Aurelia's POV
"Fortuna has spat on us!"
My palm struck the table. The wood groaned like a dying man. Wine sloshed from my goblet, spreading across the surface like blood—thick and dark.
"Luck is for the beloved!" My voice cracked, raw as an open wound. "What use is coin? What use is silk? Mother, we cannot eat gold!"
Across from me, she did not move.
She sat like an empress on a throne of bones—draped in Eastern silks, her wrists weighted with gold cuffs, her throat strangled by gems that could feed the Subura's poor for a year.
And she watched me.
Those eyes. Cold as the winter Tiber. Always weighing. Never loving.
"Really?" Her voice was a serpent uncoiling. "Coin means nothing? Then why do I scrape and scheme to keep you fed? Without me, you'd starve like a beggar in the Forum." She leaned forward, just slightly. "Life is suffering, Aurelia. No one is spared."
I wanted to scream. To tear the frescoed walls down with my bare hands.
Father made us happy. Father loved us.
Why did the gods take him?
"That doesn't mean you sell Livia, Aelia, and Carla to the slavers!"
A small hand clutched my stola from behind.
Flavia.
My youngest sister. Barely twelve. Her fingers trembled against the fabric, tugging, begging me to stop.
I shoved her off. I would not stop.
"Please, Aurelia..." Her whisper was a mouse's squeak.
I ignored her.
"What are we to you? Cattle? You raise us, fatten us—then sell us to the highest bidder?" My whole body shook, fury and grief twisting into something wild. "You trade your own blood!"
She watched.
Silent.
Then—she laughed. A low, awful sound, like a dagger dragged across marble.
"You think I don't know sacrifice?" She stood, her saffron-dyed robes pooling around her. "Livia fetched a fine price. Aelia even more. And Carla?" Her lips curled. "She was sold before the auction even began."
I wanted to strangle her. To watch the life leave her eyes.
Instead, I stood frozen.
What could I do? Kill my own mother?
"You, Aurelia..." She tilted her head, studying me like a slave on the block. "You might be worth more than all of them. Those eyes—" She reached for my face. I flinched. "Purple as Tyrian dye. Rare. Exquisite." She said it like a merchant praising goods. "That's why I saved you for last."
The room swayed.
"The slaver returns at dawn." She turned away, dismissing me. "Run if you wish. The streets will chew you up. The guards will drag you back. And I? I will count his coin and forget your name."
Flavia sobbed behind me—a tiny, broken sound.
I didn't turn.
If I saw her tears, I would shatter.
My fingers found the fruit knife on the table.
I didn't think.
"AAAAHHHH!"
I lunged. The blade flashed toward her throat—
She caught my wrist. Her grip was iron.
Flavia's arms wrapped around me, her tears soaking through my stola.
CRACK!
Her palm struck my cheek. I crashed to the floor. The knife skittered away.
I looked up.
A thin red line marred her perfect face. She touched it, studied the blood on her fingers.
Then she looked at me.
For a heartbeat—something flickered in her eyes. Not love. Not regret. Something worse.
"I should kill you," she murmured. "But you're worth too much alive."
She crouched, bringing her lips to my ear.
"Dawn comes, daughter. And so does he."
Then she was gone, her footsteps echoing like a judge's sentence.
Flavia collapsed beside me, her tiny body wracked with sobs.
I lay on the cold floor, staring at the cracked ceiling fresco—some forgotten goddess, her face split in two.
There has to be a way.
There has to.
---
I don't know how long we lay there. The moon had shifted in the window when Flavia's voice finally came.
"Aurelia… we can escape."
Her voice was small, a fragile thing in the heavy dark.
"No, we cannot," I whispered back, the truth ash in my mouth. "The slaver owns this quarter. This place is called the Lupanar. It is not a home—it is a fornix. A den of whores."
"Who cares?" she breathed, her fingers finding mine in the gloom. "We are different. We are special."
Yes. My younger sister was special.
Too smart. She could read a scroll once and recite it perfectly. In letters and numbers, she was a prodigy. She was our father's morning star. She still is.
I wish she had never known this life.
I wish she had only known gardens and poetry and light.
But after Father died, Mother moved us here—to her hometown, to this walled compound near the Aventine Hill, with its barred windows and the stench of sour wine and cheap perfume.
