"Get out," says Hadrian.

There's nothing in his words that indicates that he's speaking to us—in fact he's more likely to be addressing the valet who's now helping him to get dressed—but the woman next to me reacts immediately. She quickly gets to her feet, and I follow. Our heads bowed, we leave the room via the back door through which I have entered.

The now familiar staircase is empty. We go down one flight of stairs, the woman walking first. At the landing with the small window overlooking the castle yard, she stops, turns and peers at me with her serious blue eyes. The white streak on her chin is still there. Mindlessly, I reach out and wipe it off.

She swats at my hand with quickness that has nothing in common with her prior subdued manner. Then, she grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me closer to the window so that more light falls on my face. She's at least one head shorter than me, but her grip is strong.

“Now, who the hell are you?” she says.

I stare at her, dumbfounded. Somehow, she knows. If I tell her the truth, will she panic? Right now, she doesn't look scared, more like confused, even curious. Could I try and confide in her? I could use some help—I know too little about the castle life to be able to play my part convincingly. On the other hand, what if she calls for the guards?

“What do you mean? I'm Grumio,” I try.

“No, you're not," she says. "And you’re an even worse liar than he is."

“But who else could I be?”

“That's what I'm asking myself.” She frowns, then a shade of fear crosses her face. “Oh no, am I in trouble, now that I know?”

“No, no.” I take a deep breath. “My name is Bruno. I'm Grumio's twin brother.” I pause. “Am I in trouble, now that you know?”

She shrugs. “Depends on what you did to poor Grumio."

"Nothing. He's with my friend. He's safe."

Unexpectedly, she smiles. I didn't think that slaves could do that. They never smile when seen outside the castle. They have nothing to smile about. Too bad, because this girl's young, freckled face looks really pretty now.

"Interesting," she says. "I'd love to hear the full story."

That sounds like she won’t be calling for the guards just yet. I breath out with relief.

"How did you know I'm not him?"

She shrugs. "Your hair is a bit longer, your skin is darker. You behaved strangely, like you didn't know what to do. Grumio never talks, but he always knows what to do. Also, your eyes. You don't look broken."

"You don't look broken, too." In fact, now she seems as cheeky as any other girl I've ever met.

"Women don’t break," she says. "We bend and adapt."

"I see." The scene I have just witnessed upstairs returns to my mind. How could one adapt to be treated like that? "Are you all right?" I say. "I mean, what he did to you up there—"

She looks at me blankly.

"I mean, what he forced you to do..." Damn it, why am I even talking about it? What if she bursts into tears or something?

A look of understanding flickers in her eyes.

"Oh, that?" She rolls her eyes briefly. "That doesn't happen too often. I and Grumio are in Hadrian's service, and he doesn't do such things. He just doesn't notice us. Those who serve Ferox are in more trouble. He raped a few female slaves and have killed some of the male ones. When he visits Hadrian, we need to look out—not that anything can be done when he lays his eyes on you, you know, but he usually doesn't kill slaves that are not his."

I shake my head with disgust—not at her, but at her situation. What I have just witnessed has happened before, perhaps many times. It's just a part of her life, unpleasant but unavoidable.

It shouldn't be like this.

"Well," she says, "I'd love to hear how on earth Grumio got replaced by his twin, but we've got to go. That feast is about to begin."

"Are we supposed to serve food?" The thought chills me to the bone—if I have to do something in the view of many people, they will surely notice my ineptitude.

"No, servants and pages do that. Slaves are needed only if something heavy needs to be carried from place to place, or some dirt cleaned. We should just sit quietly and be available." She gives me an evaluating look. "By the way, if you get caught, I knew nothing, right?"

"Right."

She smiles again, perhaps expecting a smile in return, but I can’t produce one.

"You're a very serious man, Bruno."

"I've been told that a lot." Then, I realize something. "I still don't know your name."

"I am Syra," she says. "Now we really have to go. Coming late will draw attention and it is never a good thing. Watch out for Cassio, too—the slave master. If he notices that you are not behaving properly then you'll be in real trouble."

"I will," I say. "Thank you."

She waves me away. "Let's just go," she says. "Shouldn't make the King wait."

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