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I frown at her. “Do you think that’s what this is about? Female rivalry?” Of course Eislyn’s overtures toward Memnon grate at me, but my distrust of her is more than jealousy.

Which raises the question: “Why does she help Memnon’s lineage, anyway?”

“Does there need to be a reason beyond a thirst for power?” Tamara says.

“If it were power alone she wanted and she’s as brilliant as you say she is, then wouldn’t she be the queen?”

Tamara gives me a soft smile, like I’ve finally asked the right question. “Why indeed?” She raises her eyebrows. “Now,my queen, I know you enjoy target practice, but there is a woman with questionable motives counseling your husband. I suggest it’s time you be a part of that conversation like the formidable ruler you are.”

CHAPTER 34

ROXILANA, 22 YEARS OLD

58 AD, Panticapaeum, Tauris

“You have done wellfor yourself, Memnon,” Eislyn says, gazing around at his war room when I come striding in. The space is painted an appropriate bloody red, and on the nearby shelf are several of Memnon’s skull cups—very macabre, very somber, and very much appreciated by the creepy fairy appraising them.

As soon as Memnon sees me, I feel a rush of joy and relief down our bond. Eislyn simply looks annoyed.

He comes over to me and gives me a deep kiss. When he pulls away, he touches my hair. “You still have snow on you.”

“Yes, well, it grew cold after you left.”

Behind him, a throat clears.

My eyes flick to Eislyn. Already she’s traded her Moche robes for a Sarmatian kurta and breeches.

“You are in a predicament,” Eislyn announces. The flickering candlelight makes her features glow, and I’m reminded all over again that she is not of this earth.

She lays her hand on the table that dominates the room. Seared onto its surface is a map of the known world, with Gaul to the west, Germania to the north, Sarmatia to the east of here, and Anatolia, the Levant, and Egypt to the south.

“I imagine Rome will soon learn of your conquest here in Panticapaeum, if they have not already.” Her fingers drum against the wood. “They will not allow it to go unchallenged.”

I stare at Eislyn, fascinated—and unnerved—by how much she appears to know about Roman ethos when she’s lived so far from it all these years.

“I imagine there are already Roman troops speckled throughout your lands?”

Memnon gives a sharp nod, his eyes narrowed as he listens raptly to her.

“Rome will fight you until you are stopped or they are destroyed,” Eislyn says with an authority not even I could muster.

“We Sarmatians welcome battle, especially with Rome,” Memnon says. His grief now is but a dull, niggling ache, almost entirely eclipsed by the possibility of war.

Eislyn rounds the table. “You were not born to simply stop your enemies in battle,” she says, her eyes fixed on Memnon. “You were born toend empires.”

Memnon stares at her like she’s speaking to his soul, and the hairs along my arms rise.

“But you cannot do it alone,” she adds.

Memnon leans his fists on the table. “Then how do you propose I do such a thing?” he asks, his gaze roving over the map.

“How many bands of nomadic tribes are there beyond your borders?"

“Countless,” Memnon says, his eyes moving over the map like he can see them all.

I draw in a deep breath. Eislyn has not even been here a full day, and already she’s strategizing not just battle plans but empire building.

“What if these tribes followedyou?” she asks.