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But those men who fought to save their sisters more often than not got themselves killed. When a Roman held his knife to a throat, it was not a bluff.

Safinia looked carefully at each cluster, willing Anesia to appear at their centers. Then, as she was about to climb down and try to make for the Regia, she saw two figures darting from behind a hut that clung to Palatine Hill. A man and a young woman. Safinia’s heart rose in her throat. She would know her sister at any distance.

Before Safinia jumped, she turned back once to check on Mettius: They were moving slowly, stopping to hide from horses on their way to the palisade. When he got there, it would be short work of the barricade, if it wasn’t down already. She hoped they would set a fire, so that the other Sabine would see it.

Attice trailed behind slightly, encumbered with Rania on her back. But Orestilla was there, at her elbow, Mettius in the lead, the wet, churned earth stirred by his heels as he ran. Only a horse would close that distance before they had strength in numbers. And the mounted Romans were distracted bringing their brides home.

Safinia jumped, impact making her ankles ache, and ran toward Anesia.

VIII

Safinia was ten steps from Anesia and Aulus when a big man crashed into her. She couldn’t scramble away before he seized her by the neck in one huge hand. “So you’re a bride after all,” he said. “Lucky for Rome.”

It took a moment to recognize him. Thalassius—the friend of Hostius who had helped Numa bring her in from Tiber Island.

“Never,” Safinia hissed. She reached for the knife in her boot—she couldn’t figure out when her spear had been cast aside—and Thalassius grabbed her wrist with his other hand, hoisting her up against him.

“Don’t worry, you aren’t for me,” he said. “I hate the fighting types. Romulus’s girl has someone pretty and docile picked out.”

He had an arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground as if she were as light as a straw doll. Safinia struggled. She had no more sharp things, but pinched at the soft of his arms and neck, scratched into his face with her torn nails. I just have to hold out, she thought, gouging a thumb into Thalassius’s eye. He howled and threw her down. Safinia winced. Always on the bad shoulder.

This time, when he advanced, it was with a murderous look. He raised his sword—only to stumble backward as Anesia jumped on his back, covering his eyes and trying to knee his kidneys all at once.

The man reached back wildly, yanking Anesia’s hair. Safinia scrambled for a weapon—the ground was littered with spearheads and chipped knives—her teeth chattering with the effort of containing hysterical laughter.

“Ama!” Anesia screamed. Safinia looked up. She’d climbed halfway up Thalassius’s shoulder, driving an elbow into the junction between his neck and shoulder. “His sword!”

She couldn’t point without taking a hand off Thalassius’s face. Safinia followed where Anesia’s head craned to look, as Thalassius whipped around, half-blind. There—in the dust, he’d dropped his gladius.

Safinia scrambled for the weapon, hoisting it in two hands—it was heavier than it looked—and swung it inelegantly at Thalassius, opening a gash on his thigh.

He howled, and Anesia dropped to the ground. Weaponless, and with Aulus arrived at their side, Thalassius decided he didn’t like his odds—and fled.

Anesia threw her arms around Safinia. Her whole body shook. “Attice?” she asked. “Ores? You?”

Safinia wasn’t even sure what she was asking, specifically. “We’re all okay,” she said. “It’s all fine.”

She held Anesia with one arm, handed the gladius to Aulus with another. Her nerves buzzed. They were in the thick of things, close to the horrible stone wolf. “We hid when things started up,” Aulus told her. “We thought it was just a brawl at first. And then we thought it’d be a short fight. But everyone’s drunk.”

“Did you know?” Safinia asked sharply. She would forgive Tarpeia, but never Aulus. “Did Numa tell you?”

“I swear—no.” Aulus’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. He was streaked with sweat but not blood. He’d kept out of the action so far. “I—I guessed who had Hersilia a while ago. But not this. Never this.”

“Later, Saf.” Anesia was firm. “Where do we go next? Where is Attice?”

They could not be quick as they moved. Safinia and Anesia called out to Sabine they recognized as they dashed between temples and then the wrecked marketplace. Soon they had a pack. Two other quaestors joined Aulus. Anesia held up a woman with a broken foot—only when the woman offered Safinia a spear did she recognize her from lessons. She took it and helped Aulus as best she could. The women who joined them all held weapons—they were nasty surprises for any Roman who managed to get through Safinia and Aulus’s loose guard.

The ground sloped at the edge of the forum, into a boggy field. Ahead, flames licked the dark. Parts of the palisade were burning. And there—Mettius and the others, close to freedom now. He carried Orestilla on his back—she’d turned an ankle, maybe.

A girl screamed near Safinia’s ear. She looked—but there was no Roman in their midst. “What?” she yelled. “Where?”

Anesia slid the woman she supported to another girl’s shoulders, looking with Safinia. It was hard to see; fires made their eyes smart more than they illuminated the night.

“There,” she gasped. A man on horseback. He was unmistakable. Hostius. At a distance, two of his men followed. They would chew up Safinia’s small resistance with their hooves. Flatten them into the Roman earth and then build concrete over their bones.

She readied her spear on her shoulder. Best she could do was try to take Hostius out before he reached them.

“They’re not coming this way,” Aulus said. And Safinia’s heart seemed to stop, seemed to burst, all at once. He’ll be just as happy with Orestilla, Hersilia had said about Hostius.