“Vix,” I said. “What about him?”

“Your horrid son? Do you know, that child has destroyed an entire wing of the new palace? Gladiated it to smithereens! And there’s been more than one coin purse missing ever since he—well, never mind. He ran off after being splinted.”

“What? Where? You let him go?”

“Of course I didn’t let him go. I would have known better than to turn my back on that beastly child for an instant. The physician did not. Oh, don’t worry. The horrid boy—oh, he makes me so glad I never had children—will be back in no time. Probably going to fetch that little three-legged dog of yours. Arius was asking for it rather forcibly.”

“Do you know everything, Domina?”

“Nearly,” she said tranquilly. “I have the best spy network in the Empire.”

She pulled out a wax tablet and began to write. I let out a shaky sigh and sank down onto the stool by the desk. My head hurt. I was still splashed in Domitian’s blood. My son had disappeared; my lover was off getting patched up for the thousandth time. The last time? Surely that was too much to hope for.

“What are you writing?” I asked Domitian’s widow.

“A nice new list.” She vigorously underscored the heading with her stylus. “ ‘Things to Do.’ Prepare a formal announcement for the public, summon the Senate to approve the new Emperor, arrange a quick coronation, do something about Flavia—”

“Lady Flavia? She’s all right, then?”

“Oh, yes. I made sure of that. She’s got her boy with her, the one your son and Paulinus saved, and was safely delivered of a little girl a few months ago. They’re doing nicely, Flavia and the children, but it’s high time someone got them off that dreary rock.”

“You can’t bring her back to Rome, surely.”

“No. Better, I think, that the Flavian dynasty be pronounced extinct. But a country estate in Spain or Syria for a respectable widow and her two children—that should do very well. Yes, Spain would be nice. Perhaps I’ll send her Nessus, too. He’s looking rather lost, these days.” A knock sounded at the door. “Enter.”

A silent slave handed over a folded scrap of paper. “From Senator Marcus Norbanus, Domina.”

Her eyes flicked across the single word on the scrap. “I thought so.” She laid the parchment aside, picked up two sealed letters, and handed them to the slave. “Please deliver these to the appropriate addresses.”

“Senator Norbanus won’t take the purple?” I guessed as soon as the door clicked shut.

“What makes you think—”

“I’m not stupid, Domina.”

“Well . . .” A shrug. “Marcus won’t be Emperor. He’ll probably try to retire from the Senate, too, but I won’t have any of that. He’s got years of service left in him, and anyway that rather sweet little Calpurnia Sulpicia should revive him.”

I propped my chin on my hand. “He’d have made quite a Caesar.”

The Empress raised an eyebrow as if surprised to hear a slave’s opinion on such a subject. But I wasn’t really much of a slave anymore, and the eyebrow went down again. “Well, we’ll make do with Senator Nerva. Marcus and I settled on him originally—good lineage, distinguished career, utterly boring. I’d have preferred Marcus, but Nerva will do.”