Go away, Arius. Go away and leave me alone.

THREE months had passed. Cool autumn breezes touched even the summer warmth of Tivoli. September around the corner. Fall was here. Fall was here.

“Time for Rome again,” Domitian remarked over dinner. “Pity. It’s been a delightful summer.”

“Delightful,” I murmured into my wine goblet.

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Athena.” He was in a good mood, however; my punishment was mild. “Well, sarcasm or not, you’ve served me well. A delightful summer companion. How shall I reward you?”

“You’ve rewarded me enough, Caesar.”

“With my divine presence?”

“And with all the presents you’ve let me buy for myself on your credit.”

“Yes, you did get rather greedy among the jewelry shops. The Jew coming out in you, no doubt.”

“No doubt.” Send me home, oh please send me home.

Domitian pushed back his dinner plate, rising with a rustle of exotic silk and going to the naked edge of the terrace. He looked healthy and fit, color glowing in his cheeks, the hint of that charming smile rarely leaving his mouth. He regarded the river for a moment, then swung around. “Come here.”

I came.

He placed an absent hand on the nape of my neck, and I felt my toes curling over the marble edge. I wavered, and he smiled.

“Shall I pull you back?” he said.

I knew beyond a shadow of doubt that if I said yes, I’d go over the edge.

“No.” I looked him right in the eye. “I’m not afraid of heights, Caesar.”

For a moment I thought I was going over anyway. But as he’d done on our first night here, he swung me away from the brink and let me fall to the marble floor.

Then he stepped forward and lowered his sandal over my splayed hand—not hard, just firmly enough to hurt. My littlest finger, the one with Larcius’s slave ring, rested directly beneath his heel.

His last gift, I thought frozenly. All the lyre strings in the world, and no fifth finger to reach them. He’ll take my music—

His foot tapped on my finger a moment. Then he knelt with the swift grace that sat so oddly on his thick body, and when he picked up my hand I saw he had a dagger.

I struggled, of course. But he prisoned my hand in his hard fingers, and the blade flashed—and it took me a moment to realize that for once there was no blood and no pain.

The plain welded ring with Larcius’s name clattered onto the marble in two pieces.

I stared at it.

“Cheap thing,” said Domitian, sheathing the dagger. “Unworthy of a brave woman.”

My finger had a white band instead of a welded copper one. “You’re freeing me?”

“I thought you might care to wear this instead.” He flipped open a small filigree coffer by the dining couch, and turned with his hands outstretched, gesturing for me to turn. I caught sight of a silver band before he looped it close around my throat. Looking down I could just see a shiny black stone—jet, maybe—nestling in the base of my throat. “It’s—it’s beautiful.” He allowed me to buy whatever I wished, but since the lyre strings, he’d never chosen anything for me himself.