“Still want to abandon me?” I murmured much later. He couldn’t say no now. I’d sleep with him every night if I had to; I’d tell him his ugly crooked body looked just like Apollo’s, but he was taking me back to Rome.

“It’s hard to leave you.” He smoothed my throat. “But I’d rather be a trifle lonely than see you swept away on a whirlwind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Even after five years of marriage I couldn’t break him of speaking in those stupid riddles.

“Nothing.” He kissed my cheek. “I leave next week.”

I sat bolt upright in bed, clutching the sheet. “What about me?”

“I’m sorry, Lepida.”

That’s all he would say. Through all my arguments, my tears, and my kisses, that’s all he would say. I’m sorry. I still couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t say no. Not Marcus, as malleable and obliging as my father.

But he did. He left me without a backward glance.

“Will he be back soon?” Sabina said wistfully.

“Who cares?” I snapped, and stamped back inside. Back to the stupid boring house in the stupid boring city, where stupid boring Paulinus waited earnestly to entertain me. “I have a headache,” I snarled at him, and then my stupid boring daughter distracted them all by bursting into tears and then collapsing in a twitching heap. I retreated upstairs as they fussed over her, and flung myself across my couch.

It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be too late. Domitian was gone, yes, back to Germania and his armies. But I’d get him—it wasn’t too late for that. And it certainly wasn’t too late to teach my husband a lesson.

Ten

WILL I see you after Lappius’s dinner party?” “I’m afraid not.” Paulinus dragged himself reluctantly out of bed. Gods, he’d be late for duty. “I’m not going.”

“Why not? He’s your cousin, isn’t he?” Athena smiled, propping her folded arms on the rumpled pillows. “Half the Praetorians are begging invitations. He sets the best table in Brundisium.”

“He’s never had much use for my father and me.” Paulinus shrugged into his tunic, reaching for his sandals. “Thinks we’re both duty-bound sticks.”

“Perhaps that’s why I like you.” Athena kissed the back of his neck.

“Are you singing?”

“Yes.” She reached for her own robe. “So why aren’t you coming? It’s one of the last real parties of the season.”

“I’m under orders from my father to keep my stepmother cheered up. She’s been very downcast since he left for Rome.”

“Your stepmother?”

Paulinus glanced at Athena, but she was absorbed in tying back her dark hair. “Lady Lepida Pollia. You’ve heard of her?”

“How could I fail to hear of one of Rome’s brightest stars?” Her marvelous alto voice was dry.

“Are you sure you—”

“I’ll see you next week. I’m to sing at Senator Geta’s party.” Her smile was bright, telling nothing, and Paulinus wondered—not for the first time—how well a man really knew any woman, even if he shared her bed. Athena had been an easy companion for the past year; a tall dark girl hired to sing for a Praetorian barracks party, who had impressed him by settling a fight between two drunken tribunes, tactfully putting off an amorous centurion, and joking in Greek all at the same time. One of Praetor Larcius’s stable of slave musicians; a good companion and an easy lover. He would have said he knew her well. But now her mouth was drawn in a hard line and he had no idea why. “What are you—”