8. Tisiphone and Her Friends

Tisiphone and Her Friends

Luella

After the performance, I head to the refreshments. I mustn't appear too eager. Ledo will want to chase. Men like him want to be the predator, so I will play the praeda.

For now.

At the refreshment table, two women are leaning in close, talking over the posca. I know they mean to be ignored, because no one drinks the vinegary beverage except those who can’t afford uncut wine or the sweetened version, sapa , and both carafes are still full. I don’t look at them as I fill my cup anyways, always interested in gossip I can share with Mia.

“I heard he was found dead…” a young brunette says. I take a sip of the drink, the sharp tang causing my cheeks to tighten.

“Just like the Senator last quad,” the older of the two whispers, her black hair framing her dark eyes.

“It's Tisiphone… seeking vengeance.” The younger one’s voice trembles, but with fear or excitement, I can’t tell. “She sees their crimes. Senator Silas… he took a fancy to my niece a few summers ago.” My chest tightens. I hate that I was too late for anyone, that it takes me so long to find them all.

“I thought she was just a girl?”

“She’s eleven summers now,” the first woman answers. I don’t need to hear more. I know Silas' past. That’s why he was chosen, but how many were noticing what type of men are dying? I need to be careful. If they’re noticing, the men might eventually notice, too.

How will they act if they feel targeted? If they realize it’s a woman posing as a wife or sister or mater? I’m not foolish enough to think it can’t get worse.

It can always get worse.

I don’t want innocent women to pay for my crimes.

“I hope she kills them all,” the woman adds, voice guttural. I couldn’t agree more.

“Tisiphone should be cutting the head off the snake,” the older woman says, invoking the fury of revenge. Tisiphone, the one who metes out retributive justice.

My favorite, obviously.

I should walk away, but instead I say, “Snakes like to live in holes. Sometimes you have to wait for them to emerge.”

The older woman gasps. “We were just–” she begins, but something in my face must give her pause.

The younger woman’s dark skin grows greenish, as if she’s going to vomit. “Tisiphone,” she breathes. I’d like to tell her I’m working on it, that beheading the snake is what I’ve been working towards for a third of my life. Instead, I put my finger to my lips in the sign of silence, and slink away, letting them whisper of the goddesses and revenge.

Weaving past the bards, now strumming a lively song that allows for partners to dance, I head towards a shaded copse of trees at the edge of the festival.

Lowering myself to the ground, I allow the sounds of the music and the birds overhead to fill my ears, seep into my mind. For another moment I pretend that I’m just a woman, enjoying the weather, soaking in warmth from Romulus and Remus as they grow close, shrinking each other’s shadows until there is just one, small beneath me in the midday light.

But that’s not who I am.

I open my eyes when I realize that Ledo has not pursued me.

Stones. It’s never easy, is it? I tip my posca into the dirt, hoping the small amount of vinegar doesn’t do to the grasses what it did to my tastebuds, and weave back into the crowd.

It takes me a few moments to spot the Praetor, and I see immediately why he hasn’t sought me out. A young woman with dark hair and an inordinate amount of freckles sits in his lap, feeding him grapes.

I hiss a breath out of my teeth, irritation coating my insides. I’m not as good at dealing with women as I am with men. I could come over and compliment her, perhaps give Ledo some ideas that will shift his attention back to me.

That might be too sexual, too ‘last day of the festival’ behavior.

I could try to slip something in her drink. I do have some nausea inducing potion… but it would be difficult to introduce to her glass. Not to mention the idea of poisoning her doesn’t sit well with me.

I’m deep into calculating my options when my eyes snag back on the refreshment table.

The two women are still there.

I don’t have time for many friends, but maybe Tisiphone does.

I don’t have to wait long for them to follow their end of the bargain. The freckled woman on Ledo’s lap lets out a scream as the older woman falls over her, dumping an entire pitcher of uncut red wine onto the woman’s yellow dress.

I’d paid for the wine, of course. A handful of the smallest denomination coins, denarii, with the senate building stamped on one silver side and the face of the Emperor on the other. I hope it made him furious that he wasn’t on the golden aureus, the larger denomination coin still stamped with his pater’s face.

Maybe I’ll ask him when he’s at my mercy, one day.

“Stones, I’m so sorry,” the older woman says. “You’ll want some vinegar on that right away, good lady.”

“Good luck,” the younger woman from the beverage table whispers in my ear as she slips a cloth into my hand.

As the woman from Ledo’s lap huffs away, I sweep in with the rag. “Oh, good man, let me help.” My tone is direct, no nonsense. Ledo has some wine on his pants, but thankfully it’s lower, near his knee.

I keep my eyes on his trousers, dabbing at the wine stain without looking into his face. After a moment I look up between my lashes and my hand stills on his leg. I think he recognizes me, given the way a half smirk plays across his lips. His dark hair brushes his forehead and for a moment he’s almost handsome. Tall and dark, with a strong jaw covered in stubble.

I cast my eyes down, then back up. The contents of my stomach threaten to follow the same path as I note how he eyes my face, my form. I start to pull back, like I’m just realizing that I’m touching him, and he grabs my hand.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…” I trail off.

“You’re attentive,” he says, the innuendo clear.

Color seeps into my cheeks. “I-”

He cuts me off. “I’m Praetor Ledo.” Of course he uses his title.

“Skylar,” I say.

“That’s a pretty name,” Ledo says. “Care to sit?”

I think he means his lap, where the other woman was. Instead, I smile and sit next to him on the bench, close enough that I’m aware of where his hands are placed, the slant of his body towards mine. I can’t protect myself here, there’s nothing to poison and no scheme would protect me out in the open like this. If I had to defend myself, Divus would see, and I’d be buried or stoned for raising a hand against a man.

The razor thin line of my safety could snap at any moment.

“I didn’t mean there,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

I lean in, but don’t touch him, drowning out the thought of him strangling me in the middle of the forum with a lilting laugh. “Praetor,” I scold playfully.

He leans in, smiling as well, but his eyes are mischievous, glinting at the challenge I’ve given him. His gaze dips to my breasts, and back up. I take a deep breath, letting him look his fill and imagine his own breath stalling in his lungs, his eyes wide when he realizes what’s happening.

It’s easy to smile back, knowing that one day soon, he’ll be dead.