“Little savage,” Marcella said, still feeling Otho’s watching eyes as he twirled the gold stem of a wine cup between his fingers.

“I’m sorry, you know,” he said unexpectedly. “I wish I could have said something, that night.”

“At least you didn’t laugh,” Marcella found herself saying. Most of the guests at the party had laughed—tittered, really, when Nero had looked her over on introduction and said in his offhand high-pitched voice, “You’ll dine alone with me tomorrow.” Marcella looked up at him, startled out of her internal musing, and Nero’s gilded guests had found it all very funny. Just another Imperial whim. Everyone knew Nero’s whims; even with the Senate rumbling fire at his back, he yielded to every fancy that touched him. Whether it was a goblet of wine, a golden palace—or a general’s daughter.

“No, I didn’t laugh.” Otho’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “You were too brave for that.”

“I’m not sure if it’s bravery if you don’t have a choice, Senator.”

“I assure you, it is. Courage is defined by how we meet unfortunate circumstances—inevitable or not.”

Last lap of the race. Marcella forced her harried attention down on it. Diana was on her feet now, shouting as the Reds darted up to fight for the lead with sixteen legs blurring and the charioteer flapping his reins. The crowd surged up and Marcella found herself surging with them, palms sweaty from nerves that had nothing to do with the race. Otho and his sophisticated crowd never showed excitement; they just murmured and arched their plucked brows, but Lollia shouted encouragement and Diana was shouting right along with her as the Reds and the Blues battled neck and neck, eight horses strong across the track. The last turn, and Marcella gasped along with everyone else as they took it at deadly pace, but the Reds somehow squeaked clear, the charioteer white-eyed and lashing his team all the way.

Marcella looked down and saw that she was banging her hands against the rail. Fortuna, she thought in some amusement, the race got me too. Vinius looked as sour as ever, and Tullia was tight-lipped to see anyone having fun, but decent boring Piso stood muttering under his breath and Cornelia clung to his arm in excitement, and behind them the impassive centurion named Densus was swearing like a stable hand and clenching his fists as he urged the Reds on. Even Senator Marcus Norbanus looked up from his paperwork in mild interest. The pounding of hooves thudded like a heartbeat.