“How about something a little more playful?” Salvius asks. They nod. He pauses, breathing in deeply, flute poised. Then he begins. This time he bobs and sways, closing his eyes at the higher notes. It is not beautiful like the first tune, but Amara can immediately see the potential. It is a tease of a song, perfect for her and Dido to play to one another. She takes up the lyre, daring to join Salvius as she anticipates the repeated melody. “I thought you might like that,” he says, when they reach the end.

He begins again, not breaking it up this time, instead, letting them pick up the tune as he plays, as if they were back at the Sparrow. Amara throws herself into the music, even forgetting for a few moments that they are together for work rather than pleasure. She is expecting to perform it a third time, but Salvius stops a few notes in, almost as if he has forgotten what comes next. Dido’s voice trails off into the silence.

“That should be enough for now.” He turns his back to them, returning the flute to its box. Then he stands, resting his hands on the desk. “We can leave it there.” His tone is not unfriendly, but something has shifted. Amara wonders if they offended him in some way, or if he has simply remembered his work.

He faces them again, making an effort to smile. “I hope that gives you something to work on.”

Amara and Dido talk over each other in their effort to mollify him.

“It does! It was so helpful . . .”

“We’re very grateful, I hope we didn’t . . .”

Salvius waves away their thanks, ushering them both to the stairs. “I will send your master a message, to explain the arrangement.” They wait, expecting him to go down first, but he holds out his arm as a gesture for them to leave. “I have some business up here. Be careful how you go.”

At the brothel, Amara lets Dido do most of the talking. She watches Felix, his smile, the way he listens, his nods of encouragement. She sees Dido relax, lulled into thinking he is in a good mood, but all she can think about is Drauca. Destroying your enemies is all that matters. She stares at the bulls’ skulls on the wall, the shadows of their empty sockets. It is not until Felix turns to her that she realizes Dido has just offered to perform for him, and they are both waiting for her to pick up the lyre. She finds she cannot move.

“No need to be shy,” Felix says.

“We haven’t chosen the words yet,” she stammers. “Maybe we could practice a little first?”

“Music means nothing to me,” Felix shrugs. “I just want to know you’re working. Play next door if you like.”