“My daughter is having one of her fits,” I said. “Go away.” As soon as the footsteps retreated, I jerked Sabina’s head back nearly between her shoulder blades. “Marcus and the Empress meet often, do they?”

“Why shouldn’t they?” She was sniveling now, tears swimming in her eyes.

“They’re not humping each other, that’s for certain. So why else would they meet?” Another little jerk. “Does anyone else meet with them?”

“Let me go!”

I hauled her upright. “Oh dear,” I sighed. “Am I hurting you?” I stroked Sabina’s cheek, and then slapped her. She cried out, and rage surged up suddenly—rage I’d felt stewing in my middle since Marcus divorced me. “Who? Who do they meet?” Sabina was on the floor, shielding herself from my slaps.

“I don’t know! I never saw them!”

“You do know! You filthy little rabbit-faced liar, how dare you lie to me!” I seized her hair, wrenching her head around and bringing it against the corner of the table. I could hardly see my daughter through the red fog. “Where—did—you—see—them?”

“Here,” said Sabina, and began to sob.

READ it, Marcus.” A folded piece of parchment passed between the litters. “One of my slaves brought it to me an hour ago.”

Marcus read swiftly. “I see.” His voice was neutral. “Will he deliver it soon?”

“Domitian is not slow to send out death warrants.”

“It lists only ‘treason’ as cause of arrest. Does he know something?”

“No, I wasn’t followed to any of our meetings. But he’s wanted me dead for a decade, and whatever his reasons he’s decided now is the time. I will probably”—calmly—“be dead very soon. Unless tonight—”

“Tonight? No. He’ll be too wary—Paulinus would have to press him, and then he’d suspect Paulinus—”

“Domitian will certainly torture me for the names of my fellow traitors,” the Empress said crisply. “As Domitian’s wife I have acquired a certain endurance against pain, but I doubt you’ll wager Paulinus’s life on that. Will you?”

LEPIDA

IT—it was weeks ago—after I went to bed, I heard voices—looked out my window—”

“Who did you see?” My hands stung, but I gave her another slap.

“The Empress. And—and a woman with dark hair—”

“What woman?”

“Just a slave woman! She had dark hair and a low voice. And there was a man with her, a legionnaire or something—he, he had lots of scars—”

Ice crawled down my spine. I took Sabina’s ear between my lacquered nails, pinching as hard as I could. “A slave woman with a low voice? Tall? Scars on her arms?”

“. . . Yes.”

“Thea,” I said aloud. Of course. She was always turning up in my path. “And a soldier, you say?” No doubt her latest protector, after she’d dried her tears over the Barbarian. Some aging thug she’d wiled into helping her get her ghastly son back. “Is that all, Sabina? If you’re holding anything back—”

“I’m not, I’m not, I swear!”

I released Sabina’s ear, and she fell forward onto the tiles, tears running down out of her eyes to mix with the blood on her mouth. I really felt quite benevolent toward her. Who would have thought such a stupid little thing could be so observant? She might not know anything more, but I could figure out the rest on my own. Put a cast-off wife, a jealous old senator, and a discarded mistress into the same picture . . . well, what did they all have in common? Who did they all hate?