Page 6

At last, she had finally succeeded in that goal.

‘Go, be with him,’ said Claudia. ‘You thought he was dead, but he is here and well. You should make the most of this time together.’

Gia gave her a searching look, a tiny crease appearing in the middle of her forehead. Claudia reached out and squeezed Gia’s hand briefly, unseen by anyone except the seas ahead. Gia squeezed her hand back, yet the crease remained on her forehead as she drifted off to speak with Cassius.

Left alone, Claudia sighed heavily. She had never been in love before and she found that she wasn’t suited to it at all. It made her feel light-headed, sick, intoxicated and half-mad.

She barely flinched as the boat lifted and crashed back down, spritzing her with mist and ruffling her hair.

Claudia knew some people clung to those they loved, as if afraid to let go. The legends of history were full of obsessive lovers who chased each other tirelessly into oblivion. But Claudia was afraid to hold the person she loved at all. It was safer not to give herself away completely, and she had given enough of herself away already – so much that it made her feel unstable, like an earthquake-shaken villa that might collapse at any moment.

Seduction was easy in comparison: a spirited challenge she had thrown herself into without caution, propelled by the strength of her desire for Gia. But true intimacy involved being seen and known, and Claudia wasn’t sure she wanted either of those things. The whole of her was bloody and tangled and raw, and she didn’t want to have to see it or know it or face it herself. That was the problem.

She recalled the moment when she’d confessed to her father’s murder. There had been a second, just a split second, when she saw a brief, passing emotion float across Gia’s face – some doubting horror that existed in contradiction to her reassuring words.

Gia was disappointed that she had lied to her.

That horror had washed away with the waves that had almost drowned them, but, like the tide, Claudia knew it would return one day.

Claudia felt the violent, twisting pull of her heart as a thousand clashing thoughts filled her head, all crashing into each other.

If I am to be empress, I must behave like one. I mustn’t be soft or distracted. I must be as hard and cruel as a man. The fate of the world rests on it. I can’t allow my heart to rule my head. It’s dangerous to be vulnerable, especially in the position I’m in. But I am weak for her, so weak. I have never wanted anything so much, not even the crown on my head.

I love her but I am wicked, unworthy.

My father… I killed him.

Decimus… I killed him.

I killed both of them.

The sinister imagery snaked through her head again: her father choking on vomit, her brother dribbling blood. Swallowing down her feelings like bile, Claudia stared ahead at the open sea.

As emperors went, Tiberius had been unmemorable, best known for his aggressive campaigns in Britannia and for his many construction projects in Rome. As a father, he was equally unmemorable: quick to anger, and dull – not a bright man, nor a charming one.

In historical terms, he was deeply average, destined to be forgotten. Claudia was certain she could do a better job. For all her flaws and secrets, she was not that kind of monster.

Yet it seemed incomprehensible from the outset that a single person should rule the world, let alone that it should be her.

The boat rocked back and forth, like a mother trying to nurse a baby, but Claudia was still cold and hungry and haunted by the blood she’d shed to get there. She wiped her palms on her clothes, though they were no longer visibly dirty.

Claudia was still very much alive, terribly alive in fact, because not only did she have to live with what she’d done, but there were sure to be many people willing to steal that life from her now, perhaps even one of the survivors aboard the ship.

She looked around furtively, at Cassius and his fellow soldiers, Celadus the Handsome, Gia’s gladiator friend Dom with his dog, the child Athena, the sailors, the brothel girls, the slaves, merchants, even a few senators… Any one of them could be her enemy now.

She would die by the same sword that brought her to power, she knew that. She accepted it. Emperors lived short and violent lives, and so would she. Her life would end at the hands of her enemies. All she had to do was hang on long enough to make change.

To change history.

As if in response, the ship gave another monstrous groan.

The waves were rollicking, peaking from the waters, as the wind picked up speed and the sulphurous rain pummelled them.

‘Here she comes,’ someone yelled.

A giant wave suddenly arced over the boat, crashing down on the rear deck and causing the crates to tumble and slide. One of the boxes hit the rail and shattered, scrolls toppling into the water as Pliny and Rectina rushed to try and retrieve them.

‘We cannot let this knowledge be lost,’ cried Rectina, frantic as if the boxes were children.