The flautists exchange glances. They have never met Felix, but Amara has already warned them about the potential violence from her former pimp, describing him in case they are ever followed. “I discovered what happened to Dido,” Amara says slowly, wanting to prepare Victoria for the shock. “He dumped her body outside the town walls. She was never cremated. When Felix told me—”

“You didn’t threaten him,” Victoria says. “Please tell me you didn’t threaten him.”

Amara thinks of the total destruction she wreaked on Felix’s study. The broken jars, the smashed chair. The embers of her rage flare back into life. “I called him a son of a whore, and I prayed for his death.”

Lais claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a nervous laugh, but Victoria is furious. “You did what?”

“He left Dido to rot,” Amara says, starting to feel angry at Victoria. “Do you understand? Her shade will never know peace. She will never join her ancestors. She is trapped now, between this world and the next. He did that to Dido.”

Victoria gestures at the wall. “Then maybe you should have left the vengeance to her shade. And not brought his rage down on the rest of us!”

Amara knows Victoria is right, but it only makes her angrier. “You always fucking excuse him, whatever he does.”

“It’s me he’s likely to take this out on,” Victoria shouts. “Or one of the girls! When Simo crossed him, it was Drauca he killed. He can’t strike at you, not without angering Rufus, so who does that leave? From now on, I want Juventus to come with us whenever we entertain. We need all the protection we can get.”

“Of course you must take Juventus,” Amara says, feeling more contrite. “And I’m sorry this has put you at risk, truly I am, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’ve always done whatever you fucking wanted, Amara. Today is no different.” Victoria storms out of the garden, leaving the flautists behind.

“Your old master,” Phoebe says nervously, in Greek. “Is he a very bad man?”

Amara thinks of all the violence she has known Felix commit—against her, against so many others—his total lack of compassion and his tenacity for holding a grudge. “The worst man you can imagine,” she says.

Victoria does not talk to Amara for the rest of the afternoon, and Britannica, when she is told, immediately offers to murder Felix: strike first. Confronted by her two friends’ extreme reactions, Amara’s unease only grows. By the time Philos finally arrives in her bedroom, she has had hours for the anger to drain away, leaving behind its dark sediment of fear.

“What have I done?” she whispers, as he sits beside her. “What have I done?”

The answering anxiety she can see in his face is not reassuring. “It will be alright,” he says. “We’ll think of something.”