Amara has no desire to hear the old man’s seedy predictions but knows it is bad luck to decline. “Very well.”

The old man throws his dice again, leaving a long theatrical pause afterward as he stares at the battered cubes lying in the dust. “You will profit from pain,” he intones.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The fortune-teller looks up at her, his eyes sly. “Costs extra to interpret.”

“No, thanks,” Amara draws back. An eager slave immediately jostles in to take her place, no doubt also longing to hear predictions of freedom.

“It was only a penny!” Victoria says, as Amara hustles her away.

“After the prediction you had? Why would I pay for that!”

“You have no sense of fun sometimes. And I’m earning you loads. We’re working almost every week! Surely, you will have paid Felix off soon?”

“No,” Amara replies, not pleased to be reminded she has to visit their old master in the afternoon. Philos has been fretting over it for days, bringing them dangerously close to another row. “We’re not even close to clearing the debt.”

Amara watches him pore over the wax tablet on the desk. The movement of his body is so familiar, all that tension, the pent-up energy straining for release, never far from explosion. His face in profile reminds her of the trickster god, Hermes, the one whose statue she used to stare at in the forum of her hometown. He is at his most attractive like this, absorbed in something other than her, when she might forget what sort of man he is. Felix looks up. “Aren’t you interested?”

Amara shrugs. The nicer he is, the warier she feels.

“I’m not going to trespass on your virtue,” he sneers. “You needn’t worry.”

She has no intention of getting any closer, so she kneels on the chair and leans over the desk to see.

“Fine,” he snaps, getting up and walking around, slamming the tablet down in front of her. “Those are the takings from the bar. Look. That’s the rental on the other place. What do you think?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You’re good with figures. I’m interested to hear if your calculations match mine.”

Amara frowns at him but takes the tablet, unable to resist the temptation of having a closer look. She pores over the numbers: the expenditure, the takings, the possible risks. “I’d say it’s worth it, but you’ll be close to the margin. Probably better to wait another month to see if Beronice and Gallus keep up this level of profit.”

Felix grunts, taking the tablet back. “The other place could be gone by then.”

“There will be another.” She shrugs. “Not worth the risk.”

“More cautious advice than I was expecting.”

“It’s your money. Just telling you what I’d do if it were mine.”