Her grandfather met them all at the bedchamber door, large and anxious, and Lollia rested a moment against his pillowy soft shoulder, loving him dearly enough to marry a hundred husbands. “My little jewel,” he said, as he’d called her ever since she was small. Maybe her cousins didn’t understand her unhesitating allegiance to her grandfather, why she never had even the slightest grumble when he chose a new husband for her. They didn’t understand that it was an alliance, her grandfather and herself against the world, for all time. An ex-slave with such a fortune had enemies; his lands and monies could be confiscated at any time if he didn’t have powerful connections. Marrying Otho’s brother would shield her grandfather as well as little Flavia and herself. That was worth anything.

More guests pressed close, cooing congratulations, their faces all blurs. Lollia dropped her saffron bridal cloak and Thrax refastened it about her throat. She couldn’t meet his eyes somehow. He’d been so sweet the day Vinius died—when she started giggling and couldn’t stop he’d just picked her up and carried her to bed. But he didn’t try to make love to her. He just held her close until the giggles turned into tears, and then he rocked and sang soft lullabies as if she’d been about as big as Flavia. “How do you know how to be so comforting, Thrax?” she asked.

“I sang to my sister,” he’d replied unexpectedly. “When she was little. When she is four, she goes to the slave market—dry-eyed. Because I sing to her first.”

Lollia wondered what had happened to his sister—what happened to the rest of his family. He shared her bed, and she knew so little about him . . . but he was a slave. Why should she know anything about him?

“I don’t know how you can be so calm.” Lollia had pulled away, scrubbing at her wet cheeks. “The world is ending.”

“Maybe.” He dried her eyes deftly. “Then I end with it.”

“That doesn’t trouble you?”

“My Lord died. That turned out all right.” He smiled, touching the rough little wooden cross hanging about his neck. It was something to do with his god—a carpenter or maybe the god of carpenters; Lollia wasn’t sure. “You turn out all right too, Domina.”

How could he say that? How could he know that?

Ever since, Lollia found it hard to meet Thrax’s eyes. Somehow, looking at him was just one more thing that made her feel uneasy.