“You can’t know that.” Flavia’s voice was a whisper. “How can you know that?”

“I see things sometimes. And you have even more than that to live for, Flavia Domitilla.”

Paulinus turned. Julia had stretched out a hand, placing it on Flavia’s abdomen.

“What?”

“We’d better keep walking. I don’t want to get Paulinus in trouble.” Julia tugged her sister forward. “A daughter. You can’t feel her yet, but she’s there. She’ll be born in the summer, on Pandateria, and I rather think you will name her after me.”

Tears pricked Paulinus’s eyes. He stared blindly ahead. “But—but how do you—”

“Oh, I know. Let’s leave it at that. I know, but I’m the only one. Domitian won’t find out at all; once he’s landed you on your quiet little island he’ll forget all about you. But the Empress won’t. She’ll see you’re fed, and I imagine she’ll even smuggle you a midwife when your time comes. Maybe she’ll even find a way to get you and the children off that island someday. She used to be brave—maybe she will be again.”

“Julia—Julia, I—”

“It’s time,” said the guard at Paulinus’s side.

“No!” Flavia’s voice rose. “No, I can’t—”

“Quiet, now,” Julia said peaceably. “Safe journey, Flavia Domitilla. And if you don’t mind—do name your daughter after me.”

A breath, and Flavia was gone.

NO Vestal could be killed within Rome’s walls. A small chamber had been built near the Colline Gate, in the campus sceleratus . A place more often known as the Evil Fields. The Emperor had ordered a dais and stands erected, as if for a festival, but the crowd that gathered there was curiously hushed as they watched the Vestal Virgin pause before her burial chamber, gathering her snowy robes. Paulinus saw his father standing with Calpurnia, their hands unexpectedly linked tight. On the royal dais the Empress looked stiffer and more marble-carved than ever, the Emperor ruddy-faced and hard-eyed, Vix in his scarlet tunic frankly sick.

The Vestal put a bare foot over the lip of her grave and started down the rough steps.

“Halt!”

The tension snapped as Paulinus lunged off his horse. In half a second he was at her side, seizing her arm.

“Justina—Julia—”

“Justina. I like it better. It’s what my father always called me. Because he said I looked as grave as a judge.”

“You did—I remember.” He could hardly see her for the tears in his eyes—she was just a white blur. “Justina, I can’t let you—”

“So you’ll make off with me over one shoulder? Slay the Emperor?”

“Justina—”

“Shhhh.”

She put her hand over his mouth. He closed his eyes and leaned his mouth into her palm. For a moment it stayed there. Then it glided away under his hand like a ghost.

With his eyes still closed, he heard her bare feet against the makeshift steps. Imagined the Scythian-gold flash of her hair as she passed into the tomb. Saw in his mind’s eye the door sealing her up. Heard the dreadful shoveling of earth, the clods of ground quickly clotting the entrance to the tomb.