“It is heathen.” Given to Sabina by a witch in Pannonia, in fact. She’d liked Pannonia. Vast forested plains, deep rushing rivers, tribesmen with unreadable eyes drinking the lethal local sabaea as if it were milk. A great many mysteries to be found in Pannonia—and a great deal of work to be done, no doubt about it. Sabina had wheedled, begged, and browbeaten the funds out of Hadrian to build a hospital in Vindobona; the foundations were just being laid when it came time to return to Rome. She’d been sorry to leave it for Hadrian’s tall narrow house on the Palatine Hill with its white marble walls and geometric friezes and silent slaves.

“I bought a book yesterday,” she said. “The new verses from that poet everyone’s been talking about, Ammianus. I think you’ll hate his metaphors, but he does turn a pretty phrase.”

Hadrian made rapid notes on a writing tablet. “I have no time for reading.”

“That’s not like you.”

“I am consul now. I have many more important responsibilities.”

“You always had time to read before, no matter what rank you held.”

He did not answer, smoothing the wax on his tablet and starting again. He had a tiny splash of blood beneath his thumbnail, and Sabina wondered if the doe had looked up at him mutely as he reached down to cut her throat. When they had first married, Hadrian went to hunt perhaps once a week, tracking deer in his chariot. In Pannonia he had hunted for wolves every other day, maintaining an entire pack of ferocious Pannonian hunting hounds. Now he didn’t have time to read his beloved Greek poetry, but he hunted every day without fail… and without quite knowing why, Sabina had started getting up with the dawn to watch him return, thoughtfully regarding her husband’s blood-splashed, smiling face.

“Has the Emperor said anything to you regarding Parthia?” Hadrian asked abruptly.

“He means to go next year.” Sabina tucked a lock of hair back behind one ear. “He told me he’s still deciding which legions to bring.”

“He didn’t tell me that,” Hadrian snapped.

“I’m sure he’s getting round to it.”

“Since you and he share so much conversation, you can tell him I want a legion to command. Preferably the Third Parthica.”

“Why?” Sabina tilted her head. “I didn’t think you liked the idea of invading Parthia.”

“I don’t,” Hadrian said. “It will be a waste of time and money. But it will put me in position to take over the governorship of Syria.”

“Syria?” Sabina propped her chin on her hand. “That would be something to see. The mountains, the heat… and I’m longing to see Palmyra. You once told me Palmyra is called the Bride of the Desert, remember?”