This is my patron, she thought, not an enemy in the warren of the city or a shark in the green waters of Thira. I am in no danger. No danger.

The architrave of the entrance hall vaulted high above them as the doormen helped her out of the litter. A little stunned by the size of the hallway, Thyatis did not resist as they led her forward, soundlessly, over a vast expanse of seamless sea-foam pale marble. The panels inset in the ceiling were painted with more dolphins, mermaids, eels, and sharks. Watery streams of light fell through blue and green glass panels high on the dome of the atrium. The air seemed to shimmer in the dim light. Pale cream walls rose up, unadorned, to reach the base of the dome. A light current of air brushed over her, stirring her hair. At the end of the entrance hall, lit by slanting beams of afternoon sunlight, a monumental reclining Poseidon took his ease in lightly painted marble. Sea nymphs and porpoises surrounded and supported him as he rested. At the base, waves of stone crashed upward from the massive plinth that supported the entire statue.

Oh, my dear, Thyatis thought, this is surely not Pater’s farm!

Her eyes widened as the servants preceded her the length of the hall from the atrium to the seat of the sea king. Though the figure was fully three times life size, the artistry of the painters’ work was unparalleled. The black curls of his hair seemed to fall so naturally, the pale pink of his skin throbbed with life. The lips of the sea nymphs blushed a pale rose, like the most delicate flowers.

“Magnificent, isn’t he?” came a husky voice, breaking the silence. Thyatis turned slowly, nerves taut, her peripheral vision catching the flutter of the servants as they bowed themselves away from her. To the right of the statue, a set of steps descended in broad arcs to an interior garden. A tall woman stood on the topmost step, her raven-dark hair spilling down her back in a glorious cascade of loose curls. Tiny golden pins glittered like stars against the firmament of her hair. A shimmering deep blue-black dress of silk clung eagerly to her figure. Thin necklaces of pearl and raw red gold plunged from her neck to vanish in the soft darkness between her breasts. Thyatis suppressed a momentary urge to gape in awe at the expense of such a garment. The raw silk alone would have done to purchase the province of Pannonia. The lush red lips quirked in amusement, and Thyatis struggled to keep her composure as she realized that her opinion was all too clear to the pair of deep-violet eyes that surveyed her from beneath eyelids lightly dusted with gold.

“Come, my dear, join me in the garden.”

The woman turned, showing an alarming expanse of supple white back in the scoop-backed gown. One long-fingered hand gestured idly to the nearest servant and the man disappeared back down the undersea gloom of the hallway. Thyatis followed the woman down the steps, marveling at her hostess’s movement. She seemed to glide, not walk, and though Thyatis accounted herself sure on her feet, she felt clumsy and hesitant beside the monumental self-assurance of the other woman.

Beyond tall glass-paned doors of bronze and silver a low garden lay, subtly lit in the afternoon sun. Tall rowan trees rose above the tile roofs of the building that surrounded it. An almost invisible canopy of thin filmy fabric covered the open sky, muting the light of the sun. A small brook trickled through an immaculately kept lawn, guided between carefully placed stones. A tiled walkway led across the stream and into a bower that covered the northern half of the garden. Thyatis crossed the little wooden bridge and paused momentarily, as she suddenly became aware of the light sound of harp strings and the whisper of a lute. An air of peaceful repose lapped around her, languid and warm.

The dark-haired woman settled on a couch that was placed in the bower and gestured for her guest to sit upon cushions laid at the foot of the divan. Thyatis found herself almost frozen in apprehension by the understated but absolutely unmistakable display of vast wealth that surrounded her.

“Come, come, dear. Krista will bring us something light to eat and you and I will talk.”

The languid, almost hoarse voice stirred Thyatis from her panicked stillness. With a fierce effort of will,- she forced herself to walk to the cushions and settle there, cross-legged, amid them.

The hostess laughed, a cultivated sound, like summer rain on a tile roof. She leaned back on the divan, resting her round white arm on the cushions. “You are in no danger here, my dear, you are under my protection and in my service. I do not harm my servants, particularly ones who do me such good work.” The woman smiled, her perfect cheeks dimpling. Against her will, Thyatis found the charm of the woman eating away at her battle tension.

“Forgive me for prattling, but certain things must be clear between us,” continued the mistress of the household. “I am the Duchess Anastasia de’Orelio, a lady of the Roman city of Parma. You are Thyatis Julia of the house of Clodia, a hitherto unremarkable clan of Roman landowners. You have been my ward and employee for five years, though we have never conversed before today. I must apologize for taking so long to see you-you are one of my children, under the letter of the law-but it seemed best.”

Thyatis bowed her head to cover a start of surprise. She had not realized that she had been adopted into her patron’s household. An odd mixture of relief and sadness washed over her. She had a place in the world after all.

Anastasia laughed again, genuinely. “And you are very polite for a young woman of your background and skills.”

The Duchess’s eyes sharpened as Thyatis looked up with a calm expression. Silver chains composed of hundreds of tiny perfectly formed links rustled on her wrist as the older woman waved a finger around the courtyard and garden.

“This did not come to a silly or stupid person,” she said. “It came to me because I was-I am-quick of thought, light of wit, and have a very good memory.” Thyatis looked up, her mouth twitching in amusement.

“Ah,” said the Duchess, “Krista is here at last.”

Thyatis turned and observed a young woman crossing the bridge. She wore a simple white shift, though it was of a good fabric and edged with a pale-orange trim. Like Thyatis she was a deep tan, with her dark red-brown hair done up in coiled braids. At first sight, there was something of the Duchess’s look to her dark eyes and lips, but Thyatis saw that they were not blood relations. The girl was a slave, marked by a thin jeweled collar and a barely subservient attitude. In her hands, she bore a broad bronze platter filled with cheese, fruit, and bread. Bowing prettily, she placed the food before the Duchess and knelt on the grass. Unbidden, she opened two small ceramic crocks, one of jam and one of fresh butter. Thyatis realized that she was quite hungry. The summons to meet her unseen and unmentioned employer had come at dawn, and breakfast had been a forgotten detail in a busy morning.

“Now, Krista, look at this young lady and tell me if she can be made more attractive than she is already.”

Krista did not speak for a moment, completing the preparation of Jhe bread and butter, which she offered first on a porcelain dish to Anastasia, who gravely accepted a single piece, and then to Thyatis, who restrained herself mightily and took only two. The slave sat back on her haunches and appraised the visitor with sharp brown eyes.

“Well, her breasts are large enough, I suppose,” she began.

Thyatis was still smarting at the cool commentary of the slave hours later when she at last emerged from the baths that were sequestered under the villa. While she had waited in increasingly furious silence, the slave had detailed all of her obvious and not-so-obvious failings at the prompting and delight of her mistress. After two hours of discussion during which Thyatis felt ever more like an insensate lump, at last they concluded. Anastasia had bidden Krista take her guest to the baths and then make her presentable for evening company. It had taken every scrap of control not to clip the smug little girl behind the knees once they were out of sight of the garden and then ram her perfect little face into the nearest stucco column repeatedly until Thyatis felt better. But she had not, and had suffered the attentions of the bath servants in grim silence.