She realized he was trying to make this encounter awkward enough that she’d leave, but she would not be put off so easily. “Might I presume upon you for a cool beverage? It’s rather hot outside.”
He huffed. “I was just sitting down to lunch. I suppose you could join me.” He spoke the words as reluctantly as if he was suggesting she shave him bald.
“Oh, that would be lovely.” She summoned another bright, simpering smile, and followed him to the dining room on the other side of the atrium.
He had changed. As long as she’d known him, he’d always been courteous and even deferential to her. They had both seemed to have a tacit agreement to be civil to each other, to pretend for Avitus’s sake that they were well-disposed toward each other. Was this unpleasant, cold man the real Silvanus? Had the quiet, accommodating, competent secretary been just a façade?
They entered the dining room. A strange feeling came over Volusia as she saw the plates laid out on the low table, the jug of wine in the center. For a moment, she was back in their dining room in Narbo, back at the dinner where Avitus had taken ill. Her head spun with the force of the memory, and she had to reach for the wall to steady herself.
Silvanus spoke, his voice questioning, but the words didn’t penetrate her mind. She had thought back to that dinner a thousand times, had scoured her brain to pull out every detail.
She had assured herself that all three of them—herself, Avitus, and Silvanus—had taken food from the same platter and drank wine from the same jug. She remembered Silvanus commenting on how well-seasoned the duck was as he freshened Avitus’s goblet of wine. Then, he'd warned her that her palla had come unpinned on one side, and she’d turned away to fix it.
The room spun. A conclusion to her earlier questions about Silvanus came into sickening focus.
A hand touched her arm, and she pulled away jerkily. The contact brought her back to the present. She took a stumbling step away from Silvanus. “Excuse me, I have to”—her mind raced—“speak with my litter-bearers.”
“Your litter-bearers?”
She nodded, a half-plausible explanation jumping to her lips. “I forgot to tell them that they were supposed to collect my mother from visiting someone nearby, and bring her home before returning here to wait for me. Excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.”
Volusia hurried from the dining room and returned outside, where the four litter-bearers waited on the street. They straightened up when they saw her.
“Done already, lady?” Triton asked.
“I—” She broke off, her mind whirling as she tried to figure out what to do. Should she leave, gather herself, and then decide on a course of action?
No, she was on the verge of untangling this whole mess. She couldn’t leave without getting to the bottom of this.
Max’s face rose in her mind. He’d been in this with her since the beginning. She had to tell him what she’d realized. He could come and bear witness to Silvanus’s guilt, if indeed she was right.
“I need you to take a message for me, quickly,” she said to Triton. Max would come as soon as he received it, she had no doubt.
She gave the message to Triton, then returned inside. She paused a moment to compose herself in the empty atrium. She would have to tread very carefully, and she didn’t know how Silvanus would react. She might be putting herself in danger, but she’d survived worse. Silvanus couldn’t pose more of a threat than Glabrio and his soldiers.
Before she could convince herself to leave, she rejoined Silvanus in the dining room. He was already seated with a plate of food before him, and did not rise to greet her. Two slaves stood against the wall holding jugs of water and wine.
She smiled apologetically. “Forgive me for my absent-mindedness. I knew I was forgetting something.”
He shrugged and waved a laconic hand at the empty couch beside him. Volusia sat and served herself from the platter of vegetables and cold meat, though she had no appetite. The two slaves stepped forward to fill her goblet with a mixture of water and wine, and she murmured thanks.
“Tell me why you’re really here,” Silvanus said. “I don’t think you’re stupid enough to believe that we’re actually friends.”
“There’s no need to be rude.” She decided to play the conversation as she’d originally planned it, as if her horrible realization hadn’t taken place. “I came to speak to you about Avitus. About how he died.” She watched his face.
Silvanus let out a weary sigh and reached for a piece of cheese. “This again? Volusia, it’s time to move on. He got sick, he died. It happens.”
“I don’t believe that’s what happened to Avitus. Maybe if I never discovered his suspicions about Petronax, I could believe that. But I went to see one of the consuls, to discuss my concerns—”
Silvanus cast her a sidelong glance. “You spoke to a consul about this?”
She nodded. “He refused to take any action without proof that Avitus was murdered.”
“Proof you will never find, because it didn’t happen.” He spoke carelessly, then tossed back a gulp of wine.
His nonchalance infuriated her. He wasn’t even nervous. He showed no guilt when discussing the death of a man who had cared for him, maybe even loved him. He’d left her a widow and her son fatherless, and all for what—some money? A fancy house in a posh neighborhood?
Rage unfurled in her chest, and words rose unbidden to her tongue. She’d intended to wait for Max’s arrival before broaching this, but she couldn’t hold back anymore. “I know you did it, Silvanus.”
