“I will not be taking you to Syria.” Hadrian made a note on a slate and set it aside. “Not unless you promise better behavior than you showed in Dacia and Pannonia. All that tramping about the countryside, getting your feet muddy and chatting up inappropriate people—you embarrassed me. The wife of a governor must behave with decorum.”

Sabina set down her cup with something of a bang. “You used to like tramping around the countryside right along with me. Seeing things up close; seeing what could be done.”

“A consul must behave with greater decorum. As must his wife. And Syria is far less backwater than Pannonia. Many more eyes will be on us.”

“If we get there.” Sabina kept her voice even. “I suppose I can drop a word to Trajan about getting you a legion, if it means so much to you. But he may not listen to me. Lusius Quietus is pushing for the Third Parthica too, and he wants it badly.”

“He also wants you badly.”

“Does he?” Sabina felt her attention sharpening, her fingers stilling around the cup. A deer motionless in the shadows as the hunter approached.

Hadrian did not look up from his slates. “Quietus could hardly keep his eyes off you at the Emperor’s last banquet.”

“So?”

“Perhaps you could do something for me there.”

Sabina raised her eyebrows.

“He’s a Berber,” Hadrian said, scanning his scrolls. “Berbers are hot-blooded. A word dropped in the ear over a pillow could bear fruit.”

She sat still for a long moment after that.

“Whoring out your wife,” Sabina said finally. “What would Empress Plotina say?”

“She would be appalled, of course. But she is a wife of exceeding virtue. Since I don’t have one of those, I might as well use your other talents to my advantage.”

“If I choose to be whored.”

“You seem indiscriminate enough in other respects.” Disinterestedly. “What, isn’t a Berber exotic enough for you?”

Sabina slid off the couch, handed her goblet to a slave, and walked out.

“He didn’t!” Calpurnia’s eyes widened. “Oh, the pig. Didn’t I tell you not to marry him, Vibia Sabina?”

“You did.” Sabina coiled her hair up off her neck, jabbing pins with more force than usual.

“I never liked him.” Faustina couldn’t help sounding satisfied. “Did you slap his face? When he said that, I mean. I certainly would have slapped his face.”

“No,” Sabina said briefly. “But it was a close thing.”

She slipped the gown off her shoulders and walked ahead into the billowing steam of the caldarium. Her stepmother followed suit, and her little sister trailed behind more modestly wrapped in a towel.

“Well?” Faustina pressed. “Tell us more!”