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Aulus shoved Safinia’s bad shoulder and she winced. He’d managed to communicate something with Numa, across the forum, in a series of nods and angry gestures. “You’re both to come with us,” he said. “I recommend willingly.”

Safinia met Mettius’s eyes, a silent question there—should they resist? He shook his head.

“We’re in the right,” he said under his breath. “What can the magistrates do?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, but she would go quietly if it was what he thought was best. The friendly yells of Sabine as they passed helped to calm her nerves, a little. Mettius glanced at her, then away. It took her a moment to recognize it on his face—he was worried for her, too.

They were led to the holding building near where public trials took place. Safinia had never been inside; it was used only to restrain prisoners who were deemed at risk of fleeing justice. The inside was dim and damp. There were chains in a heap on the floor, anchored to the far walls.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to chain us,” Safinia said. Her heart was pounding. Aulus would be able to tell, but she didn’t feel like letting the other quaestors know she was scared. “What have I done besides save our champion from assassination?”

“You’ve done a lot, actually.”

Safinia and Mettius turned; Numa entered, flanked by six other guards. Safinia almost laughed—this was lunacy. Did anyone here actually suspect that Safinia and Mettius were dangerous?

“Let’s start with the fucking riot.” Numa pointed to a bench; his detainees were thrown roughly onto it. “Are you not aware of the point of these Games? They’re to keep us from going to war. They’re designed so that we drink with our enemies and soften to them, not punch them in their fucking faces.”

“Hostius pulled a knife on me,” Mettius said. “Safinia saved my life.”

“Stab wounds can be survived,” Numa hissed, half scream. He looked a step away from truly unhinged; at any moment, he might tear at his hair, or claw at Safinia like an animal. “And what did you expect after accusing him of something so vile?”

“What’s vile?” Mettius asked loudly. “Getting fucked? I’m accused of it every day and I’ve never tried to stab someone.”

“You are a plebeian, an outskirts man; you aren’t subject to the same decorum as a patrician. Hostius Hostilius is Romulus’s right hand.” Numa turned to Safinia. “And you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The progress you’ve destroyed? I haven’t slept, haven’t eaten, spending half my days negotiating with Romulus and the other half thinking of ways to convince him to trust my judgment—you idiot girl. You’ve fucked us all.”

He leaned down, so close Safinia could feel his breath, hot and threatening, over her face.

“I swear to every god, to Sabus himself, that you will not be missed if I decide to kill you for this. You’re a thug. An animal. You should be put down like one.”

Safinia’s ears rang with fear. She would not look away from Numa’s eyes, but this time only because her instincts insisted on it—she would watch the eyes of a boar or a wolf just the same if she came across it injured. Dimly, she was aware of Mettius trying to shake off the hold of his quaestor.

“I did nothing wrong,” Safinia said. “Romulus is a kidnapper. He has your daughter, he has seven other women that we know about—”

Next to her Aulus shifted. Two of the guards exchanged looks. “Shut up,” Numa hissed.

“I won’t!” Safinia yelled. “I heard it in Crustumerium: They steal Sabine women and rape them, pretend to marry them. They’re going to raise a generation of killers from our girls!”

“Is that true?” Aulus asked. His hand left her shoulder.

“She’s hysterical,” Numa yelled over Safinia. “My daughter spurned her and now she seeks to avenge herself on the whole family. Gag her.” Aulus hesitated. “Gag her!”

He didn’t get the chance. Just then a commotion came at the entrance to the prison. A guard entered with Orestilla’s arm in hand; she was panting as if she’d run hard to reach them. A small bruise circled her wrist, likely from the brawl.

“Ores!” Safinia had never been so glad to see her. “Where are Attice and Anesia? Do they know where I’ve gone?”

“Yes—everyone knows. It’s why I’ve come. Fa—Councilor Numa, please, I beg permission to address you.”

Numa’s eyes narrowed as he looked between the two women. He understood, clearly, that Orestilla’s parentage was no secret to Safinia. His face darkened further. “It’s unlike you to interrupt me, Aurelia Orestilla.” The use of her family name was no accident. Orestilla’s cheeks flushed at the slight, and the understanding that she was not to acknowledge their relationship. “Say what you need to.”

“I’m here as a messenger,” she said, her eyes downcast. She was still catching her breath. “Our champion and Safinia are wanted back in the forum.”

“Wanted by whom?”

“Everyone, Lord Councilor.” Orestilla risked glancing up. “Everyone is—they’re thrilled to stand up to Rome. There has been a feeling of deep anger and shock that a participant of the Games would attack a fellow athlete. Now that the danger is gone, they want to celebrate with their heroes.”

This was a turn. Orestilla was clever, so careful not to sound like she was threatening Numa with the people’s displeasure, only advising him that it was there. By his face, Numa knew exactly what she was doing. He looked at his daughter with a calculating eye, an inscrutable emotion crossing his face. “Do you feel, too, that these two should be remitted from my custody?”

It was unnerving how calm he could be. A moment ago, Safinia was sure he was ready to kill her—now his voice was smooth, level, his shoulders relaxed.