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People live much worse lives, I admit. Ignoring the hunger pains in my stomach and the bruises on my arms.

I don’t care about other people, little witch.

It’s the first time Memnon’s used the term since our fight, and despite the fallout from it, I find I actually do like it.

What is life like for you now?he repeats.

Before, I had everything, I admit. But then, I didn’t actually have everything, did I? It simply felt that way. I clarify:I was loved.

And now?Memnon prods.

Reluctantly, my gaze drops to my bruises.

Now I’m not.And I think it is as simple as that.

It’s quiet for a long stretch, and I listen to the sounds of the city.

Sometimes I hear…stray thoughts of yours, he admits. He’s silent for another moment.Roxi, is someone—Another pause.Is someone hurting you?

I bow my head, my heart racing. Or maybe it’s his heartbeat. It’s hard to say. My answer lodges in my throat. I don’t know why I want to lie, but I do. I can hear Livia’s voice in my head. It sounds like my own:I’m selfish, I’m stupid, I’m lazy?—

No, Memnon says, cutting through the acidic thoughts,you’re not. You’re funny and kind and smart and a thousand other things, and if it was Livia who told you this, and if shehurt you—His voice turns threatening, and I remember all over again how violent he is.

Memnon, stop, I plead.

He goes silent, though his emotions are angry, worried.

You have me, he eventually says, his tone gentling.I care about you.

I sit down heavily on one of the kitchen stools. My throat is thick with emotion, and I have to roll my lips together to stifle the sob that wants to come out.

Memnon’s hurt people, and he’s likely torn apart families just like mine. Yet every time we talk, he has been kind. It is more than I can say about anyone else who knows me.

You have me, he says again.You always will, est menulumguva amage.

A stray tear slips down my cheek, and I hastily wipe it away.

Okay, I say brokenly. I think this means I’m going to forgive him, and we’re going to talk again.

I sense Memnon smile. Then, in Sarmatian, he adds something else, something I cannot hope to understand:

Vak busu dat dit kuppu sutvuvu evu di’nuvak, pesa suvup azakupusa. Pesa udugab vesamapusa.?1

He switches back to Latin.

You can always talk to me, Roxi, even if you’re mad at me. Even if you despise me.He pauses.Will you do that? Will you speak to me, even in anger? Because I don’t think I can take more of your silence.

I sit there and think over his words, my fingers drawing shapes on the table.

Finally, I say,I can.

And I do.

1 You will have everything once more, this I vow. I am yours forever.

CHAPTER 4

ROXILANA, 13 YEARS OLD