Even as the words left her lips, her heart sank. Flavia's tastes ran to muscled brutes of slaves, since she usually took most of them into her bed one time or another. She preferred to feed on them too. Hermione and Charis were personal handmaids to Flavia and her daughter, so they wouldn't be sent away. Gaia did the laundering, but the soap had ruined her hands and skin a long time ago.

And then you had the sick girl from Carthage... and Lia.

"Goddess," Lia said between clenched teeth.

She'd known that, yes, the young Varro was Flavia Varrone's nephew, a fact the lady never ceased to brag about, but in her time here, Lia had never so much laid eyes on him until today.

"I just wanted to warn you," Gaia said. She turned to the door, then abruptly threw her arms around Lia. "I'll miss you."

"I'm not dead yet," Lia said lightly.

She shrugged off Gaia's embrace and exited the cubiculum. Her smile faded as she strode toward the mistress's chambers. A blood slave's place was always precarious. At least with Flavia, Lia had known what to expect.

Flavia Varrone was lying sideways on a plush couch. "I was about to send someone to fetch you," she said.

The very mildness of her tone put Lia even more on guard. She lowered her gaze to the ground and she almost started. Flavia had her finest pair of sandals on. Since when did she dress for a banquet so early?

Lia dropped to her knees. "I was watching the crowds cheer for your nephew, domina," she whispered. She'd learned the hard way Flavia liked her shifter slaves kneeling.

"Ah yes. He is exceptionally handsome, is he not?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. Had Flavia somehow heard about the young Varro staring Lia down? Rome might teem with millions of people, but as far as gossip went, everyone knew each other's business. Other noblemen actually paid slaves to spy on their masters and mistresses.

"He is," Lia said, trying not to choke.

Flavia clapped her hands and gestured for Lia to rise. "It's a pity your hair isn't red. Some men like that, I'm told."

Lia lifted her eyes, but only to Flavia's shoulder. "My lady?"

"You're about the same size as that wretched girl, so you can wear her clothes. And you're young enough... Yes, yes, you'll do."

Flavia Varrone smiled. She was in her late thirties, a mother of two children who had lived to adulthood, but except for the too-adult eyes, she scarcely looked younger than Lia. In fifty years, Lia would probably be dead, but Flavia would live on and on, ageless and triumphant.

"How would you like to be freed?" she asked.

Lia kept her eyes properly lowered. "My lady?" It wasn't difficult to fake that tremor in her voice. "I serve you."

"The restraints can never come off, of course, but you would be released from my service. I am talking about legal emancipation, girl." The rather thin lips curved into an inviting smile. "Imagine it. A document stating that you are now your own mistress."