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Daughter. The word sends a happy thrill through me, and my throat tightens and my eyes prick.

I glance up, forcing myself to meet Tamara’s eyes. Just like in her voice, Memnon’s mother wears power in her features. It’s as moving as it is terrifying.

“Well, aren’t you just lovelier than sunrise?” she says.

I smile uncertainly, unused to compliments from anyone besides Memnon. “Thank you,” I say, dipping my head again. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

She sucks in a pleased breath. “You speak our tongue beautifully. I almost forgot that while my son was learning your language, you must have been learning ours.”

She knows about our connection?I raise my head a little higher, peering at her.

But it’s not Memnon who answers my question.

Tamara gives me an arch look, pressing her curving lips together. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, daughter. I knew about you beforeyouknew about Memnon.”

There’s that term again.Daughter. I force back the emotion that wells in me—the childlike hope for something I lost long ago, something I searched for but never found in Livia.

She gives my hands a squeeze, her own palms and fingers speckled with nicks and scars.

“My son has spoken about you for years,” she says softly. “From what I have heard, you have saved his life once before. For that, you have my endless thanks.”

I’m certain this woman is going to make me cry.

“You have been my daughter for years,” she continues, unaware of my own churning mood, “but finally I get to properly embrace you.” With that, Tamara wraps me in her arms.

A moment of déjà vu comes over me. The mother who birthed me, I believe…I believe she hugged me like this. Wholly and with great affection.

My arms come around Tamara, then tighten. I hold on to her like I might be swept away if I let go. Before I am fully aware of it, tears slip down my cheeks.

When Tamara pulls away, she clucks her tongue. “We cannot have you crying. Not for this.” She tenderly wipes away my tears with the pads of her battle-scarred hands. “It’s all right,” she soothes. Her hands move to my own once more. “I know this is all new,” she says, nodding to emphasize her words, “butit’s going to be wonderful.Youare going to be wonderful.” She squeezes my hands again. “I can just sense it.”

She lowers her voice and adds, “Tonight, we are going to have a great feast. As the king of our people, Memnon must be there. You, however, will not. You will be introduced properly tomorrow.”

I give Tamara a perplexed look, but rather than elaborating, she passes me to the young woman next to her, whom Memnon has been quietly murmuring with while his mother and I spoke.

“Roxilana, this is Katiari, your sister-in-law,” she says, nodding to the woman who bears a striking resemblance to her, with her green eyes and curving mouth. “She will help get you settled. Rest. Tomorrow is a big day.”

I don’t have time ask what she means nor say goodbye to Memnon before Katiari takes me by the hand and pulls me out of the clearing and into the gathered audience beyond, Ferox at my heels.

At my back, I hear Tamara’s voice boom out to the crowd. “Your king has returned, and he’s brought with him our future queen. Tomorrow, there shall be a wedding, and a week of celebrations shall follow. Rejoice, for the great line of the dragon shall continue!”

The last thing I hear are the roars of the people.

The late-afternoon air stirs the loose wisps of my hair as I follow Katiari away from the gathered crowd.

She steers us toward a tent with a leather jug sitting outside it. Snatching up the vessel, she unstoppers it and takes a large swallow.

“So I was thinking,” Katiari says, handing me the jug, “while the rest of camp is distracted by Memnon’s return, I might show you around the settlement before I take you to our tent.”

Though my bones are weary from riding and my nerves are frayed from arriving at my new home, I would sooner fall on a blade than turn down an offer by Memnon’s sister.

“That sounds wonderful.” I lift the jug she gave me to my lips. Without thinking, I take a swig of it, expecting water or wine.

Instead, I nearly choke on the flavor of sour dairy.

“What in all the gods’—”

“It’s kumiss,” Katiari says as I force the drink down, the corners of her mouth wavering, like she’s trying not to laugh. “Fermented mare’s milk.” She takes in my expression. “Apparently it takes some getting used to, but it’s a beloved drink amongst us Sarmatians.” She leans in close. “More importantly, it lights up the body the same as wine.” Her gaze flicks over me. “And I mean this in the kindest way possible, sister, but you look like you could use a little something to…relax.”