The Secret History: A Novel of Empress Theodora by Stephanie Thornton

older than Comito reclined on hard benches as their slaves rushed to and fro with makeup palettes and snake wigs. Medusa’s sisters. A cluster of troupe girls stood to the side, fluttering about one another. They were without masks and dressed as my sister in simple blue stolas. None of them could compare with my sister’s golden hair and milky skin.
    Comito still looked worried, so I hugged her and flashed a bright smile. “At least you won’t have snakes for hair.”
    Medusa stalked over to her sisters. I didn’t catch the conversation, but things weren’t going well for one of the lesser gorgons. Her face turned the same color as bread dough, except for two red spotspainted on her cheeks, but she blanched an even paler shade of white when Medusa started screaming at her.
    “And you thought you’d keep it?” Medusa yelled as her gaze fell on Comito. She stormed over to us and stopped before she plowed my sister over.
    She scrutinized Comito like a donkey in the market. I waited for her to pull up my sister’s lips to inspect her teeth, but unfortunately, things didn’t go that far. Finally, she nodded. “You’re the right size. Pretty enough, but not too pretty.”
    Her own hair poked out from under the wig at her temples, a violent shade of red. The snakes were far more attractive.
    Hilarion chose that moment to emerge from what smelled like the latrina, wiping his hands on the rear of his tunica. My sister flinched as Medusa snapped her fingers at him.
    “This one will take Antonina’s place.” Medusa glared at one of her sisters. “Perhaps permanently.”
    Antonina had been mysteriously absent when we were trying to find Comito’s costume—I wondered what she’d been doing instead to incur the wrath of the Kynêgion’s star actress. The man seemed unperturbed by Medusa’s rage. “May I remind you, Petronia, I make the casting decisions in my own theater. Would you mind telling me why Antonina is unable to perform?”
    “Because the little slut lost her voice last night cheering at the races at the Hippodrome.” Petronia’s mouth puckered as if she’d been sucking rancid prunes.
    Hilarion looked at my sister. “Do you know the lines?”
    Fear fluttered across Comito’s face. Of course she didn’t know the lines, but we knew the story and with any luck Hilarion hadn’t noticed we’d missed the rehearsal. Comito would likely only need to screech when Medusa died. Even my sister could manage that.
    “Of course she does,” I said. “We’ve seen this plenty of times.”
    Hilarion looked me over, certainly remembering his earlier dismissal of me. “Fine,” he said to Comito. “Don’t miss your cue.”
    Petronia stalked away, but the other two actresses watched us like starving hawks. They were scrawny, probably country girls sold by their parents to pay the family’s taxes and eliminate another mouth to feed.
    “Where are you going?” Comito asked as I walked toward the girls.
    “To take care of your lines,” I said. One girl walked away, laughing and flipping her snakes over her shoulder. The other was pretty—beautiful even—or she would have been without the ghastly red spots painted on her cheeks and the tiny gap between her front teeth. “Are you Antonina?”
    She spat at my feet. I took that as a yes.
    “Your sister doesn’t look smart enough to handle the lines.” Antonina’s voice didn’t waver—I didn’t know what she’d done to tick off Petronia, but she hadn’t lost her voice at the Hippodrome.
    No one else could make fun of my sister. Comito was my personal property to mock.
    “Much like you,” I said.
    Antonina choked and looked about to throttle me.
    “Tell me the lines and I’ll split my sister’s earnings with you. Eighty-twenty.”
    That got her attention. “Fifty-fifty.”
    “Seventy-thirty.”
    “Fine.” She hissed the lines at me—there were two whopping sentences—and I sauntered back to Comito. “A gift for you, Sister.” I recited the