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“I did.”
He gestured, his hand lazy and unconcerned, for her to take the seat opposite, another sofa. A domestici appeared with a cup of mulled wine. Safinia took it with numb fingers. This man is my enemy, she reminded herself. Safinia chose to sit rigidly on the edge of the sofa.
“Your mother was an impressive woman,” Numa said. “I often suggested we arrange a friendship between our young daughters.”
“Mm,” Safinia said. Calliste had always made out like she barely spoke to the councilors she had guarded in her later years, when her fame was significant enough to allow for cushy jobs.
“I admired her immensely. So did, as I believe you know, my daughter Hersilia.” At this, his eyes cut to her. “I also understand you and my daughter made your own arrangements for friendship, at one point.”
Safinia had never been this close to him before. There was nothing in his face or build that should have made her feel like she was in the presence of a king, but Numa’s eyes glittered with intellect and power when they met hers. Hersilia had been like this, the first few times she and Safinia had spoken—pinning her like an insect to study.
“Yes, we did,” Safinia said, deciding on the truth. “Is Hersilia the reason you summoned me this morning?”
If he wanted to toy with her, she would toy right back.
Finally, he sighed, swinging his legs to the ground and straightening, their postures mirrored. “No. I understand that you and your neighbors have appointed yourselves representatives of the outskirts, and now work to find homes in the city for the women?”
“I wouldn’t call myself appointed—”
“You have decided this, despite imminent summer harvests, because of a perceived threat of raiding, is that right?”
“It isn’t perceived—”
“Do you know how necessary it is to ensure that the outskirts have good yields? Not to mention that those such as yourself are not now supplying our corner chefs with fresh meat through your hunting. The citizens will revolt, especially now that there are that many more mouths to feed.”
Safinia’s cheeks flamed hot. “I counted fewer than twenty,” she snapped. “And the outskirts can’t be that necessary, considering how little we bring home in the allotment.”
To her surprise, Numa smiled. He raised a hand as if to say, please, we’re all friends here. It reminded Safinia of the way Livy needled her and backed off—only without the sincerity of amusement. “You speak fairly to me. I suppose you have seen your people neglected, and I would help to change that. If you will return to your homes and speak no more of these supposed raids, I can ensure that the census reflects your true contribution to Cures Sabini. The king will be easily swayed to weigh farmers and hunters more heavily in the grain distribution.”
For a moment, Safinia was breathless. He offered this as if it were as easy as another lazy hand gesture. All those years Anesia’s ribs could be counted in her back, the last spring survived on chewed bark and musty stews—their hunger was a simple favor. A nothing thing. She wanted to hit him.
“I can’t ask my neighbors to return,” she said through gritted teeth. “They are in danger in the outskirts.”
His politician’s mask slipped slightly. It was plain he hadn’t imagined she would push back on his offer. “There is no danger from Cures to the Tiber. We both know this.”
“What I know,” Safinia said, unable for another second to hold her composure in the face of this soft, scheming man, “is that Rome burned Caenina to the ground and took their women when they were denied brides such as your daughter.”
“I would caution you against saying reckless things about Rome.” Numa’s voice was tight. “They could yet be valuable allies.”
“You admit you sold her. You gave them Hersilia.”
“No, and I suggest that you cease discussing whatever you think has happened to my daughter.” His mask was off; he looked at her murderously. “I have enough on my plate hosting the Games without it getting back to Romulus that my citizens suspect him of plots.”
“Are you a father at all?” Safinia demanded before she could stop herself. “You want to dine and make nice with the man raping your daughter?”
He reached for her, his hand shooting out in an aborted move to grab her. Safinia scrambled back, nearly falling in her haste to put her sofa between them. It occurred to her all at once that it would be sensible to be afraid right now.
“I’m sorry,” she said, breathless. “I only mean to—I was in Crustumerium when it happened. I saw the survivors and feared for my family.”
This seemed to be the right thing to say. The rage in Numa’s face passed. He recomposed his features back to mild. “You are more too like your father, I see. Your mother understood that sacrifice is both necessary and indiscriminate. I am not a general, Safinia—I do not answer insult with brute force. I implore you to see that I am, in my own way, addressing the assault on Caenina.” His voice went low, threatening. “There is a better way to live than these brittle alliances. I will not have your interference.”
He was wrong about her mother, she hoped. But he was right that Safinia would not accept this sacrifice—if it were Attice or Anesia stolen, she would wade through a battlefield to them, sweep her spear like a wave that drags a man to sea, swim in the blood of whoever stood in her way.
Numa’s hand flicked. A guard—not Aulus—materialized to grip her shoulder. “Escort this one out, then inform Tarpeia to ready herself for our meeting. Safinia, you are a credit to your people. Remember what we have spoken about. There will be consequences if you forget.”
He stood, as if to contribute to ushering her out, but instead leaned close, the long crags on his face deepening. For a moment, Safinia thought she saw pain in his eyes. Or fear. “I wish I had your freedom,” he said to her, so softly she would have thought she imagined it, only she could see his mouth move. “Sworn only to your kin, not a nation. Your family is luckier than mine.”
Then he flicked his hand, and Safinia was led roughly away.
