down Zephyrus’s neck. All horses loved Vitellius; even bad-tempered Boreas nuzzled at the Emperor’s rough horseman’s hands. Behind Vitellius, his German officers swaggered and placed bets while the senators stood around gingerly pretending they didn’t mind getting manure on their sandals. “Let’s see what they’ll do with a real driver, eh? Not that you didn’t drive a decent race today, girl, but you know it was half luck.”

“Oh, I know.” Diana was radiant.

“Good.” Vitellius turned to Xerxes, who stood beaming with a wine cup next to the unharnessed chariot. “See that these horses get turned over to the Blues faction.”

“What?” Diana turned back from giving Boreas his drink, swinging an empty bucket from one torn hand, still smiling.