“I will ask her. But I don’t know what she’ll say when she realizes I’ve already bought a singer. Especially an old friend of mine. That’s not what we discussed.” Amara turns toward Philos. He is much shorter than Rufus, and their eyes are almost level. “You’re right, this wasn’t a clever thing to do, but I’ve done it, and now I have to make it work. I know you say I can’t rely on Rufus, but it’s Felix who worries me more. I have to pay him back. I have to.” For a moment, she thinks Philos is going to put his arm round her, but instead, he shifts further away.

“You’ve outsmarted him before, and you will again,” he says. “And of course, I will help you if I can.” Amara does not reply. Instead, they sit together in silence. The space between them feels like a third, physical presence; she is acutely aware of how easy it would be to bridge it. She remembers the way Philos brushed her arm with his fingertips outside the Sparrow. A gesture so slight, it was almost imperceptible. She clasps her hands together, confused by the sudden, overwhelming impulse she feels to reach out and touch him. Philos gets to his feet. “Please forgive me if I said too much this evening. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me,” Amara lies. “Goodnight.”

His tread is so light she loses all sense of him almost as soon as he has walked away from the bench. She waits a moment longer in the garden. Her mind spins with images of Victoria laughing, Felix waiting in his study, Rufus turning his face away from her, cold, like the night Dido died. And the words Philos let slip, perhaps without realizing the implication. Leaving you in that place was agony.

8

“In the estate of Julia Felix, daughter of Spurius

To Let

Elegant Venus Baths for respectable people, shops with upper rooms, and apartments”

—Notice in Pompeii, on the praedia of Julia Felix

The harp arrives early the next morning. It is delivered along with a message for Amara inside Rufus’s familiar wax booklet, its wooden case engraved with the figure of a swan. Amara reads the note at the door, before inscribing her reply and handing it back to his waiting slave. It is Vitalio, who she knows never liked her much.

“He sends you gifts!” Victoria exclaims, hurrying after Amara as she carries the gilded instrument to her rooms. “Gifts for nothing! Just because he loves you?”

Amara is a little flustered. “It’s not for nothing. He’s inviting Helvius for dinner tomorrow night. He wants me to perform for them both.”