“But now you give to the hunter twice.” Amara does not reply, and Britannica nods as if this is answer enough. “Philos knows?”

Britannica is striding through the crowd, confident Amara will keep up with her. Nothing about the way the Briton carries herself suggests she is asking a question that might be too personal. Knows what? Amara nearly says. It is the answer she would have given Victoria. But it is impossible to dissemble with Britannica. She will only spell out her meaning more clearly, and with absolutely no shame, until she gets a reply. “No,” Amara says. “Not yet.”

Phoebe and Lais are back from the port when they return, huddled in the atrium beside Juventus and Philos, all of them whispering together. With Victoria gone, everyone in the household but Amara is enslaved.

“We knew nothing, mistress,” Phoebe says in Greek, as soon as she sees Amara. “I promise you.”

“I know where she hid all the tips,” Lais adds. “I can show you, when you clear her room.”

Victoria’s room. Amara had not even thought about going through her friends’ belongings yet. “Show me now,” she says to Lais who hurries up the stairs, only too eager to pull apart Victoria’s bedroom along with what remains of her reputation.

The moment she steps inside, Amara is returned to the first day Victoria came to the house, with all its joy and excitement. Grief swells in her chest. Lais is rifling through Victoria’s clothes, piled neatly on a stool in the corner. “There!” she cries, holding up a purse. Amara takes it from Lais’s outstretched hand. “I think she used to give gifts to Crescens,” Lais says, nodding. “Or the man we thought was Crescens.” Amara tips the coins onto her palm. It is only a few pennies. She can picture Felix taking Victoria’s stolen tips, praising her, rewarding her with a show of tenderness. Perhaps that is how he is treating her now. Or perhaps he is angry she did not bring him more—an anger Victoria will seek to assuage with yet more information about Amara.

“You can share everything between you,” Amara says to Lais and Phoebe who is now standing in the doorway. “All her clothes, the money. They are all yours.”

She walks out onto the balcony. Down below, Philos and Juventus are still standing close together by the door. “Philos,” she calls, leaning over the railing. “I want to know what the master said.” He turns to look up, but she backs away, heading to her study, not waiting to watch him come up.

The moment Philos has closed the door, she drops her show of coldness and embraces him. “There are too many people in the house,” he murmurs, loosening the grip of her arms, pulling himself away. “I’ve told Rufus. He was angry, but no more than I expected.”

“What did he say?”