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“What is this?” she whispered.

“I think,” Livy said from behind her, “that you already have half a guess.”

Safinia whirled around. Livy, unlike the people who passed them, was startlingly distinct, the setting sun making a bright outline of his silhouette. He had his hands up, tentatively, as if he were approaching a dangerous animal.

“Explain yourself,” Safinia said. Her right hand, still clutching her spear, shook. But this was Livy. She didn’t need weapons. She couldn’t. “Why does your ring—why is it the same as this wolf?”

“She’s called the Capitoline wolf.”

“Oh, great,” Safinia shouted. “Good job clearing that up. Why is the Capitoline wolf on your ring?”

“I never wanted to lie to you.”

“So don’t.”

He took a step closer; she could see his face better. His expression was like a window easily shuttered—for now, it was open. She could read the guilt and apprehension on him, and knew they were there because he cared for her. But just as easily, she knew he could slam this link shut. “Safinia,” he said. “Your prejudices would have kept you from trusting me. And you would have been wrong for that. Hersilia, after all, has known what I am all along.”

His ring felt hot in her clenched fist, same as the morning she’d left Crustumerium. “What are you—Roman?”

“Yes,” he said. His hands were still raised to calm her, but as he said it, his shoulders and spine straightened. He was proud. She could tell. “I am Roman. I am of Rome, both the nation and the city. And now that we are here, I think it may be said at last—there is more to Rome than you have ever dreamed. I intend to share it with you, if you’ll let me.”

VI

They regarded each other. There was a trace of remorse in his expression—though maybe that was another trick, another way of letting her believe what she wanted to about him. “Did she tell you?” Safinia asked. “Did you know Hersilia’s plan?”

“I do. I’ve known it since long before she thought of it. Not the details, but the—end result.”

She brought her spear up between them and wished it were lighter. Tremors of exhaustion, of days spent confined and hungry, went down her arms. “How? And how does Rome raise up a man like you?”

“It isn’t this Rome that raised me. It is a Rome seven hundred years down the river of time.”

“What—” Safinia thought back. “You’re from a different time?”

“It’s a relief to say so openly.” He smiled at her, actually smiled. “And the Rome I traveled from is, of course, different. Start with the Capitoline wolf behind you—shaped from bronze, by the time I get to it. But always right there, where you’re standing.”

Safinia’s eyes flicked to the people who streamed around them, giving them a wide berth. Indistinguishable but unfamiliar. “Are they—”

“They can’t see you. They can’t see us. Not unless I want them to. We stand at the epicenter of Rome’s history. Do you remember me telling you time is a current in a river? Call this an island.” He stepped forward again, reaching as if to touch the wolf, then flinched back from Safinia’s spear. “Do you know what a numen is?”

“I don’t want one of your lessons.”

“Just humor me. The numen is the essence of a thing. It’s a god-seed, waiting only for human devotion and worship to bloom. This, the Capitoline wolf, printed on coins, on stamps, embroidered into cloak hems and painted on standards . . .” He cut a look at her. “Carved into rings. She is the essence of Rome. And Rome is the god that stands in all times, at all times. I feel her entire past, her eternal future, when I stand here before her.”

Safinia’s mouth had gone dry. Her grip was odd—she was still clutching Livy’s ring. She slid it onto her thumb and redoubled her hold. “You are insane,” she said. “You’re a fanatic.”

“It would be insane for anyone else to say so,” he snapped. “But I’m Titus Livius. I shape Rome. Everyone in the empire knows my name. Octavian, even—” He cut himself off, as if remembering he was supposed to be playing contrite. “I’m a writer, Safinia. I make Rome. The past is what it is because I record it. I can go anywhere I want. Do you believe me?”

“It’s not about belief!” Safinia yelled. “I’ve known stranger things than you. It’s about what you’ve done. My sisters are here!”

“What I’ve done?” He swept a hand toward the blurred crowd around them. “This was always going to happen! And you’re too emotional to see what a kindness it was for your sisters—no more hunching in that crumbling hovel you call a home, waiting to be taken by slavers or married to some idiot with barely more than you could give them yourself. They’re going to be mothers to a city for gods.”

“Kindness?” Safinia almost laughed. “You think rape and imprisonment is kind?”

“Safinia, you’re not thinking it through. I did what you weren’t brave enough to do yourself. I found husbands for them. That means you can do anything, be anything you want.” He reached out again. This time, he wasn’t deterred by her spear—he touched the shaft gingerly, pushing it aside. Safinia was frozen. Some more witchery, or else she was too overwhelmed to even think straight. Livy stood before her and offered a hand. “It means you can come with me. I am going to save you, Safinia.”

“What?” she choked. “From who?”

“From yourself!” Livy’s fingers curled around the shaft of her spear, but he didn’t try to take it from her. “From the drudgery of your existence. You are wasted here and now. I could teach you to read, to focus on things that actually matter—I need a research assistant, someone who can actually go out into the world on my behalf. I would pay you well.”