PREFECT.” One of the guards snapped a salute, catching Paulinus as he restlessly paced the atrium wondering if the sun had actually come to a halt in the sky. “Someone to see you, sir.”

“No visitors today, you know the orders.”

“She was most insistent, Prefect. She claims to be your sister.”

“My sister?” For gods’ sake. “Tell her I’ll visit her tomorrow.”

“She says it’s vital, Prefect.”

Paulinus hesitated. When had Sabina ever imposed on him here? And how had she gotten here . . . or was their father with her? “Where is she?”

“The Tiber Gate.”

She wasn’t alone by the time he reached her. “It’s important,” he heard the small figure in blue say in exasperation to someone behind the gateway pillar. “I have to get a message to Prefect Norbanus, and if they won’t let me in to see him—”

“C’mon, it can’t be that serious. Why don’t you give me a kiss instead?” Paulinus quickened his pace to the gate, seeing a rough brown tunic and a familiar blunt head bent far too close to his little sister. “I’m the Young Barbarian, maybe you’ve heard of me. Seen me in the arena, even? I’ve killed two men, I’m the next great gladiator—”

Paulinus clubbed the back of Vix’s head. “That’s my sister you’re pressing up against the wall, boy.” He usually felt more sorry for Thea’s son than anything, but Vix looked so much like his thug of a father as he loomed over Sabina that all sympathy vanished. Paulinus aimed another swat, and Vix ducked with easy speed. The Colosseum had certainly honed the brat’s reflexes. “Go away,” Paulinus ordered. “Find something to kill.”

“Who’s gonna make me?”

“About two cohorts of Praetorian guards if I give the order, so—”

“Boys.” Sabina’s voice cut across them both. She stood glaring at them with the Tiber sparkling behind her, small and pretty with her blue veil pulled up over her head—and bruised, Paulinus saw for the first time. Disheveled, too, as though she had run gasping all the way from his father’s house.

Dread prickled him.

Sabina grabbed Paulinus’s fingers in one hand and Vix’s rough paw in the other, tugging them both back into the shadow of the gate beyond the earshot of the guards. “He can stay,” she said as Paulinus glanced at Vix. “It’s his business, too.”

“It is?” Vix blinked.

“Hush.” She lowered her voice and began to speak rapidly.

MARCUS was late back to the house—a cart had overturned on Quirinal Hill, blocking the flow of litters and wagons for three blocks. He’d finally abandoned his litter and walked, worry snapping at him sharper than the ache of the limp he’d acquired in the Year of Four Emperors. Putting the plan forward, it was mad—

“Quintus?” Marcus called for his steward as he limped painfully into his blue-tiled atrium. A muffled voice called back. Not his steward’s.

“Up here!”