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“You know that Calliste is a hero to us here,” Quintus said. “It wouldn’t do for her daughter to seem—well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll help you. Hold this pin for me, it’s going in your hair.”

He undid the simple coil of braids at the back of her neck and rearranged it artfully at the crown of her head. As he went to work on the elaborate pinning and folding of a veil to cover it completely, Quintus explained a system of etiquette Safinia thought might be foreign even to the king. She was not to sit, nor rise, before the governor did; she should take pains not to look him in the eye; there would be utensils beside her food, to use instead of her hands. “Don’t look at me, either,” Quintus was saying. “The domestici here are no better than if we were enslaved. You’ll lower yourself by acknowledging us.”

Safinia bristled. “In Cures, domestici are the most honored servants in a household.”

“Cures sounds wonderful,” Quintus sighed. “Not just for that.”

It occurred to Safinia that the guards who’d escorted her and Livy were still standing outside the threshold to the guest house. Quintus hadn’t bothered to lower his voice—Safinia knew it meant the governor was cruel to his servants, if they trusted each other with their complaints.

“Cures is fine,” Safinia told Quintus. She decided to give up pretense. He could clearly see that she was plebeian. “It’s better the farther out the walls you go.”

“You would think it’s either paradise or completely virtueless, depending on who you ask. I’ll take either one over Crustumerium.”

“What’s so bad here?” Safinia began, but a call summoned them outside—another guard, this one around Quintus’s age, and staring at her like she had three heads.

Quintus grinned wickedly and whispered behind his hand, “Faustus idolized your mother.”

The guard, Faustus, went bright red. “I’m here to escort—there’s dinner—”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go get your parade brights? This is Calliste’s daughter we’re dealing with. She deserves the best!”

Safinia laughed, following the two men. Quintus teased the guard until he broke from his shyness enough to meet Safinia’s eye with a helpless, exasperated look. They like each other, Safinia realized, watching the way Quintus reached to pinch Faustus on his side. They had the easy air of two people comfortable with each other, but not so much that they found the other boring. It was a zenith Safinia had never reached with Hersilia. And until she was being ushered into the meal room and shown to an ornate Etruscan dining sofa, the sweetness between the two of them distracted her from realizing that Quintus had managed to say nothing at all to her about Sylvia.

Dinner was odious. If Quintus hadn’t prepared her for the menu, Safinia would have completely embarrassed herself—the governor had a taste for bizarre sea insects cooked right in their shells. Between these, and the sea urchins that had to be hammered open like a rock split along its seam, she nearly cried out with relief when the final course turned out to be citrons rolled in honey and nuts.

The governor chuckled. “I’m glad you’ll be enjoying these. They’re beastly difficult to trade for.”

All through dinner he’d oscillated strangely between jovial, the picture of a magnanimous ruler, and tense, directing hissed orders to his wife, who’d been completely silent from beginning to end and had not touched a single thing on her plate.

Sylvia was absent. There was a fourth sofa set out, but it sat empty. No one addressed it or even glanced in that direction.

“Well?” the governor said when Safinia was finished. “Have we succeeded in doing honor to Calliste the Centuria’s legacy?”

“I’ve never eaten so well,” Safinia said honestly. She was a little queasy, even. “You honor my family. Crustumerium is as impressive as I’ve always heard told.”

“I bet you were raised on stories of your mother’s heroism here. She broke the Latin siege on the city, her Century outnumbered four-to-one. Tomorrow, you will attend me for a public sacrifice in her name.”

“Of course.” Safinia bit her tongue on the rest. Calliste had not made much of Crustumerium at home. Had she even been a Centuria when it happened? “Will the rest of your household join us?”

The governor’s eyes slid to the empty sofa, then locked back on Safinia’s. She remembered Quintus’s warning about not meeting them but found she could not look away.

“Not tomorrow,” he said. “My wife and daughter are preoccupied with other responsibilities.”

The wife did not react to this. Safinia wondered if she was deaf. She rolled her thumb and forefinger, sticky with honey, together. “I am sure they have their hands full with hosting. Have you had other guests this season?”

“None as illustrious as Calliste’s bloodline.”

Safinia frowned. She was no good at the sweet, side-stepping way highborn people talked to each other. Livy would be able to effortlessly steer them to talk of Hersilia; even Anesia would do better than Safinia here—she, at least, enjoyed most people’s company. “But surely there have been travelers, since the spring broke. Or at least correspondence.”

The governor regarded her. His cheerful mask dropped as he eyed her. “There might have been travelers,” he said. “But there will be plenty of time later to discuss them. Tonight, we should simply rejoice in Calliste the Centuria’s return. The city will be overjoyed to see you tomorrow.” His eyes narrowed further. “In parade brights, I should think.”

It was a message Safinia couldn’t miss. She’d assumed that because he was cruel, the governor would be stupid. But he’d read immediately that she wanted something from him—maybe he had been waiting, this whole evening, for her to give him any leverage. Just so she would agree to public offerings, though? It was a simple enough favor. “Of course,” she said again. “Though the armor will need to come from your house. I traveled light.”

“You’ll be fitted in the morning. It’s a good investment. After all, no one would expect you to leave before the harvest. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to fulfill your mother’s will here in Crustumerium these next months.”

Safinia stifled alarm. She wasn’t meant to stay more than a few days—if it took much longer to learn Hersilia and Sylvia’s true connection, their food stores back home would suffer. But she thought better of protesting, pressing her lips together. The governor gave her a thin smile, as if he held her hesitation against her already. He didn’t bother with the ritualistic pleasantries of wishing a guest goodnight, apparently seeing as easily as Quintus that she was beneath him.

Livy found himself still overlooked in the morning; it was obvious it troubled him. He and Safinia ate a modest breakfast on the floor of the house’s main chamber, ignoring the sofas. She didn’t think she could make an attempt at fine dining again unless she had to.