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She meets my gaze, and I think, for the first time, we really see each other.

“You would break even Memnon?” I ask softly, remembering her fondness for my husband.

She stares back at me, seeming to weigh my words. Eventually, Eislyn makes a noise at the back of her throat, one that might be agreement or dissent—it’s hard to tell.

“Is that a request?”

Of course it isn’t, but it’s interesting that her mind went there.

“Last time I saw you two,” Eislyn continues, “your husband couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.” She glances around, as thoughto emphasize his absence. “But then, I suppose it’s only natural for ardor to cool over time.”

She pulls out the chair next to me and sits down, like we’re about to have a long, honest-to-gods conversation.

“Tell me,hashe taken other wives yet?”

My muscles clench, and I try not to make a fist.

“Why?” I ask, my attention moving from her pointed ears to the red fabric of her outfit. “Are you interested in the position?” Much as her obvious fixation with Memnon boils my blood, I am not intimidated by her the way I was the last time we spoke.

She drums her fingers on the table. “I am an advisor to kings. I care little for the lives of their consorts.”

“Mmm,” I say noncommittedly. “You’re awfully curious about me for someone who cares little for consorts.”

Eislyn flashes me a soft look, almost as though she’s commiserating. “It is only that Sarmatians do have such a great thirst for sex, more than most foreign women can keep up with.”

Whyam I listening to this? She seeks to worm her way under my skin. That doesn’t mean I have to let her. I don’t have to listen to her at all.

So while she prattles on, I turn my attention back to my tablet.

Under my breath, I sound out the Sarmatian word forhorse, trying to place the appropriate letters to the sounds.

Eislyn must notice she’s lost my attention, for she eventually grows quiet.

I take another drink of my wine. “You can keep going. Your voiceisvery lovely.”

She stares at me with those unnerving eyes of hers. Watching, watching…

A sly smile spreads across her face. “Clever human. I have underestimated you.”

She turns her gaze to the wax tablet in front of me, dragging the thing over to her and forcing my attention her way once more. She makes another noise under her breath after she takes in the text. “What is this?”

“Latin,” I reply smoothly.

She gives her head a shake. “Latin letters, yes, but this is not the Latin language.”

“You know Latin?” I say, my brows lifting.

She casts me a patronizing glance. “Don’t act so surprised. I have been alive for a long time.” Her attention returns to the tablet, and she traces the letters with her finger. “Horse,” she sounds out slowly. It takes her another moment to realize the word she spoke is in the same language we’re conversing—Sarmatian.

“You’re transcribing Sarmatian words into text?” she asks.

I’mtryingto. No one has ever attempted to write Memnon’s mother tongue down, so the process is a slow, tedious one. But if I do successfully manage it, then Sarmatians will be able to learn to read and write in their own language. Our histories could be written down, messages could be sent that our Roman enemies would not be able to read. The possibilities are vast.

“Veryclever human,” Eislyn repeats, and it sounds awfully close to praise. “Does Memnon know you’re doing this?”

If I am clever, this fairy is cunning. Far, far too cunning.

“I wasn’t aware Memnon needed to know, Eislyn,” I say. “Surely you don’t report every movement of yours to your king?”