23. Sweet Sapa

Sweet Sapa

Rose

I don’t take sapa . It’s too sweet, and certainly too expensive, but perhaps it will grow on me.

The hard back of the chair cuts in my spine as I keep my shoulders straight and my breathing even. The light filters down on the cobblestones and a small circular fountain in the center of the room. It’s similar to the one in the forum, a bowl overflowing into the larger circle below. Understated and classic, just as I’d expect of Tristan’s domus.

I thought Tristan would return before us, since the attic is the last tier to empty after the games. Somehow, we’re still waiting for him. Daisy twists at the table, trying to look around at the small atrium and where it joins with the rest of the domus.

“I thought it’d be bigger,” she whispers to me.

“Shh,” I hiss, not wanting a servant to overhear.

“Hopefully you’re not disappointed by the size of anything else,” she says, still in a whisper tone but louder in volume.

“Daisy!”

She laughs, sitting back in her chair. I’m glad she’s recovered from the match, but does she have to needle me?

“Laughing before I even enter the room, that’s a first,” Augustus says, entering from the hallway behind us. Daisy beams as my face heats to scarlet.

He’s here.

“Probably not the last,” Daisy says, holding out her hand as we both stand.

Augustus takes it, but his eyes find mine. “You must be Daisy,” he says. There’s something more, something unsaid, but I don’t know what it is. “Rose.” He takes my hand too, brushing a kiss across the lower halves of my fingers, bottom lip catching on my fingertips.

I can’t stop the goose-pebbles that travel up my arm, but if he notices, he doesn’t comment. Instead he sits next to Daisy, leaving the space beside me open for Tristan.

“My brother is running late, as is his nature,” Augustus says, gesturing for a servant. He looks windblown, as if he’s been outside running. Did he run from the Colosseum?

Daisy must notice his flushed cheeks and windswept hair as well because she says, “And what has you in such a state?”

Augustus smiles and leans back, shooting me a look before answering. “I may have lost track of the time.”

“Doing?” Daisy presses.

I aim a kick at her under the table and she glares at me. Augustus laughs. “I was in the woods when I realized I would be late if I didn’t run.”

She nods as if this is a perfectly acceptable response to her incredibly rude question. “Ah yes. And in the woods you were…?”

“Daisy,” I say. I don’t know what’s gotten into her today. It’s like she cares nothing for expectation. Obedience.

Appropriateness.

Tristan takes that moment to enter, all golden light. “He was wasting his time painting, weren’t you brother?” Augustus' jaw tightens at the insult as Tristan’s hands snake over my shoulders, fingertips resting on my collarbones. “Rosebud,” he says, kissing the top of my head.

“Tristan,” I murmur. “This is my sister, Daisy.”

“Pleasure,” Tristan says, greeting her with a kiss to the hand as well. He snaps for his own sapa to be filled and before I can stop him, he asks for Daisy and I to have ours filled as well. Daisy glances at me before taking a sip. “Problem?” he asks.

“No, we just aren’t used to taking sapa ,” I say before Daisy can make a comment. Part of her must know that Tristan is not like Augustus because she stays quiet, nodding in agreement.

“I suppose it is rather Praetorian,” Tristan muses, sipping his own drink. “So, was I right… Augustus?” His words are barbed, but I’m not sure what about them is supposed to offend Augustus.

Augustus smiles. “Right you are, brother. Perhaps I’ll gift it to you when I leave so you don’t forget me.”

Daisy and I sip our sapa , not sure what to say. “Yes, I’d love another dreary naturescape,” Tristan quips.

“I could paint a gladiator match for you, if you’re so fond of bloodshed.”

“You can’t paint something you’ve never seen,” Tristan says.

“I’m sure they all look the same,” Augustus says, drawing out each word.

“I guess you’ll never know.”

I have the distinct impression they’re not talking about what we think they are. The air is thick with the kind of tension made all the more dangerous because not everyone is aware of its origin.

“When will you leave?” I ask, shattering the stillness between us.

“Three clipses,” Augustus says, eyes not leaving Tristan.

“A good time to leave Divus,” Daisy remarks. “The storm season is set to be particularly wicked this year.”

Daisy’s comment does what mine couldn’t, and Augustus turns to her, smiling. “I won’t envy you.”

“I assumed the legions trained here? I’ve seen men training across the Maero,” I ask.

Tristan shakes his head. “Those are experienced recruits. Those just joining are trained further north for a few quads.”

“Why?” Daisy asks.

They answer at the same time.

“To experience different terrain,” Tristan says.

“To isolate them,” Augustus says.

I bite the inside of my cheek and Daisy meets my eyes. I see the set of her brow and know we’re thinking the exact same thing. The tension, the crackling in the air. It’s like our domus, and the current of unease that surrounds our pater. I’m not sure why, or what is between them, but one thing is certain now.

We need to be careful here, too.