Page 152

Memnon shakes his head, his dark hair rustling beneath his crown. “They have their own rulers. They will not want another.”

“Convincethem,” Eislyn says, adding offhandedly, “through any means.”

She’s speaking of Memnon using his power to lift knowledge and alter minds.

“Beyond it being astoundingly immoral,” I say, “neither Memnon nor I can say how long these spells he places on people’s minds will hold.”

Eislyn eyes me challengingly. “Immoral?” she questions. “Is altering a mind any more immoral than gutting an opponent on the battlefield?” She makes a dismissive noise in the back of her throat, like that is that.

“As for the spells themselves,” Eislyn says, “If they can hold long enough for your fellow horse lords to taste a victory, then it will work.”

“You think one victory against our common enemy will be enough for them to genuinely ally themselves with us?” Memnon appears skeptical, though his eyes seem to caress the map.

“I do,” Eislyn says.

I cannot believe we are listening to this. And I cannot believe Memnon is halfway convinced by it.

“This is no small thing, what you suggest,” he says, glancing up at her.

She leans forward, her eyes fastened to him. “Imagine being known as the king who united the steppe lands,” she breathes. “The king who conquered Rome itself. You could do it.” Her voice is honeyed venom. “You possess the power to squash these menaces like gnats.”

Through our bond, I feel Eislyn’s words squirming into all the crevices of Memnon’s mind. Sarmatians are warriors; conquering is in their blood. To amass the greatest force the steppe has ever seen and claim a victory against the greatest power of our time…it would mean eternal glory.

And then, Eislyn goes for the killing blow: “Imagine Queen Roxilana ruling the people who once ruled her.”

Memnon’s eyes begin to glow, his power sifting out of him.

“Imagine giving that to her,” Eislyn continues. “Your father—gods rest his soul—would want all that for you, his beloved,favoritechild.”

The room is quiet for a long moment.

Finally, I break the silence. “Have you eaten bad bread?” I say softly. “What you’re proposing is death on a mass scale. We might as well throw our warriors onto pyres right now.”

Gods know I hold no love for the Roman army. But the cost for conquering the entire Empire is far too great. There will be so many victims—warriors and widows and orphans. And every conflict, every battle, would put Memnon in harm’s way.

But my husband is still staring at her like she’s unlocked some hidden room within his mind. It’s an unholy look.

“If I were to convince these other nomadic nations,” Memnon says, “that would take months of travel.”

Eislyn’s eyes are bright. “Not if you use ley lines.”

Memnon is called away then, but I linger in the war room with Eislyn and the looming specter of our prior conversation.

I stare at the tabletop map, the tallow candles making the lines of it flicker and dance, but I’m not really seeing it.

“I hope you appreciate the lengths Memnon has gone to for you,” Eislyn says, breaking the silence.

I glance up slowly, my eyebrows rising. “Is that right?” I force my voice to stay even. “Should I thank you as well, for this dangerous, obscene plan?”

Now that Memnon’s gone, the mask the fairy wears finally falls away. Her eyes are clever, but her face is cold.

It’s almost a relief to witness her true nature. No more false airs between us.

“You can thank me for the plan, but I am speaking of this palace.”

I press my lips together, waiting for her to get to her point. I’m sure she has one. I’m equally sure she means to wound me with it.

When I don’t respond, she sighs. “Do you really have no idea what I speak of?”