I sang songs for Larcius. Saw him large and pink and approving; Penelope, too. She said to get more sleep. Larcius said I sounded hoarse. Too much choking, I told him seriously, and he understood. Then he disappeared, and I woke up and realized I’d been dreaming.

A month gone already. Only a few more months of summer left, then Domitian would be returning to Rome and I would go back to Brundisium, back to my boy, back to Larcius and his gentle voice. A few months. Going very slowly.

“Nessus tells me you’ve met my niece, Flavia Domitilla.”

“Yes, I have.”

“A featherbrained girl, just like her mother. A Christian, of all things. Do you know what they are? A ratlike people who scuttle in catacombs and paint fishes on walls. I’ve contemplated removing Flavia’s sons from her care, but they seem to be good Romans thus far.”

“Are they to be your heirs, then?”

“Correct. Since my wife has failed to provide alternatives. Are you looking to provide one yourself? I hear you’ve had at least one child—”

“Farmed out,” I lied quickly. “I don’t like children. I’ve never even seen it.” Oh, God, let him believe me. The thought of Vix in this monster’s hands—

“Open your eyes,” breathed Domitian, “and tell me you’re afraid of me.”

“No.”

“I can smell it on you.”

“No.”

Long nights. Moon burning like hot silver. Never alone. Long, long nights, full of strange things. The sharp pen he used to spear flies out of the air; used for other things. Soft bracelets on chains, fastening my wrists to the sleeping couch. Questions. “It hurts? No? If I shift the edge deeper—” Blank-eyed and busy-handed, a scientist among his experiments.

Childish, to think the brothel was bad. Too unimaginative to be bad. Tiring, but not bad. Bad is a cheerful voice at midnight, saying, “Afraid now? Hours left to work on that!”

Jars and jars of Ganymede’s ointment.

“It’s not bad yet, Thea.” Julia scolded me gently in my dreams, robed all in white like a Vestal Virgin. “Wait eight years for bad.” Julia, I wronged you. Believed you were mad. Might be mad, myself. Did he like to watch you when you slept?

A second month gone by. So slowly.

“You’re looking pale, Athena,” Flavia Domatilla greeted me. “Not enough sun. I don’t care what these die-away beauties say, sun is for soaking up, not fleeing from like a horde of barbarians. How is the Emperor?”

“Very well, Lady Flavia.” She never asked further than that, and I never elaborated. “How are the boys?”

She brightened. “Running wild, brown as Arabs, and declaring they’ll never go back to the city as long as they live.”

“And your lord husband?” I’d met Flavius Clemens, a pale gentleman who was certainly aware of my profession, but who accorded me the same exquisite courtesy he extended toward every woman, from his wife down to the lowest body slave.

“He’s much better for all this fresh air. I declare, I’m never going back to the city, either. I’m having such fun, ripping up this villa and putting it back together. I just had the mosaics done last week.”