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Her presence feels like a bad omen, though I cannot say why. Perhaps it’s as simple as the fact that I don’t like her. Or maybe it’s that the several times she’s visited us at camp over the last few years, she has always come with Memnon’s father.

Never alone.

Memnon must either have the same misgivings or hear mine because he clicks his tongue and urges his horse into a gallop, riding like Pluto himself is at his heels.

I follow, caution climbing up my spine.

Ahead of me, Memnon swings off his horse and approaches Eislyn. The wind howls in my ear, drowning out the words they exchange. But then my husband’s legs fold.

Memnon!I swing off my horse and race to him.What’s wrong?

I fall to my knees at his side, my arm going around him. He straightens his torso, his face the picture of devastation when his eyes meet mine.

My father…is dead.

I pull him in close, and he grips me tightly to him as he begins to tremble. I stroke his hair, murmuring useless platitudes as he falls apart in my arms.

We stay like that for some time, as the first light snow of the season continues to fall around us and Eislyn looks on grimly.

Finally, Memnon pulls away. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he stands, wiping the wetness from his cheeks. “I want to see his body,” Memnon demands as I rise.

Eislyn gives her head a swift shake. “You know you cannot,” she says, not bothering to look at me.

“Damnit, Eislyn, he’s my father.” Memnon’s voice breaks. “I want to hold his hand, whisper a final prayer over him, and say goodbye.”

My throat closes up. The funerary rites he speaks of—they are not so different than what he did long ago for our child.

“There is a bloody feud happening in his palace as we speak,” Eislyn says sharply. “His heirs seek to eliminate each other so they alone can control his kingdom. What do you imagine they will do if they meet another of their father’s children?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well,Ido.” Her voice rises as she speaks. “I barely escaped intact, and I do not wish to go back and expose myself to power-hungry men who care only of themselves.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“You do not wish to go back?” I echo.

Only then does she glance at me, albeit briefly. “It was your father’s final wish that I might advise you,” she says, returning her attention to Memnon. “It ismywish as well.” There’s a level of intimacy in her voice that raises my hackles.

“No.” I press all my queenly authority into the word.

Roxi.

Roxilana, I correct him.You might as well invoke my full name for this bloody business.

I see the corner of his mouth twitch at my feistiness.

To Eislyn he says, “My queen and I will discuss this matter privately. Until we come to a decision, you will remain with us as an honored guest and give us counsel.”

Memnon and Idon’tspeak of it privately. Not before Memnon takes poor, chilled Eislyn into the warmth of the palace. As for me, I cannot force myself to follow them back through our settlement, across Panticapaeum proper, and into our palace. Not when my emotions are so volatile.

I loved Ilyapa, despite how brief our encounters were. He was a good if distant father, and he tried to do right by his son. And he was the only true father I ever knew.

More than my own grief, I feel Memnon’s. I should go to him. I should. It’s simply that I might throttle Eislyn if I do. Because surely where he is, so too is she. I’ve barely managed to stay civil with her during her few visits.

I cannot possibly reside under the same roof.

These thoughts spin around and around my head, and I linger out on the steppe, shooting arrows long after the other warriors retreat to the warmth of their tents and fires.