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“Yes,” Orestilla said. “I think if they returned to revelry now it would be as if they never left it.”

“It would be less of a risk, I think, to let them sleep off their drunkenness. Then they wouldn’t be able to incite further trouble.”

“This is true,” Orestilla said carefully. She risked meeting Safinia’s eye. “But I can only hope my friendship with the Safinius clan will lead them to . . . to exercise more caution.”

Let Safinia go, and I’ll make her behave.

Numa was quiet a long time, seemingly uncaring of how everyone else was holding their breath. Safinia fidgeted, even as Mettius shot her a look; Numa may have been forced to return Mettius to the limelight, but he likely assumed Safinia would be anonymous enough to retain. He could exile her, or kill her. He’d looked angry enough to do it. Now, though, he looked thoughtful. “You know,” he said, in a strange tone—something almost affectionate. “My daughter, who is away for the summer, often advises me in decisions such as these. I didn’t realize how much I missed that. Maybe I should seek your counsel more often, Orestilla.”

Orestilla glowed. Her expression was one of such intense, naked happiness that Safinia had to look away. A new fear lodged in Safinia’s gut; he would take Orestilla as an heir after all. And if she displeased him, he would sell her to the Romans, same as his first daughter.

“Thank you,” Orestilla whispered. “I would like that.”

“It shall be done. I’ll send for you soon. Now—” He turned to Aulus and the other guards. “I am inclined to take the wisdom being offered me. Perhaps I acted rashly—Rome has brought woe upon her own self tonight.” Safinia could feel Mettius relax beside her. “If you’ll forgive me, Mettius, Safinia?”

“Of course,” Mettius said. Safinia was a step behind him. She could still feel, even if no one else in the room did, Numa’s forceful, emanating hatred for her. It burned behind his eyes, with no abatement, not even a little.

X

The Roman encampment was gone by morning, their stakes pulled up and only the abused grass to mark their passage. Safinia brooded, standing on the wall, glaring at the spot they’d vacated as if they would suddenly reappear. Mettius had returned to celebrating last night after Numa let them go, but Safinia dodged his attempts to pull her back into the fun and made straight for Orestilla’s apartment. Attice was there, curled in on herself, unable to speak. She didn’t acknowledge Safinia when she entered, only held hands over her ears. Safinia had soothed the twins, helped them scrub their teeth with Orestilla’s bone grit, and put them to bed. Then she’d tried to smooth the hair off Attice’s face. Her sister had pulled it back, to cover her eyes.

Safinia turned a smooth rock in her hands, then flung it, hoping to reach past a boulder she could see about two hundred paces out. It fell far short.

“Figures,” she muttered.

Over lunch, Orestilla brought them news. She’d spent the morning in Numa’s villa, taking notes for him while he had meetings. It was the first time she’d been invited there since she was a child, and her unbridled joy made a shield that was absolutely impenetrable to Safinia’s warnings. It rankled Safinia to see Orestilla so nakedly trusting of Numa—so conversely dismissive of her.

Livy, she thought. She needed Livy.

“The Romans left a man to represent them, so there’s still hope for peace,” she told them. She’d brought a basket overflowing with boiled eggs and vegetables and fresh bread. “But for now, the Romans have pulled out from the Games and returned home. My father thinks that war, if it comes, won’t come until after winter—it’s the best time for a siege, and there’s no way to penetrate our city walls otherwise.”

“But there will be war?” Anesia asked.

“I don’t know. You should hear the things Romulus has offered—land, gold, slaves. He seems to know that war is a terrible option for him.”

Unless Romulus wasn’t interested in being predictable, Safinia wanted to point out. Why follow any rules at all? That didn’t sound like a man who believed he was born of a god.

She stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth, taking savage pleasure in scattering crumbs around.

“I guess where that brings us,” Orestilla said with a careful look at Safinia, “is to decide whether it would be safer for the outskirts girls to be here, or . . . home.”

Annoyance turned to anger and roiled in Safinia’s stomach. So Numa was using his daughter as a mouthpiece. “The outskirts girls stay put,” she said coldly. “Unless you’re tired of hosting us. If that’s the case, I’ll find another safe place to go.” She had three of Livy’s bracelets, payment for escorting him to Crustumerium. She could afford a place inside the walls.

“No, no, that’s not it at all!” Orestilla’s cheeks flushed. “I was worried—once there was no danger—that you wouldn’t want to stay with me!”

“Oh,” Safinia said. She wasn’t sure she believed it. It was too convenient to hear her parrot Numa’s demands. “Of course we want you with us.”

Anesia raised a hand. “Well, if that’s settled, are we going home, or staying here?”

“We’re staying here,” Safinia said.

“Really?!” Anesia tossed her breakfast aside and threw her arms around Safinia’s neck. “You’re the best. I swear I’ll even come to lessons tomorrow.”

Safinia hummed, patting her shoulder. Orestilla smiled, not one of her nervous, tightly restrained smiles, but an honest one. When she met Safinia’s eye, she made an effort not to look away. The strength of her fondness was in her eyes, flooding Safinia until she had to bite her lip and break their gaze. It had been that way since the party after Mettius’s match—little looks, brushed hands. It was nothing like the way Hersilia pursued her. There were no pouts, no teasing insults. Just open, guileless affection that somehow still did not take the fear out of Safinia reaching for her hand.

What was stopping her? At night, their arms pressed, Orestilla’s breath even in sleep—what should stop Safinia from just touching her fingers? Ores was her own person. Good-hearted, stubborn, principled. And—Safinia could not stop herself from thinking—gullible.

“I should go,” Safinia said, practically fleeing into the drizzling streets. She wanted to be anywhere but here.