“Julian had told me in one of his letters,” he added lightly as we walked down the path, “that the local widow Agatha, daughter of a blacksmith in a nearby village, helped them plant the garden.” He pointed to the rows where autumn vegetables likely grew before winter had set in. “He’d mentioned in a letter that Agatha and his servant Ruskus had become quite close.”
“Ruskus is his slave also?”
“None of Julian’s servants are actually slaves. He freed them when they left Rome, and has been paying them for their service in his house here. He told them they are free to leave and go wherever they want.”
Now I was truly shocked. A Roman paying his slaves money? I’d never heard of such a thing.
“But they obviously didn’t leave,” I added.
“As I said, they’re like his family.”
“You would never do such a thing, would you?” I asked.
“I grew up in a much different house than Julian,” he explained. “There’s a reason I never trusted those in my house to know you were there. They aren’t family. But to answer your question, I’m now in complete agreement with Julian. The new Rome we will create will be afreeRome. For everyone.”
I didn’t think I could admire Trajan any more than I already did. But he kept proving me wrong, saying words that spoke to my heart and soul, words stronger thanI love you. Because behind his words about justice and freedom, there was action. And I knew that he would do everything he planned to do in creating this new Rome.
Or he’d die trying. My heart squeezed painfully at the thought.
There were a dozen or more sheep in a pen near the barn, and smoke unfurling from the chimney. It was a quaint scene. So differentfrom Rome and achingly similar to the village where I was born in Dacia.
“Julian!” Stefanos shouted as he ran full speed down the hill. “Come and see who is here!”
He kept yelling as he stumble-ran the rest of the way, Ivo lumbering along in his wake. I laughed at the boy’s exuberance as he barreled across the yard toward the house, the wooden door opening when he reached the bottom. In the doorway was a young woman with dark hair, plaited in one long braid, looking down as she slid her arms into the sleeves of a coat over her homespun dress.
Then she looked up—and the world stopped. So did I.
“Malina.”
It couldn’t be. The woman smiled at Stefanos and Ivo, her gaze looking past them to me, her face falling in shock.
“Goddess save me,” I murmured, a tumble of memories rushing all at once—laughing around the kitchen table, dancing across the stage, fussing over the chores, tumbling in wildflowers, and whispering secrets only sisters shared.
My heart nearly burst as I choked back a sob. “It can’t be.” My feet finally started to move.
“Lela?” Her voice quaked as she said my name.
Then I was running. And so was she. My dear, sweet little sister collided with me halfway, sobbing as she clutched me close, while I cried into her beautiful, dark hair, curling my hands into her wool coat, smelling the sweetness of home, of family.
“Malina,” I cried, voice quivering, my entire body trembling with profound joy and shock.
“By Juno’s heart, how is this possible?” She broke the embrace only to cup my face.
I mirrored her movements, brushing my fingers over her brow and cheek. “It’s really you.”
“Lela.”Tears poured down her pretty face while she shook her head, her brow pinched in confusion. “Am I dreaming?”
“No, sweet Mina.”
She sobbed when I used her childhood name, jerking me back into her arms. “How in all the hells did you find me?”
“I didn’t.” I was crying and laughing at the same time, my poor heart exploding with happiness.
“What?” She pushed me back again to look at me, her fingers ghosting through my hair. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t know you were here,” I explained, half laughing and crying at the same time.
“Then how—”
