He made no reply, just beckoned over my head. When I looked up there was a blacksmith in the door, soot-stained and out of place on the elegant terrace.

“Weld it closed,” said Domitian. “It doesn’t matter if you burn her.”

“What?” I twisted my head to look at him. “Weld—”

“A more elegant version of that tawdry ring,” he explained genially. “I added the stone out of whimsy. A black stone. Consider it my eye upon you. I like to mark my belongings.”

I felt the blacksmith’s rough hands at my neck, hooking the silver band. “But—but you said—”

“I arrested Praetor Larcius on grounds of treason,” Domitian said carelessly. “He was permitted to commit suicide, after the trial. The possessions of traitors are forfeit to the Imperium, of course. You now belong to me.”

“Larcius.” I forced the words through stiff lips. “No. Oh, no—”

“Yes. I didn’t think I’d find you so interesting, not after three months. But there’s something in you I seem to like, and on a long-term basis I prefer to own rather than rent. You’ll return to Rome with me in a week.”

The silver was hot on my neck, softening, welding together. I barely felt the burn. Inside I was cold as frost. Larcius. Larcius dead.

Oh, God—Vix—

“You know I’ve built a new palace? Nearly completed. I’ll use it for public functions . . . and for the Empress’s quarters. You’ll move into her old rooms next to mine in the Domus Augustana—that’s my private palace. You know, I had a statue of Minerva carved with your face for my private temple? Perhaps you really are a goddess. It would be foolish to let my very own goddess slip away from me, wouldn’t it? And I’ve never been a fool.”

Vix. Where was Vix now? Where was my son?

Domitian traced my neck, his eyes turning blank and absent. “I like to play games, you know. With my chamberlains, my senators, my guards. It’s easy to make them afraid of me. Even my wife’s afraid under that marble face of hers. But you aren’t. You and one other—you know who? He’s not even a human being. Just a slave, another animal like you. A gladiator; the one they call the Barbarian. Can’t be a god, no matter what they say. Just a barbarian. But he doesn’t fear me, either, you know. And he survives—survives everything. Stands on the edge and looks—looks up at me—and looks—but we’ll take care of him. We’ll see him when we get back, in the first games of the season—and that will be that. There is only one lord and god in Rome—and a goddess; I can put up with that, Athena.”

There was more pain, more pain that I hardly noticed, because the blacksmith had stepped away and the silver had cooled. Cooled to a solid band around my neck that would never, ever come off.

Twenty

THEA

SO it’s to be a family parade,” Flavia groaned. “Which means triumphs and rose petals and trumpets and those ghastly games. I’ve been Imperially summoned back to the city,” she explained as I looked blank. “Me and my husband and the boys. My uncle must feel the masses need a little pomp and spectacle. Maybe they grumbled too loudly about his last levy.”