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“How can you believe these things?” Safinia asked. Her heart hammered against her chest. “Are you telling me you think there’s any possibility that she’s happy with Romulus?”

“No, no,” Orestilla rushed to say. “But—he is not all we thought. Safinia, you must concede that, after speaking with him. He’s intelligent.”

“He’s a wolf,” Safinia snapped.

“Then come with me to see her.” Orestilla would not let her hands go. “If you aren’t convinced, we’ll rescue her right then. Safinia, don’t you ever allow yourself some joy? Cures has won. There will be no war!”

Safinia chewed the inside of her cheek. This could be Livy’s influence. She had to find him and ask. Preferably before Numa made his announcement.

Orestilla watched her think; her face broke into a smile. “You see. Admit it. You are starting to believe the future can be good.”

“Never,” Safinia said weakly. Despite everything, it felt good to make Orestilla laugh.

If all this was as it seemed, as Orestilla believed, she would soon see Hersilia again. Safinia had half-believed, even walking the length of Sabinum to find her, that she never would. Maybe she would find Safinia dull, as Mettius complained when she’d ceased going out with him. But maybe she would like that—she might touch Safinia’s cheek and say, You are like your mother now, a protector.

Safinia flushed. Her hands were still entwined with Orestilla’s—Hersilia’s little sister. As steady as Hersilia had been wild, and yet with that same chin, the same set, laughing mouth. It was impossible not to see Hersilia in Orestilla, or to imagine Hersilia without the memory blurring with Orestilla’s face.

“I’ll go with you to see her,” she said. Making sure Hersilia was safe was more important now than Safinia’s feelings. Even if it meant seeing Hersilia and Orestilla side by side.

“I knew you would want to,” Orestilla said shyly. “And I know you won’t believe me, but she will want to see you too. She always spoke of you. Like no other lover she’s had.”

Safinia closed her eyes to ward off her confusion. It battered at her, distracted her from what was important—that Romulus would never give up Rome. That this was surely a trap. That she had to confront Numa before this announcement. She could feel Orestilla’s hands retreat, and doubled her grip on them.

“I don’t know what I want, Ores,” she said. The sun beat down upon both their shoulders, made heated wire of their dark hair. “My mind is too muddled to even ask the right questions.”

“I understand,” Orestilla said. She looked at their hands. “I only want to know—if it isn’t her, in the end—if it might be me.” She swallowed and looked up into Safinia’s eyes. The bright, honey-brown flecks in them glinted. “If I could come back with you to the outskirts.”

“Ores, of course,” Safinia breathed. She realized then what Orestilla had been asking: Do you prefer her, or me?

What unmitigated comfort it would be, to wake up next to someone every day, as her parents had each other. And as she thought it, terror rushed to fill her—she knew Orestilla now well enough to know the sincerity of this offer. It was not one of the thousand fancies Hersilia had dreamed up for the pair of them, none anchored to the ground. Ores really would come back with Safinia.

And this meant Safinia might someday need to survive losing her.

“You are always welcome in my home,” Safinia said. Her hands flexed in Orestilla’s. “I only—I only hope—”

Orestilla leaned forward then and kissed her. Suddenly nothing else felt remotely important. She was only attuned to the grip of their hands and the soft flex of Orestilla’s lower lip. Her hesitation vanished along with her senses; Safinia wrapped an arm around Orestilla’s waist. The swell of Orestilla’s breath ran through her—Safinia could feel it begin in her chest and exhale onto her neck. She smelled of the floral oils she used in her hair, and of summer sweat. She kissed Orestilla back, again and again, suddenly sure of herself because there was nothing left but how much she wanted this.

Safinia laughed, a small huff. Orestilla turned her head away and leaned it on Safinia’s shoulder, relaxing into her arms. “I’m a terrible sister. I’m hoping you see Hersilia again and find yourself thinking how ugly she’s always looked. Even after all she’s been through.”

Right. Hersilia. Safinia’s stomach twisted as her hands traveled the queue of bones up Orestilla’s spine. “We didn’t really have the time to know each other. I think—I think I was a fantasy to her.” Safinia set her chin on Orestilla’s head. “Not to you, though.”

“I really think, and hope, that she may be happy where she is. My father—it surprised me to hear it, but he told me today that Romulus is a man he would give her to happily. I don’t think he would have said it lightly. He believes there is so much potential for greatness in Rome.”

Safinia went cold. Her fingers stilled and gripped the fabric of Orestilla’s chiton. Orestilla misinterpreted her quiet, turned to push her nose against Safinia’s neck. “Come home with me,” Ores whispered. “Your home. We can talk more about what this means for us.” She drummed her fingers against Safinia’s neck. “We can do more than talk, if you like.”

“Not yet,” Safinia said. When Orestilla drew away to look at her, it was an effort to smile. She needed this done. She could not carry on with Orestilla until what they promised each other was possible. And then—“Tomorrow, Ores,” Safinia said. She kissed her cheek, brief, swift, then stepped away. “I promise.”

XIII

She waited for Livy in the forum. The night market was setting up, men wiping their brows with sweat as they levered heavy canvas canopies into place. Orestilla would not be among them tonight—given the news, she was determined to go to the Regia with Mettius to celebrate. Safinia watched Ores’s grandfather direct the large, quiet men who guarded the shop and wondered if he knew who Safinia was. And that she was staying in the insula he paid for.

“All a bit crowded, isn’t it,” Livy remarked in her ear. “Should we find a corner chef for today’s debrief? It’s a big one, at long last.”

“I heard about the Consualia,” Safinia said.

His reaction was not one she expected. Livy went suddenly, rigidly still, and could not school his face quickly enough to keep the shock from it. If she didn’t know better, she would say that the way he shifted away from her, the set of his feet—he was preparing for her to hit him. “You know,” he repeated.

“Yes. Orestilla told me about Rome surrendering. Your influence?”