There were times at the start of their affair when she resented his fatalism, his seeming acceptance that their love would be brief. Now she misses it—his pain is so much worse. She can sense it in the way he looks at her, committing every detail of her face to memory in case she is taken from him. Or the times he holds her too tightly, and she can feel his heart racing. Worst is when they part at night, when he has to return to his cell, and she knows both of them are thinking about when the last time might be, whether they will even have the chance to say goodbye.

Amara opens her eyes and sits up, on the verge of panic. The shakier her relationship with Rufus becomes, the more desperate she is to free Philos. They have both schemed over it so many times, whether she might ask Rufus if she can buy him, what the best timing would be, even how much to offer, but none of the possibilities are convincing. Before Rufus ends his patronage, there would be no rational explanation for her desire to buy Philos, any more than she might suddenly demand to buy one of the tables. It would only cause suspicion. That leaves the possibility of waiting until Rufus has announced his intention to take Philos back, when perhaps his feelings for Amara will be at their lowest ebb.

Amara clasps her hands to her waist, as if that might keep the anxiety inside. There is another possibility, one she has set in motion without telling Philos, knowing how dangerous it might prove to be. She stands up, condensation damp on her skin, light-headed from heat and fear. Fortuna only turns her wheel for those who dare to ride it.

Victoria is breathless when she arrives at the courtyard for the baths, just as Amara is leaving.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she says, face flushed and hair damp with sweat from the sweltering August heat. “Rufus called.”

Amara takes Victoria’s arm, hurrying her back down the steps onto the street, not wanting her friend’s loud voice carrying to anyone else at Julia’s establishment. “Never mind,” Amara says. “Sorry he sprang that on you.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Victoria says, generously. “He didn’t demand a full fuck or anything. Though he seems to be feeling less guilty afterward. And I think you might need to put in a bit more effort. He says you’re much more inhibited than I am.”

“What a shit,” Amara says, stung. “If I go too wild, he broods about the brothel. Now he’s moaning I’m not wild enough. He’s impossible!”