Fear of punishment has haunted Amara ever since her scare over Philos being called for questioning a few weeks ago. When she is with her lover, she refuses to dwell on the horror, telling herself they will never be caught. But now, like a child who has climbed up into the highest branches of a forbidden tree, she cannot help but look down. The drop is terrifying. What would Rufus do to Philos for such an act of betrayal? Not shame himself by having a slave slaughtered publicly for adultery, surely, but there are many other accusations a master might make. Rufus could easily invent a less embarrassing crime. Philos would have no defense—he is already branded, an indelible mark against his character seared into his skin.

A bear is released into the arena, and the prisoners scatter. Spectators start to scream with excitement, eager to see the first kill. Amara stands up. “I don’t want to watch,” she says, turning her back on the scene. “I don’t want to see it.”

Her three friends look up in surprise. Amara tries to force her way along the row to the exit, but panic has made her light-headed. Beronice stands, catching hold of her arm.

“Here,” she says. “I’ll go with you. I don’t mind missing a beast hunt. The duels are much better.”

The pair of them shuffle along to exclamations of irritation whenever they block the view, eventually reaching the stairs. Amara feels better almost as soon as she’s in the open air, out of the heat of the arena. She continues to clutch Beronice’s arm, growing steadier as they make their way down the long flight of steps. “Thank you,” she says, when they reach the bottom.

“That’s alright, I’d rather chat anyway. I’ve so much more to tell you! Let’s go sit over there.” Beronice points at a shady spot under the plane trees, not far from where Amara once sat with Menander. They weave their way through the market stalls of food and souvenirs. It is almost more crowded out here than it was in the arena. A lamp seller tries to press his wares on them, bumping the tray into Beronice, but they swat him away, intent on reaching their space before anyone else grabs it. When they get to the shade, Amara flops down on the grass. The feel of it under her hands as she leans back, her fingers digging into the soil, is reassuringly solid.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says to Beronice, looking at her with affection. “I want to know everything.”