She and Piso had been riding in a litter close behind Galba, a little frightened at the crowds of citizens who surged alongside, but calm. Cornelia had been elevated high, looking over the heads of the crowd, but Densus had seen Galba’s killers first. He’d jerked her from the litter so hard her arm bore the mark of his hand for a week, shouting for Piso to get down too. His men had snapped around them with a shouted word, moving out of the Forum before Galba had even been spilled from his chair. They would have gotten away clean if his own men hadn’t lunged at Piso themselves, yelling that Otho would make them rich if they brought him the heir’s head, and then the chase had begun that ended so bloodily on the steps before the Temple of Vesta.

But that part hadn’t been Densus’s fault. Of course not.

“You saved my sister and cousins.” She looked past Densus’s shoulder at the pillow. “My family will see you rewarded for it.”

“I don’t need a reward, Lady.” Mumbling. “You don’t become a Praetorian for riches.”

“Most of your friends did,” Cornelia snapped. Densus looked down at the bedclothes again, and she looked at the floor. “I’m sorry, Centurion.” Flatly. “I should not have said that. I’ll go now.”

She turned toward the door, and he looked up at her for the first time. “Lady—”

“You swore they were loyal!” It burst out all on its own, and Cornelia swung around on him. “I knew them all by name, and my husband paid them from his own purse, and you swore to me they were good loyal men!”

“I thought they were—” He was very brown against the bulky white bandages that still swathed his chest, but his eyes were stricken holes looking up from a gray face. “Lady, they were my friends—”

“Then you’re a poor judge of friends.” Cornelia couldn’t stop the words coming around the terrible splinter in her throat. “You told me you’d keep my husband safe—‘My life for his,’ you said—”

“I meant every word—”

“Then why are you alive?” she shrieked. “Why?”

She fell across the room, hammering at him. He caught her by the wrists.

“Why am I alive?” Struggling to hit him. “Why didn’t you let them have me?”

“Lady—” His voice was hoarse, and he still held her fast by the arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies, Centurion!” Cornelia screamed. “I want my husband back!”

She thought she heard him begin to weep as she tore herself out of his hands and rushed out of the room. Her own eyes burned dry as bone.

The time for crying was done.

Seven

Seven