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I am crossing the Danubius River…

Hope is a god, and it rules my every thought. I don’t know what will happen once Memnon arrives—assuming he will, in fact, arrive—but the possibility is as exhilarating as it isterrifying. His threat to my future groom lingers at the forefront of my mind, especially as Livia presses forward with her plan to marry me off.

She’s already picked out my husband, and it is a small blessing that it’s neither of my two initial prospects. Instead, she has arranged to marry me to the textile merchant Titus’s son, Quadratus, who is apparently taking over much of his father’s business. I have seen my betrothed a time or two before. He seems pleasant enough, and I’m sure if Memnon did not exist, I might actually be giddy at the prospect of leaving Livia’s home.

However, Memnondoesexist, and he is coming for me, and that changes everything.

When Livia settles on the fabric for my wedding garment and then the veil, I’m unsure I’ll ever wear either. And when the fabric is tailored to my body, I’m even more confident my Roman groom will never lay eyes on it, nor will his fingers graze the metal fibulae that clasp it at my shoulders. I will never walk next to him in my orange wedding sandals, and he’ll never smell the sweetness of the rose-and-clove perfume I would wear.

But the weeks slide into months, and my hope falters, held together only by the promises that Memnon whispers in my mind.

Little witch, I feel I’m growing near…

I’ve nearly found you. I sense it. I know you must sense it too…

Near as he is, I don’t know that he’s close enough. A date has been set for my wedding. The festivities have been planned and the guests invited.

Hope might be a god, but it is such a capricious, fickle one. It feels like it could gut me alive at any moment.

And then I’m sure itwillgut me alive because, despite all of Memnon’s assurances that he’s closer than ever, my wedding day arrives.

CHAPTER 9

ROXILANA, 18 YEARS OLD

54 AD, Rome, Roman Empire

I lay in bed,listening to the sound of swallows chirping outside, dread souring my stomach. My wedding attire is waiting for me beyond the foot of my bed, but I cannot bring myself to look at it.

Are you awake?Memnon asks, jarring me from my thoughts.

I draw in a heavy breath.Yes.

Do you sense it, Roxilana? Our fateful meeting?Memnon’s words feel like a caress.I think today is the day. Passersby tell me I am close to the walls of your city.

Memnon…I say softly. I cover my eyes with my hand.My wedding—it’s today.

I’d been careful not to talk about the specifics of my betrothal to save us both the agony, but now that the ceremony is imminent, I cannot avoid discussing it any longer.

I sense his alarm. But rather than falling into hopelessness as I have, determination rises in him, paired with something like exhilaration.

We’ll see about that.

The stola is the whitest I’ve ever worn, and the orange gossamer veil that goes on over it is as delicate as moth wings. I touch the fabric even as my gut twists with unease.

The gods must have a sense of humor.

I move to the window and stare out at the rooftops of Rome while, beyond my room, the faint sounds of singing float in from the distance. My muscles tense.

It’s beginning.

I’m dressed and bejeweled, my cinnamon-colored hair braided and upswept and covered by my veil and a crown of flowers.

I’m supposed to be using this time to pray to Vesta about anointing this union. Instead, I send out a different, desperate wish to whatever god will listen—please stop this wedding.

Livia moves to the doorway of the room. “Are you ready?” It’s not a question.

I nod anyway, my heart thundering as I turn more fully from the window to face her.