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They didn’t even need superior tents. Numa’s villa overlooked the circus. He could set a chair in his orchard and have a bird’s-eye view of the athletes. True to Orestilla’s claim, his summons had arrived, murmured into Safinia’s ear while her students went through their paces.

“Alright,” Safinia announced to the group. Anesia dropped her pole and flopped onto the ground without a second word. “Meet here tomorrow, same time. I don’t want to hear any complaining about waking up sore—the pain is for nothing if you don’t get stronger.”

There was a quaestor stationed at Numa’s gate when Safinia arrived, panting with the effort of trotting up the hill. He turned at the sound of her, and sighed, visibly irritated. “Safinia,” he said. “Go away.”

“Aulus,” she realized. “Well, that makes things easier. Let me in.”

“Plebeians can come air grievances at the new moon, as always.”

Safinia put her hands on her hips and scowled. Aulus swallowed. So she scared him a little—good. “I was summoned.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “I’d’ve heard about it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t tell you everything.”

She tried to hip-check him and squeeze past, but Aulus was too quick for her; he grabbed Safinia’s shoulders and grappled with her like they were children, wrestling in the dirt. “You look ridiculous,” he huffed, attempting to keep her arms pinned and getting a swat to the face for it. “Are you ready to calm down?”

Safinia tested his hold. Her right arm was going numb. She needed to decide whether to sneak in or try to really thrash Aulus. His mother had given Anesia a lot of vegetables over the years. Safinia probably owed her.

“Fine, yes,” she said. Aulus’s hold relaxed and he let Safinia shake her arms out. “I am responding to a summons, Aully.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Aulus—”

“Why are you manhandling this tired woman, Quaestor?”

They both turned. Tarpeia was resplendent in a deep blue stola, hooded in the Latin style, her curls artfully framed around her face. Aulus shoved Safinia aside and hurriedly bowed. “It’s nothing to worry about, Lady, just a plebeian making up some summons. Did you need entry?”

“Oh, she gets to walk in?”

“I always get to walk in,” Tarpeia said, sparing a glare at Safinia. Then she pursed her lips, clearly fighting her better instincts. “And today, so does the plebeian. She’ll attend to me.”

“Of course.” Aulus was the image of a docile servant now. Safinia rolled her eyes and made sure he saw it. As they passed, he hissed, “Behave yourself.”

Safinia responded with a lewd gesture.

Tarpeia waited until they were well out of earshot before halting, halfway up the opulent terraced steps that led to the house. To a spectator, it would look like she was pausing to adjust her jewelry; she didn’t even turn toward Safinia. But Safinia could feel Tarpeia’s attention, sword-like, leveled at her throat. “Well?” she asked under her breath. “Did you make a liar out of me?”

“Numa requested me.” Safinia hesitated. “He’s in on it, Tarpeia.”

“I’ll ask if I want your conjecture,” the woman snapped. “Hersilia?”

Safinia mentally shrugged. Tarpeia and Orestilla would be hard to convince on Numa’s scheming, but to Safinia’s eye, he was no more trustworthy than Crustumerium’s governor anymore. And he certainly knew where his daughter was. “Rome. If she’s alive, that is.”

“Oh, she’s alive.” Tarpeia spun one of her bracelets on her wrist, her brow furrowed in thought. “You think she’s so fragile.”

“Isn’t she? No one ever taught her to fight.”

“Fighting isn’t the only way a woman gets tough.” Tarpeia straightened and resumed her walk. Her tone was grim, as if she were braced already. Safinia would have asked Tarpeia to slow down, but whatever the woman thought about this news, it was clear from the set of her jaw that she wasn’t going to discuss it.

Inside, they were led away from each other, Tarpeia to the receiving rooms for personal business, and Safinia to Numa’s tablinum. She focused furiously on trying to memorize the house’s inner layout—last time it had been dark, and Livy had led her so decisively that she was not positive she could replicate the way. But she would have to, and soon, to find proof of Numa’s misdeeds.

He awaited her there, not at his desk, but on a sofa, his feet crossed at the ankles as he studied a tablet. Safinia stood awkwardly at the threshold, waiting for him to address her.

“You are the . . . second daughter of Calliste the Centuria,” he said without looking up. “Safinia . . . I can’t recall your personal name.”

“Safinia is fine,” she said. It was appropriate enough for patriarchs to go by a family name only. “You sent for me this morning, Councilor.”