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He presses the back of my hand to his lips, then lightly touches my stomach. Zosines watches it all intently, his eyes missing nothing.

Memnon stands, letting my hand slip through his. And with that, he and his blood brother leave.

The revelry is in full swing by the time I drag myself from my tent, Ferox at my heels. My limbs are still heavy and I feel like fresh death, and if it weren’t for Memnon cleaning and changing me while I slept, I’m sure I’d look it too. However, I refuse to languish in my tent all evening while the rest of camp is having fun.

When I reach the main clearing, braziers snap and crackle with fire. Someone plays a lyre, and Sarmatians dance wildly to the plucked tune, cups of kumiss and wine in their hands.

Ferox and I pass by them, only as we go, the revelry grows quieter and quieter. Awareness pricks at my skin. Everywhere I look, eyes are on me. I do not see Memnon, nor Tamara, Katiari, Zosines, nor any other familiar face.

A warrior steps forward, still clad in his battle leathers, his clothes and skin bearing all the sweat, mud, and blood of battle.

He looks me in the eye, his dark irises boring into me. “Aye,” he says, lifting the horn he holds, “cheers to our empress! Destroyer of Dacians and our savior of the day!”

A shout goes up, one that has my gaze sweeping over the amassed revelers. Cups clink and liquid sloshes. And they’re cheering for me. “Empress! Empress! Empress…”

My heart beats fast.

Why are people calling meempress?I ask, reaching out to Memnon.

On the other side of our bond, I feel his slow smile.Our people saw their queen dressed like a Roman, dealing out death to their enemies, and some clever fool thought it was fitting.After a moment, he adds,Do you like it…Empress?

It makes me breathless, and my heart constricts almost painfully. It’s one thing to be called queen, but to be calledempress, a title reserved solely for the emperor’s wife…a perverse little thrill runs through me at the way it manages to both exalt me and mock Rome all in the same instant.

Yes, Idobelieve I like it.

I head for the main tent, where I can hear conversation coming from within. Inside, many warriors are gathered, the most elite of them sitting around a central firepit. They laugh and drink, yet this tent, too, grows quiet as the warriors notice me one by one.

I meet Memnon’s eyes across the fire. In them is a look of abject desire and pride.

Empress, you came.

I didn’t want to miss out.Especially not when the alternative was staring into the darkness, alone with my thoughts.

The corner of Memnon’s mouth curves up, and he rises from the ground. Eyes move to the Sarmatian king, the room further quieting until the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and the celebration beyond the tent.

Memnon lifts a hand and thumps his armor right over his chest. Once. Twice. Three times.

The other soldiers join in, and my gaze skims over them—solemn Sattion and watchful Zosines; Itaxes, who howls out along with the sound, and a grinning Katiari. Someone begins chanting the titleempress, and the name catches like fire until the whole room is saying it.

Memnon’s smoky-amber eyes blaze with pride. He grabs a white bowl resting on a wooden tripod. With it, he approaches me.

“A toast to the woman of the evening,” he says, his voice battle roughened, “who at great cost to herself fought off our enemies when we were outnumbered, ourempress!”

Shouts go up, and Memnon hands the bowl to me. I nearly drop it when I realize this is no mere bowl but a skull chalice. Not even in death do our enemies get relief from conquest.

I stare down at the thick red wine, uneager to place my mouth on old bones and taste death upon my lips.

But all eyes in the room are on me, and if there was ever a moment not to ruin, this would be it.

So I hold the skull chalice before me. “To Sarmatia.”

The room cheers as I bring the rim of the skull to my lip, and I force myself not to flinch when I do taste the bone. I manage to choke down the wine, though its potent taste turns my stomach.

The noise in the tent rises to a roar, and I hearempressbeing chanted again. Memnon’s eyes are luminous with love and pride.

When I finally lower the drink from my lips, he takes it from me.

Come, Empress, he beckons, heading back to his seat. Before he gets there, he hands the skull cup to Katiari, who is on his left.Sit beside me.