“Stop, Thea.”

The ragged cry ripped out of my throat. “I’m going to lose you, and you tell me to STOP?”

“No.” He gripped me hard, pulling my head against his shoulder. “I’ll live. I’ll get a rudius.”

“It’s been years since an Emperor’s given the rudius—”

“He’ll give one to me. I’ll give him a fight to knock his eyes out. Then we’ll leave, get out of here—”

“I’m a slave. I can’t go with you.”

“I’ll buy you.” His voice was a low rush in my ear. “My prizes—enough to buy you three times over. Then when I get out of the arena—”

“You’ll never get out. You’ll die first—”

“I won’t.” He tangled his hands in my hair. “Thea, I promise. I’ll live, and we’ll get out of Rome. Find ourselves a mountain in Brigantia—”

How long did he talk, telling me about the house we would build, the children we would raise, the cool sweet air we would breathe for the next fifty years? I don’t know. But he had never talked so long before, and underneath the harsh grate of his voice I heard for the first time the indefinable rhythms of his native language. And I wanted it: the green mountain, the half-dozen strong and russet-haired children, the sweet Brigantian air no Roman had ever breathed. And I wanted Arius. Arius old, with gray hair and no fresh scars.

“Hold me,” I said, and his arms locked around my waist, soldering our bodies together until it was dawn.

DON’T dawdle, Thea. We have a thousand errands to run.” Lepida tapped the side of the litter, addressing the bearers sharply. “The Forum Romanum.”

Her bearers, six matched blond Gauls, heaved the litter up onto their shoulders and set off into the morning crowd. I fell into step behind, humming under my breath. The winter air was sharp and cold, and the shouts of the vendors carried easily from street to street. Now that Lepida was safely in front of me, I let out the smile I’d been smothering all morning.

He’s going to buy me. I’ll be free. The freshest of the knife scars on my wrists had faded to clean pink lines, and I was happy. I didn’t even realize I was singing until Lepida poked her head out of her litter and snapped at me.

“Stop that warbling, Thea.” Tapping the side of the litter, so the bearers lowered her to the ground. She pushed back her emerald green palla, blue eyes scanning the crowd. “Wherever can he be?”

“Are you meeting someone, my lady?” A handsome young aedile or dashing tribune, perhaps? Yes, she would meet a man in the middle of the forum in broad daylight, with her marriage to Marcus Norbanus only a few weeks away.

She sent me to buy a little bag of candied fruit from a vendor before the Temple of Jupiter, and I wondered happily if Arius was arguing now with Gallus, persuading him to buy me. Gallus would moan and complain of course, but he wanted to keep his star fighter happy . . .