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“Take a breath and compose your thoughts. I realize this is difficult timing, but I have some better news as well. Lord Clemens Fabius seems quite taken with you. Did you realize that?”

Drops of rain cascaded along the panes of glass: a vertical river of water. Thoughts seemed to float by. Guests were interested in us, the tirae. Men, sometimes angry ones, paid to be the first to spend the night alone with us. This would happen to me. “I do know that. Yes. He seems interested. He—he made that clear last night.”

She touched the wax dripping from the candle stub—and then, to my amazement, passed the tip of her finger right through the flame. “Sometimes a guest gets impatient. No matter. You will learn how to manage that in time. In fact, it can be helpful if it increases the price he is willing to pay. But Fabius seems to think he has competition. Have you given him that impression?”

I stared at the shape of her fingertip in the wax. “I suppose so. Perhaps I gave him that impression; I made him think I was interested in the Archidux.”

She looked astounded. “By the Goddess, why would you do that? What were you thinking? That’s a dangerous game to play. His Grace is certainly not planning to bid.”

I wondered if the rain was running through the streets of Corlivo, past the homes, the stalls in the market square, the colorful tent covering the oval of hay and sawdust where the circus was performed.

“Anna?” the matron prompted.

I had done it to help Valentina, but it had done no good at all. What did it matter now?

The matron sighed. “Perhaps you thought you were being clever, that you might inflate the price of your own bid. That is a very foolish thing to do. Foolish and dangerous. It’s fortunate he wasn’t put off by it.”

The powder from the red flower was dangerous. It was for dying soldiers. Droplets of water made inscrutable paths on the window.

She stood up. “When you see Lord Clemens Fabius tonight, you can let him know that you are delighted to accept.”

Her tone indicated that the conversation was over. I remained seated. “But I would not be delighted to accept. I do not like him.”

She paused with a hand on her chair. “I appreciate the difficulty of this day for you, Anna. But you must set it aside. This bidding is important for your future. You need to make the most of it.”

An invisible vortex swirled around me. It was pulling me down, and it was hard to breathe. I navigated my way to my feet.

She looked at me with an expression that was almost tender. “You must understand. This is the best chance I can give you. I regret the timing. I really do.”

I found the door, the empty stone hallway, the stairs. The wind howled.

BY THE EVENING, the sky had cleared. On the grand terrace, a kithara player accompanied a singer in a yellow robe. A few stars were scattered among fragments of clouds. The flagstones shone with puddles, so we picked our way carefully across them, holding up our silken hems.

The blanket of fog around my mind had thinned since my conversation with the matron, and a sharp ache pierced through. Kyra, dearer to me than anyone in the world, had died all by herself in the infirmary. I was left alone with my grief, too ashamed to even look at myself in the mirror.

The familiar faces of the bidders watched us hungrily as we crossed the terrace. Clemens Fabius stood near the wall holding a flute of dark fruit wine. He wore a green sash over a cream-colored linen toga. At the sight of him, my chest seemed to constrict. How would I bear doing what was expected of me? As everyone else moved forward, I turned and slipped back inside. I stood in the hallway with my heart pounding. It was a relief to be alone in the quiet passage.

I paced the length of the corridor, passing a wooden stand with a display of lilies, a discreet door leading down to the vast kitchens, and a small archway opening to a promenade where a table was set for an intimate private dinner. Drawn by the sound of laughter, I peered out to see who was seated there.

A small party was assembled. Half a dozen empty wine bottles were overturned, staining the tablecloth with their last few drops. A man with stubble on his cheeks and chin reclined in a chair, his toga unfastened at the shoulder. Valentina, her makeup smudged and her coiled red hair slightly unwound, was pantomiming something that made the man laugh. She stumbled and then regained her footing. The man laughed even louder. A second courtesan, whom I did not know, sat at the table as well, her pristine eye makeup glistening at her temples. She played with an ornate paper fan, covering her own face and then reaching out to brush the face of a man who sat with his back to me. I recognized his broad shoulders, the cuff on his upper arm, his black hair shaved underneath. He batted the fan away, and the woman sat back with a pout.

My chest constricted again. I imagined a month of such dinners, a year, three years, ten. The weight of those imagined years seemed to crush the air out of my lungs.

Suddenly, Valentina looked up. Our eyes met. She steadied herself with a hand on the table and then lurched toward me. “You!” she shouted. “You were supposed to discourage him! I told you, I need him.”

The man with the day’s growth of whiskers on his face looked startled at her outburst. The other courtesan flipped her fan and smiled with narrowed eyes.

Valentina took another halting step forward. “You promised me,” she hissed.

My eyes filled with tears. The ache inside me was unbearable. I sagged against the doorframe.

Sebastianus turned around. His penetrating blue eye fixed on me. He put one hand on his walking stick and began to stand up.

I didn’t want him to witness my misery. I withdrew quickly into the hallway. Not knowing what else to do, I walked slowly back toward the grand terrace, glancing over my shoulder to see if anyone was following me. Mercifully, the corridor remained empty. I steadied my breathing and wiped my eyes. What was the use in putting it off?

The instant I reemerged into the cool evening air, Clemens Fabius made his way over to me. “How nice to see you again, my dear girl. For a few minutes I was afraid you wouldn’t be joining us.”

Not trusting myself to speak, I bobbed a curtsy.