This time Hadrian was the one to turn and glare from his position beside Plotina. Sabina returned his gaze levelly until he looked away—not back to the stage, but to his work. If we’d come to the theatre alone, Sabina thought, then he might have watched the play. Rigid with concentration, lips moving soundlessly along with the actor declaiming Phaedra’s speech—paying attention to every gesture as he used to do; every word of the liquid sonorous Greek. But with the Emperor in attendance Hadrian was making a great show of consular diligence, rustling among a stack of scrolls and slates, dictating letters in a discreet murmur to a hovering secretary. Any glances he had to spare weren’t for the stage, but for the ornate chair behind him—to see if Trajan was observing his industry.

Sabina could have told him that Trajan had taken notice, but not of the industry.

“Gods’ bones, can’t the man ever look happy?” Trajan growled, eyeing his wife’s protégé. “I’ve gotten tired of that sour face these past weeks.”

“I’m not sure he’s ever happy,” Sabina said. “At least not lately. But he’s more sour than usual, Caesar, and that’s because you gave the legion he wanted to someone else for the Parthian invasion.”

“Well, I don’t want him at the head of any of my legions.”

“Why not? He’s a good legate.” In all fairness, Sabina couldn’t deny that. “He has a good eye for maps, he reads terrain well, he’s even-handed with the men—”

Trajan slanted a look at her. “Did he send you to plead with me?”

“Yes,” Sabina said. “But I’m not doing it. I don’t care if he gets a legion or not. I’m just curious why you’re leaving him out.”

“Because he expected to get a legion, and Plotina expected it, and the trouble with being a good-natured sort like me is that everybody starts expecting you to do what they want. It does them good to be disappointed now and then. I’ll find a post for him in Parthia, but not until I feel like it.” Trajan peered down at the stage, where a figure in a yellow-curled wig was beating its breast and wailing. “Will that woman never shut up?”

“It’s not a woman, Caesar. It’s an actor in a wig.”

“Well, what’s the point of a man who looks like a woman?”

“You don’t see the point of women at all, Caesar!”

“I do think you’re a nice little thing, Vibia Sabina.” Trajan pinched her cheek. “I’ll miss your company when I go to Parthia.”

“I wish I were going. I hear the Parthians worship snakes.”

“Why do they do that?”

“I could find out if I were going along on the campaign.”

“You can come visit once I’ve conquered it.”

On the stage, Phaedra was dead.