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“At that time,” Katiari continues, “Tamara was the queen of our people and one of Sarmatia’s fiercest warriors.”

“So they met,” I say.

“Yes. Apparently she nearly cut him down and only his magic spared him some gruesome fate.”

My eyebrows rise. “And from that they…fell in love?” I say skeptically.

Katiari throws back her head and laughs. “Love? No, I don’t think it was ever love. But power is drawn to power, and they both had plenty of it. As my mother tells it, Ilyapa wasn’t here for long, but he was here long enough.” She gives me a knowing look.

“And that,” Katiari finishes, “is how my dear brother came to be.” She punctuates the thought by having another drink of the kumiss before passing it to me.

Distractedly, I take a sip, hardly noticing the sour flavor as I grapple with the story of Memnon’s origins.

I hand the kumiss back to Katiari, and the two of us continue in silence as the last dying rays of light settle over the tented city. Several Sarmatians are lighting torches staked into the ground along our pathway.

“My mother and Memnon’s fatherdolike each other,” Katiari finally says, “and perhaps their lives would’ve looked different if they weren’t both rulers, but that is not the world we live in.”

“No, it isn’t,” I quietly agree. The world we live in exalts power and punishes love as weakness. Perhaps the only reason Memnon and I have what we do is because my husband is willing to use his immense power to get what he wants.

“We should probably get back,” Katiari says. “I’m sure you’re tired, and tomorrow will be an eventful day.”

A bolt of nerves courses through me at the thought of getting married—again—tomorrow and, this time, publicly.

Katiari smiles and bumps her shoulder against mine. “Hey, it’ll be all right, I promise,” she says, reading my facial features. “Besides, I can always slip you more kumiss if you need it. Just ask.”

I give her a grateful look. “Thank you, Katiari,” I say sincerely. “For the tour and the kumiss, but most of all, thank you for making me feel welcome.”

Her eyes soften. She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Hey, we’re sisters. That’s what we do for each other.”

My heart swells because, as I stare at her, I think she means it.

I nod, flashing her a shy smile. “Sisters,” I agree, testing the word out.

“Exactly.” She threads her arm through mine then, and together we walk back to my new home.

CHAPTER 19

ROXILANA, 18 YEARS OLD

54 AD, Northern Sarmatia, near the Borysthenes River

I wake in an unfamiliar place,full of unfamiliar smells, to the soft murmuring of distant voices. I reach out, my fingers trailing over the dark wooden wall next to my bed.

There’s a heavy weight on me, and when I look to it, I realize it’s Memnon, his face buried in the crook of my arm, his body half on me, half off. He smells like wine and campfire, and he’s snoring softly.

Lying on the other side of him is the ever-opportunistic Ferox.

I smile at the sight of these two crammed into a bed that was meant for me alone.

I run my fingers through Memnon’s hair. “You’re not supposed to be here,” I whisper. That’s what I was told last night, when Katiari settled me in this space.

“Mmmm,” he groans, his arm tightening around me, his face nuzzling against my side.Little witch, you are my wife. This isexactlywhere I’m supposed to be.

I bite my lower lip, liking the possessive way he declared that. “Your family wanted us to stay in separate tents before the wedding,” I whisper, glancing at the cloth door that separates this wagoned bedroom from the rest of Tamara’s tented house. At least, Ithinkthis is her tent. Maybe it’s my sister-in-law’s. I was told and shown so much after we arrived, and I’m still disoriented by most of it.

Yes, well, my family has wanted me to do lots of things over the years, many of which I ignore, so this is nothing new, Memnon says.

He lifts his head and smiles at me, his hair sleep tousled. “Good morning, my queen.”