His broad palm crashed against my cheek. He had a hard hand for a man who had never fought in a real battle in his life; the blow sent me back against the wall. Incongruously I remembered watching him take down the stag in Dacia, how he had slain it with one sure blow of a javelin and then smiled at the blood that sprayed his foot.

I straightened, my cheek stinging. Tomorrow I’d be sporting a hand-shaped bruise. “That’s the first time you’ve struck me,” I said, and was surprised how quiet my voice came out. “There won’t be a second.”

“No?”

“No.”

I saw his fingers twitch at his side, and his bearded chin jerked up. I could see him itch to hit me again and felt my own fingers curl. The party was still roaring around us—the Emperor and his Praetorian Prefect were slamming back cups of unmixed wine in some uproarious drinking game—but I felt like I’d been placed in a ring of ice. There was nothing in the world but the bearded face looking back at me with cold, blazing eyes.

“Legate Hadrian, have you made plans for your journey to Pannonia?” A courteous voice slid between us. “Surely you will return to Rome first for the triumph. I’m certain it will be a splendid occasion.”

“Very splendid,” Hadrian said, eyes leaving mine for Titus, who stood attentive and polite at his elbow, and I wondered if I’d imagined it—that moment of sheer, clawing hatred.

I hadn’t imagined it.

“If you will excuse us, Legate? The Emperor wants a word with our aquilifer.”

“The Emperor may have him.”

I blinked as Titus’s hand took my elbow and steered me away. “The Emperor wants to speak with me?”

“Of course he doesn’t, you fool. I had to say something to remind your legate that you have Imperial favor. He looked ready to strangle you on the spot. Did he find out about his wife?”

“No. It wasn’t that.” I looked down at my synthesis, stained with water and wine. “Sorry about your tunic.”

“Forget the tunic. We’re leaving. Gods in hell, keeping you alive is a full-time job. I don’t know why I bother.” Titus grabbed his cloak from a sleepy slave girl and steered me back through the dark atrium. The moon had moved on overhead, and the little tiled pool under the open roof was now in black shadow.

“I dropped Sabina in the water there,” I confided.

“I don’t want to know why,” Titus groaned. “I suppose that’s why Hadrian wants to kill you?”

“No. He just hates me.” My tongue felt heavy suddenly, and my feet heavier. I stumbled over the threshold, and Titus steadied me. “I may have to kill him,” I mused.

“Shut up.”

“In fact, I’m quite certain I’ll have to kill him.”

“Shut up!”