“Not bad.” She pirouetted, angling her head before the polished steel mirror. “No, not bad at all.” Sapphire-blue silk molded artfully against her rounded body, the sway of her hips causing the golden bells around her ankles to chime, pearls glimmering at her ears and throat, mouth painted a luscious red. I smoothed the front of my rough brown wool tunic.

“I shan’t need you again tonight, Thea,” she declared, adjusting a gold filigree bracelet. “Can’t have a drab thing like you hanging around all those glittering people; you’ll put them off their supper. Clean up this mess first!”

“Yes, my lady.” But I left her gowns where they lay, thinking of my blue bowl and a quiet room somewhere away from the clatter of voices already rising from the triclinium. And despite Lepida’s warning, I did steal a peek around the edge of the inlaid satinwood door.

A much better crowd than usually attended Pollio’s parties: one or two senators, Emperor Domitian’s personal chamberlain, Lady Lollia Cornelia, who hosted Rome’s most famous dinner parties and was cousin to the Empress. They lounged among the flowers and cushions in their bright silks, picking at the roast elephant ears and ostrich wings and flamingo tongues on their golden plates, and never ceasing to gossip in that elegant patrician drawl that Pollio had never quite managed to acquire. The only jarring chord in that gracious company was the presence of the scarred and muscle-bound gladiators—dark wool among the silks, common accents among the refined, vultures among the peacocks. And the peacocks liked it that way. Tomorrow those powerful men would curl their lips at the sight of the gladiators; tonight they would wax expansive and clap the scarred shoulders with their ringed hands. Tomorrow those elegant ladies would draw their skirts aside from any fighter they encountered on the streets; tonight they would fawn and even flirt. Why not? By tomorrow, these men would likely be dead.

On the couch of honor where all could see them sat Arius and Belleraphon. “Ah, yes, the Barbarian,” Belleraphon had said languidly as they were introduced, and extended a manicured hand. Arius just stared at it until it was withdrawn. “How quaint,” whispered Belleraphon to a tittering patrician lady at his other side. “One presumes he does know how to speak?” Side-by-side on the dining couch, the two of them proceeded to ignore each other utterly.

No one could help but compare them. Belleraphon smiling and joking, Arius sour and uncomfortable. Belleraphon nibbling daintily from every dish, Arius fueling himself from whatever plate was put before him. Belleraphon lounging on the silk cushions as if born to it, Arius sitting as stiffly upright as a statue. Belleraphon the civilized and Arius the barbaric.

I drew a fold of my cloak up around my face and slipped quietly away.

ARIUS was tired of the overheated chamber, tired of the too-soft cushions, tired of the constant babble, but most of all he was tired of the girl at his side.