The three women have dinner in Amara’s private room. It does not take much to win Victoria around after the shock of the painting; she is too happy at being free. Britannica, on the other hand, seems to grow warier the more Victoria relaxes. Amara can sense the Briton’s increasing withdrawal. She leaves soon after eating and heads to her small cell where Amara knows Martha has laid out a straw pallet and a new tunic.

Victoria dismisses Amara’s unease. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” She sighs, leaning back on the couch beside her. “She’s lucky to be here! Why on earth did you buy her anyway?”

“Felix wasn’t going to give me Beronice. I thought I might be able to persuade him to part with Britannica instead.”

“But what will you do with her,” Victoria persists. “I can’t imagine she’s very musical. Unless it’s to bellow out a soldier’s marching song.”

“I trust her,” Amara says. “She’s here for my protection. And yours. I used to watch her in the brothel; she knows how to fight. I’d like to learn how to protect myself.”

“You’ve got men for all that though,” Victoria grumbles. “It would almost be kinder to sell her on. And you’d make back some of the money.”

Amara sits up abruptly, jolting Victoria from where she was leaning against her shoulder. “Don’t ever say that again!” She is prepared for a row—she and Victoria clashed often enough in the brothel—but instead, Victoria just rolls her eyes.

“Fine,” Victoria replies. “You’re the boss now.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Amara says, not liking the feeling of outranking her friend. “I’m asking you not to say it, because it upsets me. Not ordering you.”

“Sorry,” Victoria says, reaching out to embrace her. “I didn’t mean to be a bitch.” They hold one another, and when they pull apart, Amara can see tears on Victoria’s face. “I’m so happy and grateful,” she says. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for what you’ve done. I can never repay the debt.”

“It’s already paid,” Amara says. “A thousand times over.” They look at one another. It is the unspoken secret they will always share—the man Victoria killed to save Amara’s life. Neither of them know the man’s name, only that he was sent by Felix’s rival Simo to avenge the attack Felix had ordered on Drauca, Simo’s most valuable whore.

“Let’s never speak of it,” Victoria whispers, and Amara squeezes her hand. Victoria sighs, still close to tears. “I cannot believe I’m free. It’s all so overwhelming.”

“I understand. I’ve felt like that too, sometimes. In fact, every day since I left the brothel.”

“You feel afraid of being free?”

“A lot of the time, yes.”