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Little witch, he calls to me now,are you still outside?

I am.

Shall I come out and haul you back to the palace?he asks. I think he means to be teasing, but grief flattens his tone.

I bow my head and let out a rough exhale.I think it’s best that I’m alone right now, I say, even as the snow falls in thicker and more numerous flakes.

Across our bond, I feel his wounded hesitation.Why are you so against her?he finally asks.

I grimace.I have never needed to explain my reasoning to you before. Why must I now?

Because Eislyn has advised over five generations of rulers in my family, and she cares for us—she cares for me, Memnon says.

Oh, she definitely cares for you, I say bitterly. It takes a moment to realize that, in the heat of my emotions, I spoke in Latin, not Sarmatian.

I pinch my eyes shut and shake my head. We should not be having this conversation right now, when Memnon is still coming to terms with his father’s death. It’s cruel for me to make it about myself.

Is my queen jealous?Through the heavy weight of Memnon’s grief, I sense his smile.

I breathe through my nose.Yes.No use denying it.

There’s only ever been you for me, he says softly, his voice down our bond pebbling my skin. After a pause, he adds,Now, will you please come inside?

I will—eventually.I pull away from our connection before he can protest more.

Pressing my lips together, I shoot arrow after arrow into the wooden target, funneling my frustration and impotent anger into training. Memnon’s spell that once warmed me has long since worn away, but I prefer the bite of the cold.

Pulling out another arrow, I nock it, aim, then fire. It hits the target with a satisfying thump.

“Imagining that’s Eislyn’s head?” Tamara’s voice rings out behind me in this quiet, empty place.

I startle, lowering my bow and turning my horse around to face her where she sits astride her own steed.

“How long have you been there?” I ask.

“Long enough.” She assesses me, then adds, “You wear jealousy like a cloak, dear daughter. I thought you had learned by now not to let others see your vulnerabilities.”

I narrow my gaze, then turn back and face my target once more. My fingers are numb from the cold, making my movements while nocking another arrow slow and fumbling.

“Did Memnon send you?” I ask. It’s a loaded question; no matter what she responds, it will anger me.

“And clean up whatever mess he’s made between you two?” Tamara huffs out a laugh. “I think not.”

“Well, whatever your reasons, you didn’t need to come out here,” I say, aiming the arrow.

“Idid, though,” she says.

I lower my bow and glance over at her again. “Don’t pretend she isn’t a threat.” Eislyn is an asp if I ever saw one.

“Oh, she is as threatening as they come,” Tamara agrees, somewhat appreciatively. “But Memnon would be a fool not to use her.Youwould be a fool not to use her.”

I scoff. “That is like asking me to cook with poison. I cannotuseher, not when my intuition is screaming at me that she means me harm.”

Tamara studies me shrewdly as snow gathers on the pointed felt headdress she wears. “I shouldn’t tell you this, not when you know our people take multiple wives.”

I tense, bracing myself for whatever she’s about to say next, certain I won’t like it.

“I’ve seen the way that woman looks at my son,” she says. “I know you have too. But Memnon has eyes for you and you alone, Roxilana. He has loved you since you both were children, and it is the sort of love that leaves no room for interlopers. Yourconnection was forged by the gods, and no onesave the godsis strong enough to sever it. Set aside your personal worries?—”