information is not what I was told. I was told you received the property from Flavius Donatus. That you’re his wife’s bosom friend and the senator gifted you with this property at his wife’s request.’
Severina didn’t answer.
‘If Livius Lucan is indeed the owner, there’s no record of it,’ the censor went on. ‘Further, all witnesses questioned so far have been amazingly consistent. They all say you’re the owner and that Livius Lucan is nowhere to be seen.’
Lucan was nowhere to be seen because it hurt too much.
‘Perhaps you should look through the records again,’ she said cooly.
‘My search was quite thorough.’
Severina didn’t answer.
The censor set down his wine glass with a slight thump. ‘I’ll find out the truth, Cassia Severina. If you’re breaking the law, I will see this property wrested from you. You’ll be prosecuted to the fullest extent possible.’
‘Life as a bureaucrat must have little entertainment, if this is all you do with your time.’
‘It’s a matter of principle.’ His eyes narrowed sharply. ‘I’m a proud Roman and good at my job. I uphold the laws and put the interests of her citizens first.’
Her male citizens, Severina thought.
‘It angers me that women like you flout our laws. Their profits rightfully belong to fathers and husbands, to men of skill and intelligence.’
Those who don’t spend it on drink and prostitutes.
‘Women with money are too independent. They don’t need marriage. They don’t want husbands and children. They scorn the virtues that lend a woman worth.’
Severina put a hand to her lips to hold in the hot words. She was only too familiar with the ideal of womanhood that most Roman men cherished, someone fertile and docile. A meek child bride who allowed herself to be used hard in the marriage bed and birthed a child every year. One who admired her husband’s accomplishments, but had few of her own.
‘You’re being very quiet,’ the censor said with a smug expression. ‘You’ve nothing to say in your defence?’
‘Only what I said before. Livius Lucan owns this inn.’
‘Then I hope, for your sake, that he’ll be able to substantiate that claim. For if he cannot, I will make an example out of you.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘It’s a promise.’ The censor’s lips twisted cruelly. ‘There’ll be a hearing, of course, and witnesses will testify. If you’re telling the truth, you’ve nothing to fear. But if you’ve lied, I will take you down.’
He glanced around the room. ‘This really is a lovely place, you know. If you lose it, it won’t be hard to find a man interested in it.’
Severina sucked in a hard breath. So that was the game? He’d confiscate her inn and sell it for his own gain?
‘You’re despicable.’
The man’s laughter was not pleasant. ‘You’ve no idea.’
It was a nightmare. Surely. Just a bad dream.
But it wasn’t. The censor still stood before her, looking around the room as if he owned it already.
‘The hearing’s in three weeks,’ he said, handing her a parchment bearing the details and a large, official-looking seal. ‘Do be on time. I’m a busy man. I don’t like to be kept waiting.’
Of course you wouldn’t, you greasy fat cat, Severina thought as she watched him leave. You want to crush as many poor, struggling women as you can before the day’s done.
She stood for a moment in rank confusion, unsure of her next move. Was this a simple misunderstanding or was there something—someone—far more insidious involved? Severina chewed her lip and considered. Had her past caught up with her? Was it time to leave Rome and move on?
Five years. She’d run for five years, but her old enemy hadn’t caught her yet. She’d begun to feel safe, to build a new life, to imagine a settled existence.
True, she’d had a few twinges of doubt when Donatus had given her the inn. To work in the public made her uneasy, but she’d needed the income and owning a business of her own had been the fulfilment of her dreams.
The chances of being discovered had seemed small. She’d changed drastically from the thin, pale-faced girl she’d been when she’d left her past behind at age fifteen, and Rome was a vast city with a population of millions. But had her luck now played out? She couldn’t be sure.
Severina pivoted sharply, calling for Ariadne. ‘My palla,’ she said in response to the younger woman’s anxious question. ‘And please find Orthrus to accompany me. I must go to Lucan.’
Chapter Two
‘I should warn you,’ Orthrus said, slanting his dark gaze towards Severina as they neared Lucan’s apartment. ‘Master Lucan’s changed. He’s not the same as before.’
Severina heard the slight censure in her slave’s voice, but ignored it. Her slaves remained on good terms with Lucan, and Orthrus visited him often.
‘How is he different?’
‘You know how much his faith meant to him? How he’d become a leader among the Christians here in Rome? He’s turned away from that now. He doesn’t attend their meetings. He doesn’t talk about their God. I don’t think he even prays.’
Severina halted in the street. ‘Lucan’s no longer a Christian? But he was…’
‘So faithful? Yes. But in losing you, he lost that, too.’
This news shook Severina. Lucan’s faith had mattered to him. It had been the bedrock of his life even before they’d met. It had once rescued him from a dissolute life, leading him away from strong drink and women, leading him towards peace and purpose.
Lucan’s Christian faith had mattered to her, too. Because of it, he’d cared for her differently from all the women of his past, building their love on a foundation of trust rather than desire.
But Lucan no longer believed? How could that be?
‘You’re blaming me, Orthrus?’
‘No, mistress,’ he said. ‘I’m saying only that a lot of things changed for him after you left.’
Orthrus did blame her. She could see it in his eyes. Or perhaps her imagination played tricks, making her feel guilty—again.
She pushed the feeling aside. She didn’t have time to consider all her reasons for ending the relationship with Lucan.
It hadn’t been her fault that love had caught her by surprise. She’d never meant to lose herself
