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I guess I’m about to find out.

She stops short when she sees me, and though she is hard to read, I think I have startled her.

“Hello, young queen,” she says, composing herself. “I wasn’t expecting you or your husband to be here.” Her gaze flicks to the doorway beyond me, clearly looking for Memnon.

“I wasn’t expecting you, either.” And I cannot help but notice she strode into this palace as though it were her own.

Eislyn lifts her brows briefly, as though acknowledging my point. “Memnon is here?” she asks, her gaze drifting again.

“He’s on his way.”

Eislyn’s brows pinch, just a little. “You came alone?”

My skin pricks at her scrutiny.

“How?” she asks, removing her cloak and tossing it over one of the nearby chairs. Again, as though it were her own.

“Same way you did, I imagine,” I say.

She tilts her head, stepping a little closer to me like she cannot help herself. “Memnon taught you?” She raises her eyebrows. “That is bold of him to let his precious wife navigate those lines on her own.”

I bristle at her words before remembering that this is what this woman does; she lays out words like they are hunting traps.

“I taught myself.” I don’t bother explaining that I actually understand very little about the ley lines themselves, nor do I have any sort of mastery over them. Just…baubles to trade.

“You taught yourself,” Eislyn echoes disbelievingly. Her eyes sweep over me again, reassessing.

“What areyoudoing here?” I ask pointedly. When we were gifted this house, no one mentioned that Eislyn might continue to access it as well.

“I’m the one who places the spells that keep this palace intact. Surely you’ve seen them?”

At her admission, I relax just a touch and nod.

“Besides.” She takes a few steps, her hand trailing along a nearby carved column. “I helped build this palace, believe it or not.”

I try not to let my surprise show. I should’ve pieced it together, given that she is fae and the construction of this palace is otherworldly.

I understand then what she isn’t saying—that though this place has been gifted to me, I am more a guest than she is. But if she meant to make me feel unwelcome, she failed. I have always moved through life as a guest in strange lands. It is all I’ve known.

Eislyn studies me. “I see the Sarmatian ways have left their mark on you,” she says, “and in more ways than one.” Her gaze drops to the tattoo on my arm that my tunic exposes.

“Do you want something?” I ask, settling myself farther into my seat. My magic is coiled tight in my palms, and I have to will it back.

I suppose I should be putting on airs, welcoming this beloved family advisor into a house that’s practically hers, but I am far too unnerved to fall back on any sort of social etiquette.

Eislyn clucks her tongue, then smiles almost fondly at me. “I’m glad steppe life has given you bite. It would’ve made everything so much less satisfying if you were meek.”

I would bet my crown this woman has driven people mad with her barbed tongue.

She comes over to the table where I sit with my scroll and wax tablet and leans over my shoulder. “Studying, are we?” she asks, lifting one unrolled parchment. “And whereisyour husband?”

“The same place your manners are, I suppose.” I take a drink from my goblet.

She raises her eyebrows, then gives a disbelieving laugh, presumably at my audacity.

Eislyn leans closer, her mouth hovering near my ear. “I would watch how you act around me,” she breathes. “I enjoy breaking humans the same way Sarmatians enjoy breaking wild horses.”

I rear back a little so I can stare at her speculatively. This is where I’m supposed to be afraid. A year ago, I might have been. Since then, however, I have seen too much and lost too much. No, my battle-battered heart will not be cowed by this fairy.