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“You’ve never been cast off,” Attice reminded her. Her voice was a little hoarse, but she seemed in good spirits. “Ores has been waiting her whole life for her father to rescind his mistake.”

“She always seemed so practical.”

“It’s easy to be practical when your impractical hopes are going unfulfilled.” Attice leaned her head against Safinia’s; they were of a height, though Attice’s willowy limbs made her seem taller. “She’ll be released around lunch today, anyway—she has to set up for the market tonight. The forum will be packed.”

“Don’t tell me you want to go,” Safinia pleaded. She’d counted on taking care of Attice as her excuse to skip the festivities.

“No. I want you to tell me what you’re up to.”

Safinia winced. Attice looked at her, and for a moment, it was as if the last four years hadn’t happened; she was exactly as knowing and long-suffering as she was when Safinia would come back from the city bruised.

“I’m not . . .” Safinia began, then sighed. “The other fathers were approached with marriage offers before their daughters were stolen. Livy says that means there’ll be papers, a contract of some sorts. If I can find Numa’s, I can . . . I don’t know! I’ll at least have options. I can blackmail him into getting her back. Or give it to the magistrates and have him put to justice.” These were weak reasons and she knew it. Safinia slapped her hands against the limestone wall, wanting to roar, to yell. “I can’t just do nothing, that’s why! I have to do something. I have to live with myself.”

Attice looped her arm around Safinia’s shoulders. The effect was soothing. She pressed her forehead to her sister’s, wanting to cry. “Tell me not to, and I won’t.”

“No,” Attice said, giving her a light kiss above her eyebrow. “I am proud to have you as a sister. I thought the last four years made you give up on reshaping the world. You’ve always been willful, and stubborn. I’m grateful for it.”

“Hush,” Safinia mumbled.

“I’m alive for it.”

She shook her head, wanting to hide it, though they were alone. She couldn’t reconcile what she’d done for Attice with the sick, impulsive way it made her feel. Like a child railing against bedtime. But she’d always said she would do it again, and here, she supposed, she was about to.

Attice drew back, giving her shoulder a little pat. When she spoke, there was an unusual lightness in her voice—a teasing note. “Plus, with proof Numa colluded with the Romans, you no longer have to share Orestilla with him.”

Safinia groaned. She could feel her face getting hot. “If she doesn’t hate me after.”

“She won’t,” Attice assured. They stayed like that for a while, until the guard changed and someone yelled up at them to clear out. Descending into the boiling hot mire of the city, Safinia felt like she was walking to her doom; by the way Attice gripped her shoulder tighter and tighter, she felt it too.

Back at Orestilla’s insula, Safinia dressed for the night’s activities: The black stola the governor of Crustumerium had given her was an ideal choice, fine enough that were she to be caught prowling, she wouldn’t immediately look like a thief, but dark enough that she wasn’t likely to be caught. She moved her arm sheath to her leg, hiding the knife in the bulk of her boots, laced loosely around the weapon.

Attice, who had opted to sleep most of the hot day after their morning, roused herself in the late afternoon to assess Safinia critically. “Hair,” she said finally. “We need to do it up nicely. You can claim you simply wandered away from the party.”

She oiled and braided it, then pinned it tightly to Safinia’s head, her hands steady. Only at the end, as she touched the crown, did Safinia feel them shake. “You’re anxious,” Safinia said.

“Just come back safe.”

“I promise.”

Her plan was to head to the night market, which would open just after dusk; if she was seen being social, all the better. People would be too drunk later on to remember her not being there. Then she was to meet Livy in the forum.

No sooner had Safinia headed downstairs, ready to join the trickle of people heading to the city center, than Orestilla appeared, her face flushed, and grabbed her arm, pulling her the other way, into her courtyard.

“What’s wrong?” Safinia held Orestilla’s elbow; she was panting with exertion. “What’s happened?”

“No, no.” Was she laughing, between huffs of air? “It’s good, I promise. I couldn’t wait to come find you. I wanted you to be first.”

“First for what? Ores—please tell me.”

“Rome has surrendered.” Orestilla wrapped her small hand around Safinia’s forearm; they were braced now, arm to arm. Safinia blinked at her in shock. Of all she had expected from Numa, never this. “They will pledge to King Tatius on the Consualia—my father will announce it soon. They’re going to host all of Cures Sabini as apology. And more besides—every city in Sabinum will be invited.”

This did not make sense. Safinia had seen the proud look on Romulus’s face and the way his men fell in behind him. He would never cede kingship. Orestilla cupped Safinia’s face with her hand. “The salt road all the way to the flats will open back up—there’s going to be unbelievable prosperity in Cures. And think how we will stand against the Latins, with Romans fighting for us instead of against.”

And Numa would avoid justice. There could be no accusation of scheming if his daughter married a Sabine leader. No foreign collusion.

“And Hersilia?” Safinia asked. “Will she be released?”

“Well, I—” Orestilla’s face faltered. “I don’t know. Our father promised I would get to see her at the festival, though. And once Romulus is a Sabine king, he’ll be subject to the justice Tatius sees fit. If Hersilia is really in trouble, she’ll be able to speak on it.” She took both of Safinia’s hands and pressed them to her chest. “I promise you that if there’s any doubt after speaking with her—the smallest amount—I won’t rest until she’s free.”