Page 78

My eyes widen as the priest places the diadem on my head, fitting it so it rests over my forehead just as Memnon’s circlet rests along his.

“I crown Uvagukis Roxilanaqueen.” More cries from the audience. “I present to you all your newly married king and queen! Let no man break what the gods have joined.”

Bonfires roar around the central clearing, and undiluted wine and kumiss are passed around by the jugful. A musician has struck up a lute, the plucked notes of it quick and jaunty, and the massive clearing is now filled with dancing and singing, drinking and laughing.

Set before the open space are two gilded chairs—our thrones—and on them Memnon and I sit. The only one missing is Ferox, who skipped the evening’s festivities to prowl the grasslands beyond camp.

Sarmatians approach me and Memnon to pay their respects and deliver gifts. Already there are piles of exquisitely wrought weaponry and jewelry, intricately woven textiles and perfume encased in blown-glass bottles. It’s more wealth than I could possibly imagine, and there is still an unending line of guests waiting to introduce themselves.

My gaze strays to the twisting bodies, and yearning heats my blood.

Will we get to dance?I ask. My eyes linger on Katiari, who laughs as she twirls among the dancers, her partner another young woman.

Would you like to?Memnon asks, glancing over at me.

Yes.The word rides on a wave of longing.

Memnon reaches out, ignoring the line of waiting guests and his mother’s arch look from where she stands nearby.

Are you sure it’s okay to leave?I ask, glancing back.

They have your entire reign to meet you, but we only have until dawn to enjoy this wedding night.

With that, Memnon leads me from my seat and into the sea of dancing guests. Once they notice us, they clap and cheer,reaching out, fingers brushing against our hair and clothes and skin. It should be invasive and uncomfortable, but I have already drunk a horn and a half of undiluted wine, and it’s chased away whatever misgivings I might’ve had.

Memnon pulls and spins me about, causing the golden adornments on my outfit to shiver as the two of us move.

Sarmatians dance differently than Romans, but my limbs feel fluid, and there’s a rising wildness in me that might be my magic or inebriation. It causes me to arch my head back and laugh with abandon at the dark sky.

When I lower my gaze, Memnon’s fire-bright eyes are on mine, along with the grazing touch of his hands. He’s looking at me like he could live in this moment forever; I know I could.

I wind my arms around his neck and pull him close, threading my fingers through his hair.The gods must hold us dear, I say down our bond,because I am sure no woman has ever felt the way I do about you.

This love is the thing of dreams and wishes. Too sweet for the real world.

Memnon touches my lower lip.And no man has ever felt the way I do about you, Roxi, though I’m sure some have killed for even a shadow of it. You are my everything.

I can’t stop the smile that comes then. I wonder if people have died like this—intoxicated on their own happiness. It would not be half so bad an ending. Much better than Cleopatra’s exit, an asp bite to her breast, her heart already broken. Much better to die at the peak of love.

What makes you think this is the peak?Memnon interrupts. There’s a secretive glimmer in his eyes, like he already knows more about what’s to come than I do.

Who knows, maybe he does.

We dance as one song blends into another and the stars tilt in the sky. We stay until sweat wets my hair and drips between my cleavage and too many people press in on us.

Are you ready to leave?Memnon asks.

I glance around at the revelry, which seems livelier than ever.

Can we?

You are a queen. You don’t need someone else’s permission, Memnon says, a smile curving his lips.But you’ll be pleased to know us leaving early is part of the tradition.

He whistles between his teeth and, holding my hand tightly in his, weaves us in and out of the dancing guests.

Someone must hear Memnon’s whistle because a man to the side of the clearing brings Memnon’s horse to us, the creature now adorned with garlands of wildflowers.

Already, guests are drawn over by the activity. Before more of them can stroke my skin and clothes, Memnon lifts me onto his steed, then follows me onto the saddle.