“And when am I to see the fourth of your quartet again?” Otho was saying. “Your poor sister, I would so like to offer my regrets for what befell her husband. You must know I never intended Piso Licinianus’s death.”

“Oh, come now,” said Marcella. We’ll see if he really likes my tongue. “You gave the order yourself.”

The Emperor blinked at that, his expression neutralizing as if he were deciding whether to be angry or amused. But he settled on amused. “Perhaps I did, you clever girl. Though I am sorry for your sister. I intend to find her a noble husband, to replace the one I cost her.”

Marcella wondered just how well Cornelia would take that idea. At least if she turned down some proposed suitor of Otho’s, Tullia would die in a fit of rage . . .

“Something’s made you smile,” Otho exclaimed. “I do hope it was me. I’m a witty fellow, or so they keep telling me since I became Emperor. You know, I owe you my thanks.”

“For what, Caesar?”

“For offering your sympathy when I lost the position of Imperial heir to your sister’s husband.” A gold bracelet glinted around Otho’s lean brown wrist as he beckoned a slave for more wine. From the merry flush on the slave’s face, some of the Emperor’s wine was finding its way to the back quarters as well. “I’ve wondered how I could repay you, now that I’m in a position to do so.”

Any number of quotes sprang to Marcella’s mind about the two-edged gratitude of powerful men. “I need no repayment, Caesar.”

“But I owe you for more than thanks for your sympathy, little Marcella. You made some joke about bribing a priest to say the omens were bad, so all those superstitious soldiers would intervene in my favor. Shall we say it gave me an idea?”

Marcella’s thoughts froze entirely.

Otho grinned at her expression. “Don’t feel too guilty,” he said, as the room roared laughter at some timid joke from the reading that couldn’t have been very funny. “I probably would have had the idea myself, anyway.”

Marcella brought her wine cup to her lips again, more of a gulp this time than a sip.

“Is it entertaining, my dear, to know that you’ve meddled with the succession of emperors?”

“Yes.” She managed to keep her voice light. “It is rather entertaining.”

“I do like a woman who speaks her mind! And as you see, my dear lady, I do owe you. So what do you wish from me?”

“A post here in the city for my husband, Lucius Aelius Lamia,” Marcella said at once, shaking off her momentary paralysis.

“Is that all?” Otho made a face. “I’d hoped you’d come up with something more interesting. What kind of post?”

“Anything. So long as he has to stay in Rome for a change.”