Mistress of Rome by Quinn Kate

Author:Quinn, Kate [Quinn, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

LONG days. Sun burning. Mostly alone, as Domitian flitted back and forth to the city on Imperial business. I took endless shopping trips, endless baths. Worried about Vix, doubtlessly causing trouble for Penelope. Read my horoscope, drawn up by Nessus. The stars gave the same bad news as my palm. Nessus looked apologetic, and Ganymede stroked his hand and crooned wordlessly. Could they be lovers? Anybody’d love Ganymede, mute or not.

Domitian, in between working on new legislation, was writing a manual on hair care. Had thin hair himself, God help you if you mentioned it. I recommended an elderflower rinse to improve shine, but was told to be quiet. An Emperor penning hair advice? Well, we all need hobbies. Emperor Tiberius played with slave girls, Emperor Claudius studied the Etruscans, Domitian wrote about hair. His other hobby was lining the slaves up below the terrace and shooting arrows between their outstretched fingers. He was very good; never missed unless he wanted to. In a bad mood, he liked to be accurate. In a good mood, he liked to miss.

I sang songs for Larcius. Saw him large and pink and approving; Penelope, too. She said to get more sleep. Larcius said I sounded hoarse. Too much choking, I told him seriously, and he understood. Then he disappeared, and I woke up and realized I’d been dreaming.

A month gone already. Only a few more months of summer left, then Domitian would be returning to Rome and I would go back to Brundisium, back to my boy, back to Larcius and his gentle voice. A few months. Going very slowly.

“Nessus tells me you’ve met my niece, Flavia Domitilla.”

“Yes, I have.”

“A featherbrained girl, just like her mother. A Christian, of all things. Do you know what they are? A ratlike people who scuttle in catacombs and paint fishes on walls. I’ve contemplated removing Flavia’s sons from her care, but they seem to be good Romans thus far.”

“Are they to be your heirs, then?”

“Correct. Since my wife has failed to provide alternatives. Are you looking to provide one yourself? I hear you’ve had at least one child—”

“Farmed out,” I lied quickly. “I don’t like children. I’ve never even seen it.” Oh, God, let him believe me. The thought of Vix in this monster’s hands—

“Open your eyes,” breathed Domitian, “and tell me you’re afraid of me.”

“No.”

“I can smell it on you.”

“No.”

Long nights. Moon burning like hot silver. Never alone. Long, long nights, full of strange things. The sharp pen he used to spear flies out of the air; used for other things. Soft bracelets on chains, fastening my wrists to the sleeping couch. Questions. “It hurts? No? If I shift the edge deeper—” Blank-eyed and busy-handed, a scientist among his experiments.

Childish, to think the brothel was bad. Too unimaginative to be bad. Tiring, but not bad. Bad is a cheerful voice at midnight, saying, “Afraid now? Hours left to work on that!”

Jars and jars of Ganymede’s ointment.

“It’s not bad yet, Thea.” Julia scolded me gently in my dreams, robed all in white like a Vestal Virgin.

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