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He shrugged. “The law would take care of that.”

Safinia shook her head in wonder. Wherever Livy lived, if he spoke true, she wanted to be there. But it was more likely he was exaggerating. What man had ever come to his own conclusion that justice was imperfectly applied? Safinia had watched a sentencing once, when she was sixteen, of two rich men given small fines for raping several women in the city-south. The amount was deemed in proportion to their status—all the girls had come from poor families. No one objected. One of the fathers did a bad job of hiding his excitement—he’d come out, after all, profiting from the whole thing.

Hersilia had been standing in her usual place on trial days, at Numa’s side, where for many other men there would have stood a scribe. She did her duty diligently—took his notes and recorded the verdict from the magistrates. But Safinia had watched her face—it was stone.

“Will you help me, then?” she asked Livy. “I have no access to Numa, but he trusts you.”

“I will,” Livy said. “If there is proof to find, I imagine it can’t hide from me. Tomorrow morning I’ll offer myself to Numa as a counselor once more—it’s been several years since we spoke, but he may be so glad to see me he fills me in on the whole scheme. If not, we can default to your plan.”

“Thank you,” Safinia said, with feeling. Livy looked back at her, and briefly, indecision seemed to cross his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking how you should save that thanks until I’ve earned it.”

If Safinia spent her morning jittery, she could chalk it up to the excitement of the Games concluding. Her group of spear maidens, still practicing in Tarpeia’s courtyard, had swelled to forty-four, more than half of them city women. A handful were the daughters of councilors and magistrates, the very upper echelon of Cures Sabini’s social strata, participating in secret.

It seemed many of them believed, as Orestilla did, that if war came, it would come in the spring. But spring, though the height of summer was above them, was not far enough away to sleep easy. People had finally, finally begun to comment on not having seen Hersilia in a long time. It seemed that Tarpeia was no longer so diligently reciting Numa’s lies.

If only she could be brought in as some sort of ally. True to what she’d said during their last confrontation, Tarpeia was avoiding Safinia, going so far as to turn the other way if they saw each other on the street.

“I don’t understand it,” Safinia told Orestilla as they concluded lessons. “Why send her friends to learn the spear? Three more came today.”

“Tarpeia lives three or four lives at once,” Orestilla said. “Who knows what she’s really thinking? But her word holds weight. Ever since her cousin started coming, all of Hersilia’s old friends are here.”

“Which one is her cousin?”

“That one there.” Orestilla nodded to a tall woman practicing breaking a wrist-hold on Mettius. They’d run out of practice weapons to give to newcomers. “They’re terrified. They were before, but now that we know it’s Rome we have to fear . . .”

“I’m surprised we didn’t lose any students to pure hopelessness,” Safinia said drily.

“I thought about it.” Orestilla was serious. “But that’s what Romulus wants most of all. He wants to unnerve us. We defeat ourselves just in thinking he’s unstoppable.”

“You’re headed to Numa’s now?”

Orestilla nodded. Safinia wondered if she should mention Livy, that he might be there today—but decided against it. Fear and anticipation of what she planned had worked its way so far up her throat, that any questioning at all might give her away. It was better that Orestilla didn’t know.

Safinia remained on edge, playing string games with Rania and Flavia, teaching them shadow puppets with Attice—finally even her sister could no longer bear Safinia’s restlessness, and sent her out to find Mettius.

“She’s just worried about you,” he told Safinia, leaning halfway over the counter at their corner chef to grab a bottle of wine from underneath. The chef caught him at it, but only rolled his eyes. “You’ve been acting like a cat pet backward since you got back. There’ve been no reports of Roman raids since they left the Games.”

“Three whole days of silence. I see why everyone is so calm. Don’t you have to pay for that?”

“I’m sleeping with the chef and half of his wine purveyors,” Mettius said, uncorking the bottle with his teeth. “Besides, the Champion of Cures doesn’t have to pay for anything.”

“I’m glad things are so good for you,” Safinia muttered.

“They’re not calm, you know,” Mettius said. “Everyone is on edge. You know it, they know it. Next year will be hard. But unlike you, the rest of us are trying to find a little light where we can. Come on. Have just one drink, and I’ll give up on trying to make you come to the party tomorrow.”

She obliged, the rough wine skidding down her throat and landing hot in her churning stomach.

With Anesia it was more of the same. She wasn’t in Orestilla’s apartment when Safinia went looking for her; it took a long, breathless hunt over the city, wherein Safinia convinced herself ten times over that Romans had already seized her, to find her little sister at Flora’s sharing a sofa with Aulus, nuzzling her nose against his. When Safinia planted her feet in front of them and he looked up, he actually turned pale.

“Ama!” Anesia gasped. “Don’t scare us like that!”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Aulus said. There was a note of real fear in his voice. He stood frantically, nearly dumping Anesia on the ground in his haste to disentangle.

Safinia caught him, yanking him by the hair so that she was close to his ear. “Y’wanna explain what this does look like?”

“Oh, just let him go,” Anesia said exasperatedly. “Run along, Aully.”