Lady of the Eternal City by Kate Quinn Page A

east, and now the rented rooms of the west—and I couldn’t blame her if she wanted a proper home. Somewhere I could share her bed nightly rather than creeping in every third day like I was visiting a whore; somewhere she could pray to her own God without being spit on by Romans who thought Jews mutilated babies. And when the last rebellion in Judaea had been put down and Mirah’s parents had decided to leave Rome for their home province, well, I suppose I couldn’t blame her that she’d set her sights on joining them.
    “I wouldn’t have dreamed of asking you to leave Trajan’s service.” She snuggled into my shoulder. “I know what he meant to you. But from everything I’ve heard about Emperor Hadrian, he’s a different sort of fish altogether.”
    I called him something fouler and more anatomically unlikely than a fish. Mirah smacked me whenever I swore where the children might be able to overhear, but not when we were alone. She’d probably store the curses up to use herself when she next broke a plate.
    “Don’t think you can change the subject by swearing, Vercingetorix. Trajan is
gone
. And we aren’t chained down by legionary pay anymore. We could travel in comfort
and
live well when we arrive in Judaea. My parents do, and Uncle Simon—you’ve read their letters. We don’t have to take farmland; I know you’re a city dweller down to your bones, but we can take a house like this one in Bethar.” Her voice softened. “All my family are there, and they love you like one of their own. Uncle Simon used to fight with you in the Tenth Fidelis; he’s told me all the stories how you’ve saved each other’s lives! So why don’t you want to join them?”
    I knew why, but I couldn’t tell her. I’d been a soldier since I was nineteen years old, and now I was past thirty-five, and I didn’t know how to do anything else. What would I be in Bethar, sitting about a house all day watching my children grow and my sword rust? A former gladiator, a failed bodyguard, a renegade legionary? A man with no master, no honor, no cause—a man with nothing at all.
    I sat up on the bed, ruffling a hand over my hair, and Mirah sat up too, molding her soft form against my back. Her voice was muted against my shoulder. “You despise the Emperor, Vix. So why are you so bent on serving him?”
    She wasn’t wrong. I’d happily watch Hadrian choke on his own blood.
    But Hell’s gates, I couldn’t let it happen on my watch.
    Look. It wasn’t much, being a palace guard, but it was what I
had
. Every Praetorian in the Guard braced instinctively when I passed by, because they knew I’d roast them over a slow fire if I caught them slacking. I’d told the whole Guard I’d turn them into men of Rome and not some choir of eunuchs, and I had. They called me a gutter-mouthed flogger who buggered goats, but it wasn’t my job to be liked. It was my job to be respected, and I was. Because I did my duty, and I did it well.
    “Do you even know how to fail?” I remember a girl teasing me once—the girl whose earring I still carried in my pack alongside Mirah’s blue scarf. She was right, that girl. I
didn’t
know how to fail. I didn’t know how to stop doing what I was so good at: guarding a man I hated, a man who understood me and used me against myself.
    But how could I tell Mirah that? How can you tell your wife that you need a master as much as you need her happiness? That she probably shouldn’t have married me at all, because she didn’t deserve to deal with all the dark worries I carried with me alongside my collection of good-luck tokens?
    So I gave her knuckles a kiss where her hands had twined around my shoulders, and rose. “I should be returning to duty.”
    Mirah let out her breath in a short rush, and I thought I heard her mutter something in Aramaic. “When does the Emperor arrive?”
    “God knows.” I shrugged into my tunic, slid into the armholes of my breastplate. “He’s summoning his bitch of an