Page 68

Livy visibly relaxed. “Rome surrendering. Yes, ah—I’m just getting my bearings. I didn’t expect the girl to know, let alone to tell anyone, but you do have a strange talent for ferreting out gossip,” he said. “Yes, I came to tell you about the Consualia. Will you go to Rome with the rest, to drink their treasury dry?”

“Maybe,” Safinia said. She took Livy’s arm and led him off the forum, onto a quieter street that led back to the villas. As always, the fabric of his toga was more solid than any skin or muscle underneath. “But the plan is the same. We still look for proof of Numa’s scheme, tonight.”

“Ah. Now comes the part where I beg of you to leave it alone.”

“I won’t.”

“Safinia.” Livy’s voice took on a hard edge. “I understand that you, and some of your countrymen, will have objections to making peace with the Romans. But with Rome accepting protectorate status, history will absolve Numa. We may have to make peace ourselves with never knowing his motivations.”

“You mean to tell me that Romulus has given up? That he truly intends to swear to Tatius as a Sabine king?”

“Well—” Livy avoided her eyes. “That does seem the thing, doesn’t it?”

Safinia almost laughed. “I don’t believe it any more than you do. If Numa traded Hersilia and the daughters of his peers for Rome, everyone in Cures deserves to know.”

“Look. I believe you, you know I do. But do not rush into anything.” Livy grabbed Safinia’s wrist and spoke urgently, quietly. “Go to Rome. I will be there, on the Consualia, and together we will have options. You must trust me on this. I’ve saved your life before, I have no intention of giving up my investment in you.”

She teetered on the precipice of agreeing—going home, making nice, and traveling with all the rest down to Rome for their celebration of Consus. But when she searched Livy’s eyes, she saw he was as conflicted as she was. He didn’t like to admit that he didn’t know what was going on, and she wouldn’t force him. But she also wouldn’t be stopped tonight. Now, or never.

Safinia pulled her wrist from Livy’s grip. “I’m breaking into the villa.”

Livy made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat. “Fine. Fine! The plan stays as it was. We look for our proof, and then, depending on how compelling, we decide what to do with it. I am with you.”

Safinia touched his ring through her shirt. A surge of anxiety she could not name went through her—some nagging remembrance in the back of her head that had nothing to do with the foolishness of what she planned tonight. But Livy tapped his foot impatiently, his body language clear: Let’s get this over with.

She led Livy over the crumbling wall Orestilla had shown her and together they took stock of the villa. It was well into the night, but even so, on a warm one such as this, there should have been servants and guards about. It seemed though that Numa had given his entire staff their run of the festivities. No lights shone in the windows, only the soft, clinging white of moonlight glancing over blades of grass, rustling in the night air. There was no one to witness as they stole across the yard and slipped in through Hersilia’s window.

Livy led them through the eerie, quiet maze of hallways to Numa’s tablinum at the back. It adjoined a small, enclosed garden behind a partially drawn curtain; by moonlight, Safinia registered that all that grew there was a ring of poplar trees around a small pool.

“Well?” Safinia asked in a hush. Even with no one around, she could not resist the urge to be stealthy. “Where does he keep his papers?”

“Back here, come along.”

One wall, on the far side from the receiving sofas, was entirely cabinetry. Livy opened several, which burst with scrolls, stacks of tablets, and maps.

“Do you see what foolishness this is, now?” he asked. “I’ve been indulgent so far, but only because I thought you could do something useful. Now things have changed. You’re fueled by spite alone.”

“I’m fueled by Hersilia,” Safinia said grimly. She’d memorized the look of the words she needed. “Show me which of these is most likely to have personal correspondence.”

He threw up his hands, acquiescing, then opened one of the lower cabinets, yanking out a stack of wooden tablets and thrusting half into Safinia’s hands to look at, taking the rest for himself.

The air in the tablinum was stuffy, even with two sides open to the outside; it clung to the two as they worked in silence, Safinia’s determined, Livy’s brooding. She was about to say something, to cut the tension between them, when distantly, they heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy door being opened.

“Front hall,” Livy whispered, ashen. He was as jittery as Safinia had ever seen him. “Stay for now. I’ll investigate—hide if you hear my signal.”

He was gone before she could ask what the signal was.

There was no sound but the slapping of his sandals against the floor. At least Livy could claim some kind of purpose for being here.

Safinia could barely make out any words at all in the low moonlight, let alone the ones she needed. She opened the cabinet adjacent to the one they’d started with and began to unfurl what was within. They could be treatises, for all she knew, long descriptions of how Numa had defrauded Sabinum, thrown his lot in with Rome, planned to murder the king.

Low voices in the distance. Was that the signal? Had Livy made himself known, or was it the returners discussing something themselves?

The next scroll caught her eye. It was written in Latin. Someone other than Numa or Hersilia had penned it. She pushed it open on the ground, kneeling to catch as much light as possible. There, low on the page, a word she was nearly sure was “MARRIAGE.” Safinia reached into the waist fold of her leggings and drew out the scrap Livy had given her; her hand shook as she checked the two words. Yes, it was a match.

She was about to stand, to put it away and find Livy for an escape, when the scroll unrolled further. It took Safinia a moment to recognize it for what it was—a rendering of a wolf, with two human babies for cubs.

An explosion of hot, searing pain bloomed from her temple as it slammed against the floor. Safinia sputtered. A man held her head down, pressed to the drawing she’d just been studying.