Xanthus’s hand rested against Attia’s waist, holding her to him. His eyes grazed over her face, and he slowly raised his hand to touch her cheek.
Attia inhaled sharply. Somehow this touch felt a thousand times more intimate than her head on his shoulder or falling asleep in his bed. Still, she didn’t resist when his fingers moved to her jaw then down to her neck. The slow movement, the warmth, the solidness of him against her—it almost made her ignore the constant undercurrent of bitterness that hummed through her core. It almost made her forget where she was. What she was.
Almost.
Xanthus hadn’t hurt her. He’d never even said an unkind word to her. But he was a prize in Timeus’s house and a champion of the Republic she despised. To everyone around them, he rightfully owned her, and that was something she could never forget.
He said nothing as she pulled away from him and crawled into his bed, turning her face to the wall. After a few moments, he lay down on his blanket and turned the opposite way.
*
Attia walked through the villa, trying not to think about the previous night. Every time she imagined the hurt look on Xanthus’s face when she pulled away, she wanted to cringe. It was better to focus on more important things, like getting back into Timeus’s study.
She’d managed to memorize the Flavian family tree, and she had a clear idea of the route she could take through the city. But she needed more information: Where was Crassus? Was he on a campaign? If not, where did he live? Was his residence on Palatine Hill? Breaking into the Princeps’s palace would be difficult, but not necessarily impossible.
Attia’s mind was whirling with plans when she turned a corner and walked right into a lithe figure dressed in black—the woman she’d seen only in glimpses throughout the villa. All she could do was stare.
The woman’s thick dark hair was pulled back in the Roman style, all curls and elaborate twists. The neckline of her tight-fitting gown plunged low between her breasts, but Attia guessed that was the point. She was beautiful in an almost inhuman sort of way. Her body curved in all the right places, but her solemn expression made her face seem angular and harsh. She looked more like a statue than flesh and blood. Maybe because of that, Attia couldn’t quite determine the woman’s age. She was older than Attia, though not by much. Her light brown skin was still smooth and free of wrinkles, but her eyes—Attia could see the shadows lurking in their dark depths.
The woman considered Attia for a moment. “You must be the Thracian,” she said. Her voice was deeper than Attia expected. “I’ve heard about you. You belong to the champion.”
Attia huffed in irritation. I don’t belong to anyone. She nearly said as much when the woman spoke again.
“I belong to the dominus,” she said, and something flashed in her eyes but was gone too quickly for Attia to interpret. “What are you doing up here?”
“Cleaning.”
The woman glanced at Attia’s empty bucket and dry rags. “I see,” she said. “Well, the domina has called for us both to attend her. Come with me.”
Attia stayed where was. She’d be damned if she let Timeus’s concubine boss her around.
The woman raised her eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you’d like to explain to the dominus why you didn’t come when called.”
Attia narrowed her eyes. She had no choice. She’d just have to get back to the study later.
The woman led Attia to Valeria’s quarters on the other side of the villa. Attia hadn’t explored that part of the house yet. In stark contrast to the grandiosity of Timeus’s formal rooms, a playful whimsy embellished the décor of Valeria’s quarters. Pale silk drapes hung everywhere, sweeping along the walls and pillars, covering open doorways and archways. There were statues as well—graceful nymphs lined the hallway, watching Attia with their enigmatic smiles frozen in marble.
In an open, airy room, Valeria sat at an elaborate vanity by an arched window. Her blond hair was curled and piled up on her head with copper pins. A mirror perched atop the vanity—easily the largest Attia had ever seen—and reflected more of the furniture within the room, including a massive bed covered with tunics, shawls, ribbons, and gowns.
“What do you think of this one, Lucretia?” Valeria asked, looking at her reflection but clearly addressing the concubine. She held an elaborate gold-and-emerald necklace against her pale throat, angling it one way, then another.
“Quite bold, Domina,” Lucretia said as she walked up behind Valeria. “But perhaps the sapphires will best complement your coloring.”
Valeria frowned but kept still as Lucretia picked up the sapphire necklace and clasped it around her neck.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Valeria said. “I always did favor blue.”
Attia’s gaze slowly shifted from the mirror down to the massive tray that held Valeria’s jewels. There were so many stones—so many pieces of gold, silver, and bronze—that she couldn’t even distinguish them all. It was like Valeria’s personal version of Timeus’s jeweled mosaics: a dazzling, sickening display of wealth.
“With that, perhaps the cream-colored stola with the sash,” Lucretia said.
But Valeria ignored her, training her eyes on Attia. “So you are my daughter’s new nursemaid. I am told she is fond of you.” She looked Attia up and down, much the same way Lucretia had just a few minutes ago in the hallway. “I am told the champion is fond of you as well. You must be a girl of many talents.”
Attia felt her face flush. She turned her eyes to the floor so Valeria wouldn’t see the anger beginning to simmer there.
“Hmm,” Valeria said. “Lucretia, not the cream stola. Pick something else. The girl can start on my paints.”
It took Attia a moment to realize that Valeria was referring to her, and when she did, she turned to stare wide-eyed at Lucretia. The woman didn’t even look at her. Instead, she turned and busied herself with the domina’s many gowns.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Valeria demanded.
Attia gingerly approached the vanity, looking helplessly at the dozens of assorted jars, tubes, cups, and bowls scattered among Valeria’s jewels. All of them were filled with contents that she couldn’t even identify, let alone know how to apply. The colors were just as varied, ranging from deep reds and bright oranges to light pinks and black pastes.
Valeria shifted in her seat, turning her back to the mirror, closing her eyes, and raising her face to Attia. Behind them, Lucretia carefully collected the domina’s discarded gowns and began folding them up again.
Attia hesitantly reached for the bowl of pale cream, cradling it in one hand as she dipped a single finger in. It was cool to the touch and thicker than she expected. Biting her lip, she started to spread it on Valeria’s cheeks and forehead. Valeria sighed with contentment.
“I purchased this lavender cream in Naples, you know,” she said. “It’s the best I’ve ever found for filling wrinkles.”
Attia released a small breath. At least she was using that one correctly.