“I never met anyone who could brood like you,” she said. “Come on. We’ve got horses to feed.” He’d laughed, then—really laughed for the first time since she’d known him as they disentangled their tunics from the hay and helped each other dress. He’d put his hands around her waist and lifted her down from the sparkling dark of the loft, same as always, and with their shoulders brushing easily they went to feed the horses, arguing about whether a colt should be broken to a chariot at age three or age four.

That one raucous full-throated laugh . . . she’d remember that best, now that he was gone.

Diana looked up through the open roof of the atrium. The sky was a deep Imperial purple overhead, but toward the west—toward Britannia—there was still an orange streak of sun. She imagined him walking toward it, long strides eating up the ground, sword swinging beside one breech-clad leg. She wondered if he’d find Britannia unbearably changed; she wondered if he’d gone back to continue his father’s fight or only to die in peace—then she smiled a little and picked up the wax tablet again. Cornelia had a home and husband again; Lollia had peace and love; Marcella had power, though it had proved to be a two-edged sword. And Diana?

“I’m going to breed the best horses in Rome,” she said aloud, and it felt right. She’d had some thought of having Llyn at her side for that, but now it looked like it would just be Diana. That felt all right, too.

She rose, sliding the bronze ring with its laughing faces over her arm above the elbow. The black dog padded silently from the hall, falling in at her heels as she headed back out to the stables.

Epilogue

Epilogue

A.D. 81

IT was the first time in years that they all matched, Cornelia thought. The four Cornelias, all dressed alike again—but the whole city matched, because Emperor Titus was dead and every citizen in Rome wore black.

“Oh dear,” Cornelia murmured at the massive public funeral. “I had such high hopes of Titus.” So cheerful and energetic, so intelligent and forthright—and dead, after only two years of rule.

Cornelia’s youngest daughter leaned against her side, not quite sure what it was all about but needing comfort, and Cornelia leaned a cheek against her smooth chestnut hair. Drusus held the boys, one on each arm, and they persisted in waving at the Praetorians as if it was a parade.