She hadn't gone far when a cloaked woman stepped into her path. Lia stopped this time and stared out at the men marching on. Valeria Messala was one of Rome's vampire noblewomen, someone so far above Lia's social station that for them to be seen talking together would be suspicious.

"That wasn't wise," Valeria said softly. "What if he makes a formal complaint to your mistress? Flavia Varrone is not known for her heart."

"I'll think of something," Lia said. "I always do."

"You need to learn some prudence."

Lia's lips peeled back from her teeth. "And how has your prudence saved me, cousin? You sit up in your house, surrounded by servants, and you wear silks. And me? I bow and scrape to that vampire bitch."

She didn't need to look over at Valeria to know that the woman's face was white. Lia's shoulders slumped. It was just so much easier to lash out at her cousin than to think about the young Varro.

When Valeria Messala spoke again, her voice was flat. "Remember your duty, Lia," she said. "If there is anything you can do..."

Lia's nod was sharp. She could have recited the speech herself, but with Gaius Flavius Varro Magnus newly returned as the greatest Roman hero in recent memory, it took on a deeper meaning and importance.

"Valeria," she said, when the other woman turned to leave. "I'm sorry."

They looked at each other at last. Their parents had been half-siblings, but insofar any family resemblance had died out a long time ago. No one but Lia knew of Valeria's half-breed blood.

Valeria Messala was of a middling height, but she carried herself so gracefully that Lia often felt like a clumsy oaf compared to her. Everything about Valeria was small and feminine from the modest jewelry she wore (never silver, though) to her flat bosom to her child-sized feet. Even her dress was sober, more befitting a matron than the highly eligible unwed girl she was.

Her best claim to beauty was her eyes: a shade of brown so dark that they appeared black. In daytime as now, they were flecked with gold. You could forget everything else about Valeria, and chances were good that you would, because her manner was so quiet and unassuming, but you would never forget these dark eyes.

For all of her striking looks she'd not married, and sometimes Lia wondered if that was what ate at her. That and Valeria's tainted blood.

"Sorry?" Valeria said. "Of course you are. You're always sorry. But as you've said, words don't change anything."

"Fine," Lia said. She supposed she deserved that verbal slap. "I'll see you at the feast."

She plunged into the crowd. Valeria wouldn't call after her, not in public, but nevertheless, she could still feel Valeria's disapproval. The trouble with Valeria, Lia decided, was that she had been born old. She'd never even had a man in her bed.

That last mental image made Lia giggle. It wasn't uncommon for Roman men to frequent brothels or to indulge in affairs, but if the women wanted the same, they had to be more discreet. Still, if Valeria Messala wanted a lover, no one would stop her. With her father dead and her cousin the heir wrapped up with his family, she enjoyed greater independence than most.