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486 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2012
“I love you, Vix,” she said frankly. “But whatever made you think I want to follow your stars, and not my own?”
“Whoring out your wife,” Sabina said finally. “What would Empress Plotina say?”
“She would be appalled, of course. But she is a wife of exceeding virtue. Since I don’t have one of those, I might as well use your other talents to my advantage.”
“You were never too busy to read before.” She kept her voice gentle. “What’s changed you?”
“Have I changed?”
“You used to talk to me.”
“You used to interest me.”
“You said this morning you didn’t want to follow my stars, Lady. Fair enough. But at least I’ve got stars. What have you got? Following whatever looks interesting, as long as it’s forbidden? There’s a word for that, you know.” I bared my teeth up at her in something that might have been a smile. “They call it slumming.”
With the moonlight falling over her white dress she looked like another marble column. “They should call it ‘duty,’ Vix. I’m not as free as you seem to think I am. Maybe I would rather stay with you; spend my life ‘slumming,’ as you call it. But I still have a duty to others. To Hadrian, who’s always been fair to me. To Rome, for giving me a good life. To the world—because if I get to spend my life seeing it, I should spend my life improving it too, in whatever way I can. I push my limits as far as I can, get away with as much adventure as I dare, but there’s still always duty waiting.” She looked at me, level. “When did you ever feel a duty to anything but yourself?”
“I have a duty to Trajan,” I shot back. “I owe everything to him—he’ll be the next Alexander, he’ll conquer the world, and it’s my duty to help him do it.”
“That’s rot, Vix.” Sabina’s voice was tart. “You’re in this for the adventure, and don’t try to pretend otherwise. If your duty to Trajan meant sitting behind a desk day after day, you’d be a lot less keen to serve him. Real duty means giving up the things you want. I’ve had to walk away from you twice, but you don’t hear me whining about it.”
In his tattered lion skin and his spotless battered armor he looked broad and powerful, sunburned and deadly. They should carve you in granite and put you on display in front of every legion recruiter in Rome, Sabina thought. They’ll fill the ranks in a heartbeat, just by telling envious boys that someday, maybe, they could be you.
Who had time for guilt? It was summer; I had an emperor to serve and an enemy to kill; I had a long road to tire me by day and a lithe girl to tire my by night. That’s what I remember from those months of the Dacian march, not the broader strokes of policy and strategy.
I love you […] but whatever made you think I want to follow your stars, and not my own?