“Oh, gods,” Lollia moaned. There were twisted crumpled things lying still on the stones, things that had to be bodies, dark pools that had to be blood. Shadows darted in and out of the temples—a soldier in a plumed helmet staggered down the steps of Jupiter’s temple under the weight of a silver urn, behind him an ordinary shopkeeper who had joined the looting troops and was now trundling away a barrow full of prizes. A stray dog lapped at a rivulet of blood leaking down the gutter, and the horses threw up their heads as they caught the stench of it. Diana yanked the chariot around a corner into a darkened side street, and the blood-crawling Forum disappeared from sight.

“Faster!” Lollia tugged at Diana’s arm. “Can you go faster?”

Two soldiers staggered out of a tavern, whooping drunkenly. Diana cracked her whip at them and they flinched back. Another side street, another, another—“What’s taking so long?” Lollia groaned.

“The direct route isn’t safe. I saw soldiers spilling out of the palace earlier.”

“The palace? But the Emperor—”

Diana set her lips in a line. “Vitellius is dead.”

The houses of the Palatine, flashing by—Diana saw a shrieking patrician woman running from her doorway with an armload of clothes, a slave behind her with a jewel box. Somewhere a man was shouting. Lollia nearly spilled out of the chariot on a sharp turn, but one more block passed and they were pulling up before the family house. Zephyrus reared, white showing all around his eyes and sparks striking on the stones under his hooves, and Notus plunged against the reins. “Get down,” Diana shouted at Lollia, fighting them. “Get down and fetch Cornelia and Marcella, I don’t dare let go of the horses!”

“Cornelia and Marcella—but can’t we—”

“We can’t stay here, it’s not safe!” Diana heard a roar somewhere behind and Lollia tumbled out of the chariot, stumbling up the pink marble steps to hammer at the door. “Cornelia! CORNELIA!” The door flew open to reveal a legionary with drawn sword, a snarl cutting his face in half, and Lollia screamed.

“No, Lollia—” Cornelia pushed around the legionary, her hair wild down her back. “No, he’s with me—”

“Cornelia, get in.” Lollia yanked her frantically toward the chariot, where Diana had managed to fight the horses down to a bursting standstill. “We have to run—get Marcella—”

“Marcella isn’t here.”

“Not here? Oh, gods—Marcella—”

“No time,” the soldier snapped, jamming his short sword back into its scabbard. His gaze flicked over the trembling horses. “You can hold them?” he barked up at Diana.

She nodded curtly. “I can.” How long she could keep on holding them was another matter. Her hands were tough as cured leather, but she had no gloves and her palms were already a mass of dark blisters.