“You’re frightfully brave, risking your life in the arena day after day.” She shifted on her couch, and one varnished nail brushed against his arm. “Are you ever afraid? I’d be terrified.”

He imagined her clamped between the jaws of a lion. “Yes,” he agreed.

“A whole word!” She tossed her head back and laughed. “What progress.”

He reached for the wine decanter.

“Don’t be cross with me.” She pouted, sliding over onto her back so he could admire the curve of her breasts under the blue silk. Beautiful breasts. Beautiful hair, too. Beautiful face. Eyes like a ferret. A burst of music from the flute players drowned him out before he could tell her to leave him the hell alone. The guests were slipping off their couches and wandering toward the gardens. Senators took the arms of women who were not their wives and made discreetly for the moonlit paths of the conservatorium, while gladiators openly grabbed slave girls and pulled them into the privacy of the night. The great Belleraphon disappeared behind a statue of Neptune with a distinguished matron of the Sulpicii.

A hot little hand descended on his. “Would you care for a stroll in the gardens?” said the girl with the ferret eyes. “Don’t worry about my father. He’s busy cutting deals with your lanista.” Her tongue flickered over her painted lips.

He let her drag him off the absurd couch, stopping only to seize up a flagon of wine. The soft hand with its lacquered nails tucked into his elbow, propelling him down a gravel path that curved away from the house. The smell of jasmine and roses cloyed his nose.

“So,” she smiled up at him. “Wherever did you come from? I’m mad with curiosity.”

“Nowhere, Lady.”

“Everyone’s from somewhere—”

“Isn’t that your father, Lady?” He pointed over her shoulder.

When she turned to look, he twisted his arm out of her hand and ducked into the bushes.

“Arius!”

He came up against the atrium wall and veered around the corner to the rest of the Pollio house. The lamps were unlit, the rooms dark. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his host’s daughter still standing on the garden path, craning her neck. He ducked inside the first available doorway before she spotted him.

The bathhouse. He could see the faint glimmer of the pool. The marble felt wonderfully cool against his back as he slid down by the wall and uncorked the flagon. Now here was a place a man could get drunk in peace. Who cared if his head ached the next morning? He was going to die, anyway. He took a long swallow of wine.

A soft scrape from the far corner froze him sober. He rose noiselessly, stealing along the edge of the pool.

Another soft sound. He lunged into the dark and caught hold of a wrist. “Don’t move. Or I’ll kill you.” The demon snapped on its leash. “Who are you?”

“I’m Thea,” said a polite female voice. “Do you always start conversations this way?”