In her present mood, though, Hedia didn't want to think of darkness, even when it was being spent in pleasant recreation. The night before, Hedia had dreamed of Latus in the Underworld, screaming out the agonies of the damned.

If those who wrote about gods and men told the truth, her first husband was certainly worthy of eternal torture… but until recently, Hedia had never imagined that such stories-such myths-were true. A few days ago she had visited the Underworld herself. She had talked with Latus, who had been in the embrace of broad, gray-green, leaves like those which wrapped him in her dream.

In last night's dream, three figures had coalesced through the shadowy fronds about Latus. They looked like men; or rather, they looked like human statues which had been found in a desert where the sands had worn their features smooth. These were of glass, however, not bronze or marble; and these moved as though they were human.

In the dream, Latus was screaming. Hedia had awakened to find her personal maid Syra leaning over her with a frightened expression and a lamp. Behind Syra were three footmen and a gaggle of female servants, all wearing expressions of excitement or concern.

Hedia had closed her mouth. Her throat had been raw; it still felt tender, though she had sucked comfits of grape sugar most of the day to sooth it. The screams had been her own. Something terrifying was going on, though she didn't know how she knew that.

On stage, the painted storm had lifted, and Hercules was back on his plaster hill. A large mixed company danced on, wearing silks and chains of tiny metal bells which tinkled to their movements. Hedia wasn't sure whether the troupe was meant to be the conqueror's companions, his captives, or more nymphs and sprites.

She didn't know, and she didn't care. Something was wrong, badly wrong; but there had generally been something wrong in Hedia's life, before her marriage to Latus and most certainly afterwards. She would see her way through this trouble also.