entrance to the Forum coming into view. But it wasn’t the glittering gold of the dragon sculpture perched on top of it that caught Lydia’s attention, but rather raucous male laughter.
Two men with buckets full of soapy water were engaged with trying to wash some graffiti from the walls, and the passersby were all pointing and laughing at the subject matter. Opening the curtain farther, Lydia pushed her spectacles up her nose and squinted against the bright sun.
The crudely drawn image was of a naked man tossing male infants onto a sea of spears, the enormous phallus that the artist had given the man the subject of the passersby’s comedy rather than the serious nature of the scene. Unsurprisingly, the man pictured was Senator Lucius Cassius. Even without his name scrawled messily above, Lydia would’ve known that much.
The curtain snapped shut, blocking her view of the scene.
“Blasted plebeians and their crude drawings,” her father muttered, settling back down among the cushions. “What are you on the hunt for in the markets that can’t be brought to you at the house?”
“Something for Teriana, I think.”
“Oh? Have you heard from her then?”
Lydia twisted the ring on her finger around and around, smiling as she thought of her friend. “No, but I rarely do until the Quincense sails into Celendrial’s harbors.”
“Serves you right for befriending one of the Maarin. They go where the winds—and the profits—take them.”
The litter came to a stop before the steps of the Curia, ending their conversation, and Lydia accepted the arm of her father’s guard, Spurius, to help her stand, then turned to assist her father.
“Now, now, my dear. Please, allow me.”
Lydia’s skin crawled, and twisting around, she found Senator Lucius Cassius standing behind her, along with a pair of servants holding sunshades over his head.
Perhaps in his midforties, Lucius was a man unremarkable in face and form, his golden skin loose around the jowls, which emphasized his weak chin. He wore the same white toga as her father, his dark blonde hair clinging to his neck, which appeared oily, as though his masseur had not toweled him thoroughly after a recent massage.
All of those were secondary impressions, however, for it was his eyes that commanded one’s attention. And they were eyes one would never forget. Small and deep-set, they possessed a depth of cunning and a dearth of empathy, and having them fixed on her made Lydia want to recoil.
Lucius pressed a hand against the small of Lydia’s back to ease her out of the way, leaving a sodden mark on the silk of her dress. “My friend, my friend!” he said to her father, taking his arm. “This heat is the purest form of misery.”
“Truly, it is.” Her father steadied himself against the other man, the servants with the sunshades pressing forward to keep both protected from the glare. “We’ll have drought again if the weather continues as it has.”
A shout of dismay stole Lydia’s attention from the conversation, and her eyes went up the Curia steps to see soapy water spilling down the marble, one man berating another for his clumsiness. The column next to them had been defaced with more graffiti, and Lucius’s name was only slightly faded from their efforts.
“Nasty business,” her father said. “Have the perpetrators been caught?”
“Not yet. Though I do intend to have strong words with the legatus of the Twenty-Seventh. The policing of our fair city is a position of privilege, but his men appear to be treating it as an opportunity for leisure.”
Her father gave a slow nod. “Policing Celendrial requires a certain temperament of men. A legion that has seen combat, but not endured the trauma of heavy casualties. A legion with experience dealing with the peregrini. And one with an appropriate reputation. The Twenty-Seventh is a good fit.”
Unlike the other two legions currently camped outside the city, Lydia thought, though it would explain the as yet unexplained presence of the Thirty-Seventh and Forty-First.
“As always, Valerius, your counsel is good,” Lucius answered. “Perhaps I let my emotions get in the way of my good sense. In my heart, I know that it was the peregrini’s relentless abuse of my character that drove my late wife to her grave, so the sight of these baseless criticisms sparks anger in my blood. Makes me desire to take action.”
He pumped his fist in the air as though he might personally hunt down the perpetrators, and Lydia had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing at the