It wasn’t till sunset that the villa’s owner returned. Marcella saw him first from the door of the barn, a lone figure striding up the long slope of the hill toward the barn. Her muscles tensed before she realized it was only one man. His sword was out, but he strode far too unhurriedly to be looking for a fight. “Diana,” Marcella called, “is that our, ah, host?”

Diana swung off the fence railing where she’d been watching the Anemoi frisk in the long grass, her pale hair gleaming in the fading sun. She looked down the slope a moment, then turned swiftly and jogged to meet the approaching figure. She met him a short distance from the barn’s entrance, and Marcella could hear them without straining. “I wondered if you’d be back, Llyn.”

“I’m back.” He looked her over, and Marcella wondered if he’d start feeling her legs up and down like he’d check a horse for spavins. “I see you came out unscathed.”

“Me and my three cousins.” Diana gestured behind her, and Marcella gave a vague wave from the door of the barn and retreated a little into the door’s shadow as if she were out of earshot. “I put them up in your barn—we didn’t have anywhere else safe. Don’t worry,” Diana added, though Marcella didn’t see the Briton’s face move. “We didn’t enter your house. I wouldn’t violate guest-right. Though I did borrow your tunic,” she added, plucking at the coarse cloth. It hung to her shins, and she’d belted it around her waist with a spare length of rein. “My dress was all bloody, and I found this hanging on a nail in the barn. I figured guest-right didn’t extend to old clothes.”

“It does not,” he said formally. “And I welcome you and your cousins to my hall, as guests—though you can probably return to the city if you wish.”

“Why?” Diana tilted her head at him. A stray lock of hair curved over her forehead like a little crescent moon: Diana the Huntress more than ever, Marcella thought. “Is the city quiet?”

“Yes. The legionaries are under control now.” The black dog padded out, tail wagging, and Llyn bent to scratch his ears. “An emergency meeting of the Senate is soon to be convened. They will undoubtedly confirm Vespasian as Emperor. They’re already hailing his son Domitian at the Domus Aurea.”

So Domitian survived. Marcella was mildly surprised at that. And the Senate was confirming Vespasian already? She drew in a breath, praying the Briton would go on.

“Another emperor.” Diana put her bandaged hands at the small of her back, stretching. “There will always be one, you know, no matter how many times you take matters into your own hands. I hope you realize that.”