“You don’t have wrinkles, Domina,” Lucretia said.
Valeria scoffed, but a pleased smile crossed her lips. “I don’t look my age, do I? Not even two children could rob me of my figure. Let Flavius choke on that.”
The name made Attia stiffen with interest. She dipped her fingers into the cream again and mindlessly added another layer to Valeria’s face, her attention focused on the woman’s continued chattering.
“Titus could barely hold that wife of his for a year. What does he know about women? His cousin Tycho is a toad, and if Crassus weren’t a father, I’d wonder if he’d ever bedded a woman at all.”
Lucretia muttered in agreement, though Attia wasn’t sure if she was even listening.
“Married three times and only one son. What does that tell you?” Valeria said with a smirk. The expression quickly turned bitter. “And if he sired any daughters, well, I wouldn’t be surprised if those girls were plucked from their mothers’ breasts and thrown into the Tyrrhenian. We all know how Flavians treat their women.” Her mouth curved in a grimace.
Attia wore a ferocious frown as she listened to Valeria. Was all that true or was Valeria simply repeating some cruel rumor? But Attia thought of the complete lack of women on the Flavian family tree in Timeus’s study, and chills blossomed across her back.
“Of course, my brother hopes the Princeps will be at the next match,” Valeria was saying. “As long as Crassus and the Toad stay at Palatine Hill, I’ll be fine.”
So that’s where Crassus was staying. It made sense. Where did a soldier go when he returned from war or a massacre? Home, of course.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Attia. She’d wanted to go to Timeus’s study to look for information on Crassus. Who knew that she could simply have visited Timeus’s sister and listened to the latest gossip?
The corner of Attia’s mouth lifted in a muted smile, and she focused her gaze on Valeria’s face. The woman’s already pale skin was practically white now—thickly layered with the special lavender cream from Naples. Attia quickly put the bowl down and searched for another color to put some life back into the older woman’s skin. She found a jar of something red, and when she removed the cork lid, the scent of wax wafted out.
The stuff inside was stiffer than the cream, more solid. Attia vigorously rubbed the surface with the pad of her finger to pick up the color, and then tried to apply it to Valeria’s cheeks. But the pigment was just as unyielding on skin as it was in the jar. Two bright red spots stood out on Valeria’s high cheekbones, and no matter how Attia rubbed at them, the color refused to fade or blend away.
Attia quickly grabbed a shallow plate of bronze powder from the vanity. With a piece of linen, she spread the powder all over Valeria’s face, focusing mostly on the red spots. She stood back to consider her handiwork.
Well, the red spots had diminished, and Valeria no longer looked pale. No, now she just looked as though she’d been burnt too strongly by the sun. Or acquired some foul infection in Naples.
Attia glanced over her shoulder at Lucretia, who was still busying herself with Valeria’s gowns. There’d be no help from her, apparently. Attia scowled with irritation and snatched the jar of black paste from the vanity. It wasn’t as thick as the red stuff, nor as soft as the cream, but it stuck to her finger like tar. Not wanting to get the black paste all over her hands, she selected a thin brush and swirled its stiff bristles around in the pot. She bit her lip in concentration as she slowly drew thick lines along Valeria’s blonde lashes—a look that Timeus’s concubine seemed to favor. Attia allowed herself a satisfied smile before drawing matching strokes along Valeria’s bottom lashes.
Only when Valeria opened her eyes again did Attia get a good look at the horror she’d wrought.
Oh. Gods.
“Don’t forget the lips, girl,” Valeria said—oblivious—and closed her eyes again.
Lucretia chose that moment to approach. She took one look at Valeria, and her blank expression changed to one of shock. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened, and she clapped her hands to her mouth in an obvious effort to keep from laughing.
Attia aimed a furious scowl at her as she reached once more for the bowl of red goo. That seemed to knock Lucretia back to reality, because the neutral mask fell into place again, and she took the bowl from Attia’s hand.
“I’ll finish this up for you, Domina,” she said, lightly pushing Attia aside. She didn’t meet Attia’s eyes, only nudged her head toward the door.
Attia didn’t need to be told twice. She hurried out the door, fighting the urge to run and stifling her own laughter as she went.
CHAPTER 9
It was all Valeria’s idea.
As Attia returned to the villa from Xanthus’s room the next morning, Valeria called to her from the eastern sunroom where she, Lucius, and Timeus were breaking their fast.
“I want to bring her with us, Josias. Rory likes her so much already, and you know, she and Lucretia helped pick my outfit just the other day. Let me bring her,” Valeria said in a cloying voice. “She can stay up on the veranda with us. I’m sure she won’t bother anyone.”
Timeus said nothing at first, though the line of his mouth tightened as his sister chattered on. But after a few minutes, a thought seemed to occur to him and he frowned. “She could watch,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
“Yes! Yes, exactly!” Valeria said in her animated voice. “She can attend to me and watch. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“And he’ll know,” Timeus murmured. “He’ll know she’s there.”
“Yes, of course!” Valeria laughed, though she clearly didn’t know what Timeus was talking about. “So we’ll bring her?”
Timeus turned to glare at Attia. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll bring her.”
The look on his face sent chills racing along Attia’s skin.
That afternoon, Attia again found herself being led through the streets of Rome. A slender bronze chain wrapped around her waist and tied her to Valeria’s litter as befitting the domina’s handmaiden. The chain was more for decoration than anything else—proof to anyone looking that she was property. Four strong slaves carried the litter down the street.
Up ahead, Timeus and Lucius rode in a large draped lectica, a more opulent version of Valeria’s stupid basket, with tall gold posts and the backs of over a dozen slaves to carry it. The gladiators followed in the rear, with Xanthus at the front of the group. Attia tried to catch a glimpse of him, but her line of sight was obscured by the other slaves and the crowd.