Free A Day of Fire: A Novel of Pompeii by Kate Quinn, Ben Kane, Stephanie Dray, Michelle Moran, E. Knight, Sophie Perinot, Vicky Alvear Shecter Page B

his head and paws the ground.
    “Lady,” father bows, “it is an honor. This is my daughter, Lucia Aemilia Lepida.” The woman glances at me, but only for a moment before her eyes return to the horse.
    “Diana of the Cornelii.” She reaches up to seize the stallion’s tossing nose. I notice that her palm is as callused as a groom’s although the name of the Cornelii is old and noble. I would be chastised roundly should I allow my hands to become so. “How did a wine merchant come to own a racing stallion?”
    “A combination of desperation and bad luck, Lady. I had a debtor who could not pay me other than by relinquishing this brute. He is too high-strung to be of any use to me for business or pleasure. Never advance credit to a chariot faction director, Lady, even if the vast quantity of wine he orders is for his wedding.”
    She gives a swift nod like a man. “Let’s see him move.”
    The grooms lead the horse up and down in the dusty yard outside. Muscle bunches under his red hide like silk, and Diana of the Cornelii smiles broadly. “I like a chestnut,” she says to no one in particular, as she watches the motion of the flashing legs. A lock of hair escapes its combs. The name Diana suits her. She is a huntress, lovely and unkempt. Did she travel all this long way from Rome alone? If so, how did she manage such a thing?
    The grooms bring the stallion to a halt, and she bends to run her hands over a foreleg. No ring on her left hand, I notice. I rotate the plain betrothal ring Sabinus placed on my finger, a ring I secretly take off at night. She must be at least a decade older than me. How has she escaped being some man’s property, just as this horse may shortly be hers? I envy her freedom.
    “He’s a bit heavy, but he might anchor a team on the inside.” She peels the horse’s lips back to examine his teeth. He does his best to bite her, but she merely swats him on the nose. “What are you asking for him, Lucius Aemilius Lepidus?”
    My father cannot be beaten at haggling when it comes to his business. He drives a hard price for an amphora of wine, and does it with a smile. But on this occasion, he is bested. I listen in astonishment as the woman in the red dress pushes him to half his asking price. To see a Lady of high birth conducting her own business! It is unbelievable.
    “You have the better of me, Lady,” Father says ruefully, but he does not look unhappy. Doubtless he is just pleased to have the stallion off his hands and no longer terrifying our grooms.
    I would have the better of you, Father . Or if not precisely the better of him, better than I am offered now. My father raised me in his shadow. So much so that Mother chided him many times for treating me like the son he never had. Father hears and even seeks my opinions on everyday things, yet I was not asked for one on the man I will marry. And everything my father has built will pass over me to that man. Sabinus will someday possess the grapes ripening outside and the murals being made splendid again on the villa walls as certainly has he will possess me. The unfairness of that causes my eyes to prick.
    “I leave for Rome in three days,” the stallion’s new mistress says. “May I collect him then?”
    “Can I persuade you, gracious Lady, to wait one day more? We are in chaos here as my daughter marries on the very day you name.”
    “Congratulations.” Her eyes rest on me, faintly pitying. But perhaps I only see pity because I feel it for myself. I wish the lady and I were friends, as close perhaps as I am to my friend Julilla, for then I could ask her advice. Not how to be a model Roman wife—I get enough lectures on that from Julilla and Mother—but on how to avoid being Sabinus’ wife, good, bad, or indifferent. “I won’t interrupt your wedding, Lucia Aemilia Lepida. I’ll come for the horse the day after.”
    “Excellent.” Father offers another of his winning smiles. “Lady, will you come in and take some