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He shrugged. There was a large, swollen bloom of purple on his cheek; it forced his eye half-shut but seemed to have avoided the worst a hit to the face could cause. His shoulder had probably taken more damage—he moved stiffly and was carrying their bags on his nondominant side. “Things have calmed down for now. Quintus is getting the refugees situated. He’ll get my things packed while I hide out.”

“It’s exile, then?”

Faustus shrugged again. He looked miserable. “Better than death. The order hasn’t come yet, but it will. Come on, follow me.”

He led them through the city to a storehouse that sat just inside the walls—a place to process what goods came in before they were distributed to buyers. The governor kept stricter records than King Tatius did in Cures. Here, Faustus produced a rough gray chiton and pants for Safinia. “If you bind your chest and take down your hair, I bet you could pass as a man,” he said. Safinia didn’t need to look at Livy to know that he would be scandalized at this. “There’s a caravan heading to Antemnae in a few hours. I’ll make sure you get on board.”

Safinia took the folded clothes. In her periphery, Livy nosed around the space, making notes on an unused tablet from Sylvia’s desk like he was Crustumerium’s most ostentatious inspector. There was only one set of clothes in her arms. “What about another set?” she asked. “We both—”

Livy interrupted her with a sharp tch. “Won’t need them,” he called.

“Oh. Well.” Light began to slide its way between the slats of the storeroom, illuminating currents of dust. It didn’t seem like such a bad place to wait. Safinia turned back to Faustus. “Come with us,” she said impulsively. “You have to leave, anyway. Why not go to Cures?”

Faustus shook his head. “I can’t. It’s too far. And I need to be on guard duty at the gate to make sure you get through without anyone trying to claim a bounty.”

“Is there a bounty on me already?”

“I think he’s hoping it’ll be bigger news than Caenina,” Faustus said grimly. “Don’t worry, though—you still have allies here.”

“I don’t understand,” Safinia said. “You need to get out of town just as much as me. Why are you risking your neck to help me?”

“It’s not only that.” Faustus smiled. His face, swollen as it was, lit up with this gesture—it was easy to see why Quintus was so enamored. He had a boyish look about him, though he was Safinia’s age or older. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve worked out how to stay in touch with—friends, you know. And you’re Calliste’s daughter. She protected the city, so I had better try and protect you.”

Safinia bit her lip. She wondered if she should tell Faustus that nearly everything he admired about her mother had been exaggerations. But, she reasoned, Calliste had been brave and steady and a protector. Maybe Faustus would have liked her as she was. She certainly would have liked him. The men Calliste kept close were the kind with sweetness other men liked to bite into. He was lucky to have Quintus. It was too easy to imagine him as embittered as Mettius, otherwise.

Before she could stop herself, she wrapped her arms around his torso and squeezed hard. “Don’t go to Rome,” she said.

Faustus laughed. “I’d never be that kind of exile.”

“Thank you for this. Truly. You and Quintus are welcome at my hearth.”

His cheeks flushed, but Faustus looked pleased. Safinia let him go, then, to make his own arrangements and take over for the guard at the gate. They wouldn’t have long to wait, he promised. Soon workers would show up to pack the caravan and show Safinia a place to hide until they were well clear of Crustumerium.

Once they were alone again, Livy stowed his notes and settled next to Safinia. “We should make use of this time,” he said. “We have only an hour or two to confer on all we’ve learned.”

“I have to go home,” she said grimly. “I have to warn my family and neighbors, before raiding reaches the outskirts.”

“Too right. What will you do after? I do not recommend a rescue operation. Not on your own, at least.”

Safinia nodded, though it pained her to leave Hersilia there. “Her father must know—he would have gotten the marriage contracts, same as the governor. If we can find them, we could force his hand . . .”

“You don’t think Numa has something planned already?”

She was sure he did. She just was equally sure that something planned had nothing to do with protecting Hersilia, or the women of Sabinum. The theft of a woman, a daughter, was an unfathomable breach. There was no defending it, no negotiating against it. Powerful men traded on important marriages; if it was known that Numa was answering Rome with anything less than the combined force of every Century King Tatius could call home before summer’s end, he would be exiled himself. This, then, this moving in silence—it was a scheme of some kind. Numa was not to be trusted.

The Games, Safinia thought. He invited Rome to the Games for the first time this year.

There was something rotten here. She could think on it more once she’d assured Attice and Anesia’s safety. Orestilla’s, too.

She said all this to Livy. He listened, his face an impassive mask, and then nodded as if a decision had come together. “Right. Well, you have your task. And now I shall get to mine. This is where we part, Safinia.”

“What?”

He hiked his bag on his shoulder as he stood. “Your suspicions of Lord Numa are compelling. I wish I could tell you, as an advisor to his family, that they weren’t—you have your task. Here, saw me off the end of that scroll, there . . .” Livy wetted a brush and wrote three large words across the scrap Safinia handed him. Pointing to each, he said, “MARRIAGE, HERSILIA, and ROME, repeated in Latin and Sabellic. It should be enough to get you started, if you find yourself in Numa’s office.”

She blinked at him and he smiled thinly.

“I cannot stay, Safinia. I still serve the Pompilius family, at least when I choose to be . . . in town. There is something happening in Rome I lack foreknowledge on. You need to get home, but I need to locate Hersilia.”