I watched men come and go.
And when the coins still weren't enough, Mother corrupted my eldest sister, Carla, into the trade.
And Carla…
Carla loved it.
She loved the ungodly acts.
Her bed was stained by her own choice.
I still remember the day I understood.
"Ahhh… ahhh… ahhh!"
Screams came from the olive grove beyond the wall. I thought she was hurt.
It was her. And the farmer's son.
Such a disgusting scene to witness.
She was coupling with him—in daylight, against a tree.
An act meant for the married. For the solemn.
Not for a laughing girl with her skirts tossed over her head.
She was the eldest. She was supposed to hold us together.
But she was happy.
When Livia and Aelia were sold, they wept.
Carla was the only one smiling.
She is my mother's favorite.
And you don't have to guess who my mother's enemy is.
I am–I am my mother's enemy.
I hate her. I hate her with every fiber of my being.
We had a good life once. A life filled with laughter, sunlight, and Father's stories by the hearth.
But then the dark creatures came.
They attacked our villa, leaving ashes and blood in their wake. They took everything.
They killed Father.
Some say they are a curse from the heavens, sent to punish us for our sins. Others whisper they are spawned from women who lay with demons.
But are these stories real? Do the gods even watch us?
I don't know.
Perhaps I'll ask them when I'm dead—if there's even life after death.
"Aurelia." Flavia's voice snapped me from my thoughts.
I often retreat into my mind, weaving conversations with Father's ghost or debating philosophers I've never met. Some think I'm mad. Maybe I am.
"I have a plan," she whispered.
A plan?
"And what might that be?"
"Titus."
The name hit me like a slap.
Titus.
The man who swore his life to me when I saved him from a pack of soldiers bullying him in the Forum.
He was scrawny then, a boy lost in the city, but he had fire in his eyes.
I defended him. Fed him. Gave him a place in Father's household.
And he vowed, hand over his heart, that he would repay me.
But what help is that fool now?
Flavia leaned closer, her voice barely audible.
"He promised he would do anything for you."
"What do you mean?"
She hesitated, then spoke in a rush.
"I know he… holds certain thoughts when he looks at you. But he can be useful."
My stomach twisted.
Titus.
The boy with the calloused hands and the awkward smile. The one who always lingered too long in my shadow, his gaze heavy with something I never wanted to name.
Now Flavia was suggesting… what?
"Useful how?"
She glanced toward the barred window, where moonlight spilled like spilled milk.
"He has a horse. And he knows the roads outside the city. If we can get to him…"
My heart quickened.
Escape.
But could Titus really help? Or would he be another chain, binding me in a different way?
"That is not possible," I snapped, the words biting the air.
Flavia's eyes narrowed—a flicker of defiance rare for her. "Do you have a better suggestion?"
I faltered.
She was right. I didn't.
"You are eighteen," she pressed, her voice steady despite its youth. "Mother plans to sell you. And I'm eleven."
Eleven.
I blinked. Had I miscounted? I thought she was twelve.
But no. She was eleven. Barely more than a child.
Her next words struck like a blade:
"If I'm left alone with her, she'll beat me. And when my monthly bleeding starts—and it will start soon—she'll sell me too. This is our only path."
The truth of it settled over me like a shroud.
I couldn't deny it.
But still, doubts gnawed at me.
"The slaver comes at dawn," I whispered. "How can we meet Titus in time? And how can I trust leaving you with him? He's a man. Things could go wrong."
She didn't flinch.
"Then you should have asked before talking," she said, her tone sharper than I'd ever heard it.
Before I could respond, she continued:
"I sent him a letter last week. He replied. He said—" She paused, her gaze steady. "'I would be honored to help.'"
My breath caught.
He would be honored to help.
A spark of hope flickered in the dark.
"We'll meet him at the Porta Capena," I whispered. "But if we're caught…"
Flavia's hand tightened around mine.
"We won't be."
Silence settled between us, heavy with everything unsaid.
Outside, a dog barked in the distance. Somewhere in the city, a drunkard laughed. The world kept moving, indifferent to two sisters planning their escape in the dark.
I pulled Flavia closer.
Dawn was coming.
But for now—just for now—we had each other.
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To be continued...