Free Mistress of Rome by Kate Quinn

smile. “Needle?”
    “Here.”
    “Good. Now sit down.”
    “Why?”
    She placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down into the chair. Her voice was playful. “Because I’m the teacher, and the teacher has to loom over the pupil. First of all, that tunic has got to come off. You don’t mend something while you’re wearing it.”
    Self-consciously he shrugged out of his tunic. He still wore his training kilt underneath, from that morning’s sparring, but he felt naked. One side of Thea’s mouth flicked up, but her hands were businesslike as she turned the tunic inside out. “You’ll need to trim the stray threads. Do you have a knife?”
    “Gallus doesn’t let me have anything sharp.”
    “Don’t suppose I blame him. Just tuck the threads in and lap the edges over, then.” Showing him. “Now take the needle, and use a roundabout stitch like this.”
    His stitches were crude next to hers. “It’s no good.”
    “Did Vercingetorix beat Julius Caesar on his first campaign? Try again. Careful, you’ll break the needle if you hold it so hard. It’s not a sword, Arius.”
    His name was sweet in her mouth. She leaned over his shoulder, her work-hardened hand gentle as she readjusted his grip. He felt her breath whispering on the back of his neck, the plaited ends of her hair caressing his bare arm. Her skin was smooth and cool in the stagnant heat. The little cell suddenly seemed much hotter.
    The needle broke in his hand.
    He jumped up then, knocking her back against the bed. “Get out.”
    “What?” Half-sprawled across his rough blankets, she looked puzzled. “Arius—”
    “Go away.” He said it brutally. Before the demon could whisper, Hurt her .
    Something in her face shuttered. The second woman he’d thrown out of his room. Only this one left without a word, quietly and on her own two feet.
    He banged the door behind her. Sank his back against the latch, head in his hands, and listened to her quiet footsteps retreating down the hall. Now she would have gone through the door, now the gates would have shut behind her, now she would be walking back toward the Pollio house and her blue bowl . . .
    He yanked the door open. “GALLUS!”
    “Yes, dear boy?” His lanista appeared in the hall, groomed and jeweled for a party, a pretty slave boy holding his pomander.
    “Don’t let her back in here again. Ever.”
    He slammed the door, and the demon laughed.

Four

THEA
    C AREFUL with those bracelets, stupid!” The festival of Volturnalia was past, and my mistress was back.
    “What a summer!” She stretched like a cat, impossibly pale and smooth and lovely. “Tivoli is so beautiful in August; not a bit hot. Too bad you had to miss it. Goodness, Thea, you do look brown. All dry and baked like a saddle. Anyway, you’ll never guess what the Emperor’s done! Marcus had the news before anyone. He’s divorced his wife! Emperor Domitian, that is. Packed her off to Brundisium or Toscana or somewhere. Can you imagine? She probably had a lover—they’re talking about that actor, the one named Paris who plays at the Theatre of Marcellus. I can’t see an Empress with an actor, so it’s probably just talk, but they say Domitian had him killed anyway. He’s a very jealous husband.”
    “Shall I unpack now, my lady?”
    “Yes. Marcus is coming to dinner tonight, so leave out the yellow silk. Don’t bother with jewels; no need to look beautiful for Marcus.” She regarded her betrothal ring impatiently, then her gaze flicked up to me. “So, Thea—”
    “The jasmine perfume, my lady?”
    “Don’t change the subject, Thea. How did your little summer errand go?”
    “He didn’t get the last three letters.”
    Her fine black brows drew together. “If you lost them—”
    “No.” I busied myself with her perfume bottles. “He wouldn’t see me.”
    “What do you mean, wouldn’t see you?”
    “I went to deliver a letter.” I spoke tonelessly. “He told me to get out.”
    “What?