A cart’s wheel gets stuck on one of the stepping stones in the middle of the street, and the crowd is almost impenetrably thick around where the cart is stopped like a boulder in a river. People shove, shout, and it’s only with some effort and cursing that I make it past.

I stop. Search the crowd. There are plenty of people in gray, but not a gray hood. Not . . .

There.

He leads me through the marketplace to a rundown building not unlike the ramshackle whorehouses over by the amphitheatre.

He pauses on the doorstep and I duck just out of his sight behind a butcher’s booth. Drusus looks this way, the other way, this way again.

Then he disappears into the building.

I stay back in the shadows, casually watching people come and go in the marketplace.

Shortly after Drusus goes into the building, another hooded figure approaches from the other direction, conspicuous in the desire to be inconspicuous. Slender, feminine fingers hold the hood close to her face, and she keeps her head down, standing out amongst those whose heads are high and hoods are back.

Inching closer to the building where Drusus presumably waits, she looks around, and the hood’s opening parts just enough to reveal her face.

Verina.

I press my back to the stone wall and push out a breath. So it’s true. Drusus is the man Calvus sent me to find. The lover of the Lady Laurea.

Gods, now what do I do?

I don’t leave yet. Maybe I need more proof, maybe I’m just not sure what to do next, but I can’t bring myself to leave until . . . until they come back out? Until I’m more certain? I’m not even sure, but for the time being I wander amongst the crowd, feigning interest in various goods while keeping an eye on the building Drusus and Verina will eventually have to leave.

That’s when I see him.

Shrouded in a hood and shadows, lingering nearer to the door than I am, he’s barely visible, but he’s poised like a predator. Watching. Waiting.

So I watch him. And I wait.

The hooded man doesn’t move. Neither do I.

Verina emerges from the building first. Her hair and clothes aren’t disheveled, but the smoke-colored kohl around her eyes is wetter now, with faint streaks sliding down her flushed cheeks. She hurries out into the crowd and makes her way north toward her husband’s villa.

And the hooded man is on the move now, inching closer to her.

My heart jumps. There are too many people between him and me. He’ll get to her before I get to him.

I look around, and a jeweler’s booth is a few paces away.

“That man over there”—I point in the direction of the hooded man—“I saw him pocket something of yours.”

“What?” The jeweler’s head snaps toward the other man, and while he’s distracted, I palm a bracelet off the table. “What’d he—”

“I saw him take it,” I insist. “It was right here, and he pocketed—”

“Hey!” the jeweler shouts. “You there! Get back here!”

Heads turn.

“That man!” The jeweler points frantically. “Thief!”

The hooded man glances back, and I casually turn so he won’t see me. While passersby run after the man they think is a thief, diverting him down an alley instead of the road leading north, I surreptitiously set the bracelet back on the table. Then I slip away from the booth and follow Verina.

I keep my distance from her, and keep her in sight until she’s nearly back to the villa. Then I let the shadows hide me while I wait until the guards open the gate. When she’s safely inside her home, I slip back down the darkening streets. I avoid the market and go around the south side of the Forum to avoid the man who’d been pursuing Verina, and head back to the ludus.

All the way back, my heart is pounding. Not only are my suspicions about Drusus and Verina confirmed, but there’s another man involved in this now. It doesn’t take a fool to know what the man was doing, what he had in mind. If he wasn’t going to kill Verina or Drusus, I doubt his intentions were much better.

I could leave him to finish what he’s started. Stand aside and let the scandal be settled by someone else’s hand.

But I can’t. I can’t do it. I, along with every man in the familia, stand to be executed if there’s any suspicion that one of us killed Drusus, but even if my own throat weren’t at risk, I just . . . can’t.

Someone’s made an attempt once, which means they’ll make an attempt again. I can’t risk him being successful this time.

Question is, how do I guarantee I’m there to stop him when he does?

“Dominus.” I stand at attention in front of him as he casually drinks wine in that familiar chair.

“Gladiator.” He gives a slight nod, and I relax my posture a little.

“With respect, Dominus,” I say, trying not to let my eyes dart toward Arabo and the other bodyguard looming behind Drusus, “I need to speak to you. Alone.”

Drusus watches me over the rim of his cup. Then he waves his free hand. “Leave us.”

Men move. The door closes. We’re alone.

Drusus holds my gaze expectantly.

I will my heart to slow down. “I need to be away from the ludus. For a few days, no more.”

He doesn’t move. “For what purpose?”

“Whoever’s sending messages from here to someone on the outside,” I say quickly, “he’s keeping his head down inside the ludus. And following men through the gate when they leave will just rouse suspicion.” I search Drusus’s expression for signs I’m overstepping my bounds.

“Go on.” His voice offers nothing.

I take a deep breath. “If I’m already outside the gate when he leaves, I might be able to follow him. To, to whomever he’s meeting on the outside.”

Drusus’s eyes narrow, and he tilts his head just slightly, but he doesn’t speak.

“With your permission,” I say, “I’d like to leave my training for a short period. Seven days, perhaps less. If I can be at the ready when he leaves the ludus, and follow him without anyone noticing my absence from the training yard . . .”

My lanista drums his fingers on the side of his wine cup. His eyes lose focus. My heart continues pounding.

“So you’re asking to be excused from your training,” he says at last, “with the Ludi Romani coming up?”

I take a breath. “In the name of finding the man who is communicating with someone on the outside, yes.”

He’s quiet again, and for a longer moment this time. Then he gives a slow nod. “Very well.” He sits back. “Granted. I’ll expect you back in the barracks before sundown each day. Otherwise”—he waves a hand—“you’re free to roam as needed if it means finding out who’s plotting against me.”

It’s all I can do not to release an obviously relieved breath. “Thank you, Dominus.”

“I expect results,” he says. “You’ll report to me every evening when you return, and if I discover you’ve wasted valuable training time for nothing, there will be consequences.”

Phantom lines itch along my back, reminding me of every place the lash bit my flesh in the pit my first night.

“I understand, Dominus.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

I stay away from the ludus as much as I can during the day. Once, I meet with Ataiun to tell him I’ve learned nothing. He warns me that Calvus is growing more impatient, as he always is, and promises to summon me in another seven days’ time.

Mostly, I wander along the street connecting the ludus to the marketplace, waiting for Drusus to emerge.

He gives me nothing. For four straight days, he hasn’t left the ludus.

I have, however, and my absence does not go unnoticed.

The first day, one or two heads turn when I come back to the training yard from checking in with Drusus. Sikandar and Hasdrubal prod me with some good-natured questioning about where I’ve been while they’ve been training. The second day, the questioning is more pointed and vaguely hostile. And on the third day, no one speaks, but everyone looks.