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“You are.” He slapped the tablet against the man who’d handed it to him. “Why else would I feed and shelter you? Minerva delivered you to me at the apex of my prayers. Only her intervention would see Calliste’s daughter arrive at my gates at the moment I was most desperate for her help.”

“You mistake me. I’m here . . .” Safinia cast around for a good lie. There had to be some reasonable explanation for her to have business in the city. “I’m here on behalf of a noble family in Cures Sabini. Their messenger.”

“A messenger, is it? What message, then? We can fulfill that obligation and then send a runner to confirm your loyalty to the family who hired you. Easy enough.”

“It’s not for you. It’s for your daughter, Sylvia.”

The governor’s eyes narrowed. A vein in his forehead that had been there during offerings returned, bulging. “What business could you possibly bring to my daughter?”

“It’s not for you to hear.”

“She is twelve years on this earth,” the governor spat. He flung what remained in his hands aside, a stylus and several other tablets clattering to the stone floor; his advisor flinched, gathering them and retreating. Instinctively, Safinia reached for her spear—but Faustus had taken it when she entered the villa, and he was outside, on guard. The governor advanced on her. “Sylvia’s business is my business, Sylvia’s life is my life, and it would be true even were she not barely older than a child. If I find you disturbing her before you have earned my trust, I will ensure you are hastened to the afterlife and added to our illustrious roster of Lares.”

“Just say you’ll kill me.” Safinia’s voice cracked. The bluster that had carried her through her fighting days was rusty. “No need to be fancy about it.”

The governor held her eyes. The fury in him had settled to a simmer, but he could reignite at any moment. “How about this,” he said in a low, measured voice. “You do for me, I do for you. You can have a meeting with my daughter when you’ve carried out a public execution of the patriarch of the Marcii clan. It won’t be difficult. They know it’s coming. I’ve put the city under curfew so that he can’t run from me.”

The breath left Safinia’s body. Was this man insane? Clearly he had no council or magistrates to answer to. If Numa or Hersilia knew about this, she found herself thinking, they wouldn’t rest until the governance of Crustumerium had been completely reinvented. Even Safinia would be a better leader. “I’m not going to do that,” she said.

“You will.”

“I’m not a killer!” Safinia shouted. “I’m not Calliste, either!”

“You will do it, because you have nothing else to do. You will be guarded and watched every moment of your days here, until you decide you are ready. And if you are unable to decide at my pleasure, well.”

He straightened his robe and turned a few of his rings, no sign of his previous anger. Why would he need it? He was in control again. Safinia felt sick to her stomach.

“Faustus,” he called. “Escort Calliste’s daughter to her guest house and ensure she is well-fed.” His eyes swept over her hair. “Bring her a bath, too.”

Faustus emerged at her side, taking her arm—his touch was polite, but firm. It was clear she was going to be led away, or dragged. He would not meet her eyes, high spots of color in his cheeks.

The governor smiled as she was turned to leave. “Remember, Safinia,” he sang as she went, his voice ringing in the stone hall. “You are the answer to my prayers.”

“We’re leaving,” Safinia said when she entered the guest house, ripping the borrowed stola as she struggled to free her arms from its folds. Livy was perched on one of the dining sofas, an array of scrolls unrolled before him, and one in his lap. “This instant, if possible. Pack.”

“Please continue your disrobing in the other room. I have no interest in seeing any part of you unclothed.”

“Did you hear me?” She stalked into the adjoining room and yanked the material from her body, rooting in her satchel for her old stained and smelly tunic. “We have to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Did the governor ask you to kill someone for him?” Livy asked. “It did seem that he was gearing up for something of the sort. And there were many whispers in town today about a man called Marcus Rufinus. A political rival, apparently.”

“Fuck Crustumerium. I’m not a guard dog or an executioner. We’re leaving.”

“Safinia.” Livy sighed. He regarded her as she emerged, tying her tunic, his look something like that of a long-suffering father figure. “Please be reasonable. We need a chance to learn what we came here for. It doesn’t seem Hersilia is here, but Sylvia might yet know something that will help us.”

“What am I supposed to do, then? He’s sworn to have us watched. The longer we wait, the more attuned he’ll be.”

“So draw him out,” Livy suggested. “Give it a day or two for tempers to cool, then give the appearance of negotiating terms for your cooperation.”

“It’s insanity to even consider it.” Safinia threw herself on the sofa opposite, hanging her legs over the elevated cushion where her elbow was meant to prop her up. “Did you see the way the people looked at him? They won’t stand for an execution.”

“Yes, that’s probably the plan. Get an outsider to do it, then shift the blame and have her killed for it.”

“Livy!”

He looked at her, half-smiling, and finally, gingerly, set aside the scroll he was working on. He seemed to have gotten over whatever had troubled him that morning, as contented as a man could be cleaning ink from his fingers. It wasn’t his neck on the line. When he leaned forward, Safinia thought he would tell her something comforting.

Instead: “Why on earth would you let the domestici touch my ring?”