Lia reeled from the cacophony. Her fingers slid over the silver restraints burning at her wrists. They marked her as a Flavian blood slave. That, Lia reflected, was the final indignity. She belonged to the vampire who rode that magnificent horse, as if this were his triumph instead of Lentulus's.

It did amuse her, however, that Lentulus had noticeably stiffened in his chariot of gold. The people screamed his name, true... but not as loudly as they did for his subordinate.

Lentulus's mouth pinched into a hard scowl under the rouge he wore as his triumphal mask. A slave stood behind him, holding a crown above his head and whispering into his ear. Tradition demanded that he say: "Remember, you are only a man."

Lia smiled crookedly. Perhaps it was a lesson Lentulus would take to heart. Now if only the lesson also applied to the vampire...