Cornelia dragged herself off the bed and over to the window that overlooked the atrium. The evening still had a wintry chill, puckering the flesh on her arms, but the sun was radiant over the rooftop and the guests lingered in their pallas to exclaim over Tullia’s delphiniums. Lollia was easy to pick out in her stola of bright-purple silk. Imperial purple. Her new husband stood beside her, tall and handsome, looking very much like his Imperial brother in onyx brooches and a saffron-colored synthesis hardly long enough for decency.

Cornelia’s stomach twisted violently. She swallowed bile, trying not to vomit again, and when the sour taste lingered she knew she couldn’t stay one minute under a roof where any Othonian was visiting.

She grabbed her palla and stumbled out of her bedroom, avoiding the bright laughter from the atrium and leaving through the slave gate. She reached the street corner, blind and stumbling, before she realized she hadn’t even ordered the litter. Does it matter? I have nowhere to go. And besides, who would notice her if she walked? Three weeks ago she had been the future Empress, watched by all, parting crowds with her mere presence. Now she was nothing.

A party of legionaries marched past in smart step, intent on some errand for their centurion. A cluster of girls in ribbons and silk dresses giggled as they sashayed down the other side of the street. Children pounded past in some raucous game, shouting at each other, pursued by scolding nurses. Whores, Cornelia wanted to cry out to them, girls and soldiers and children alike. You’re all whores! A few weeks ago they were Galba’s subjects, Roman citizens. Now they were just Otho’s whores. Otho, who had poured honeyed regrets but been quick to confiscate the house that had been Cornelia’s and Piso’s, so she had nowhere to go but the lilac bedroom of childhood.

One man hadn’t turned traitor—he’d stayed loyal when everything else had crumbled. “Haven’t you paid your thanks yet to Centurion Densus?” Marcella had asked a few days ago. “Diana and I did, and Lollia’s putting him up at her grandfather’s house with the best doctors in Rome. He did save all our lives, you know.”

Yes. Cornelia pulled the palla up over her hair, realizing she’d been tramping through the streets with her head uncovered like a common woman. Yes, Marcella was right. Thanks must be paid to Centurion Drusus Sempronius Densus.