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I reach into my past, straining to recallanyof the names of the people I loved—my sister, my mother, my extended family. Instead, all I see are the flames that burned my village. I can still taste the smoke on my tongue and feel the heat of that fire reaching out from the past, trying to swallow me up. I have spent so long running from the memory of those flames that the names I cherished burned up with it.

The only names I can think of are Roman ones.This is actually a bit distressing.

And that’s bad because…?

I’m not Roman, I finish for him.

You aren’t Roman?Memnon asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

You’ve been listening to my thoughts for years, yet you never figured this out?

“Listening” is such a generous term, he says.More like “studiously ignoring.”After a moment, he adds,Do you want me to help you with a name?

Do I? The possibility sends a thrill through me.

Yes, I finally say. I do think I want that.

Okay, Memnon says.

He goes quiet for so long that I almost believe I am alone in my own head once more. The only thing that convincesme otherwise is the light, exhilarating sensation that I’m fairly certain belongs to him.

Roxilana, he finally says, his voice deepening with the roll of his voice.

The name brings goose bumps to my skin. It doesn’t sound anything like the Roman names I’m used to. It sounds untamable, like something beyond the Empire’s reach.

Do you like it?Memnon asks.

Yes, I say, a slow smile curving my lips.I like it. A lot. I am…Roxilana.

I swear I feel Memnon smile inside my head. The action causes my heart to gallop all over again.

Hello, Roxi, he replies.

I have to bite my lip to smother my smile.I haven’t even had my name for a full breath, and you’re already shortening it?I say.

Yes, well, you’re less terrifying as Roxi, Memnon says.Roxilana might cut my heart out of my chest, but Roxi…Roxi sounds like…a friend.

I want to tell him that we are not friends, that we just met and I’m still not fully convinced he’s even human, but…for my peace of mind, a friend sounds nice. Especially if he is going to be stuck in my head.

After a moment, I ask,What does the name mean—Roxilana?

If he tells me it means something like “donkey dung,” I will mutiny.

Does it need to have a meaning?he asks.

Of course it must, I say.I am a vengeful spirit and very easily displeased.

If I spoke to anyone else like this, I would be reprimanded. But with this man that’s not quite a man, I don’t need to be an obedient Roman girl. I can be whomever I wish to be.

I can be Roxilana. The thought sends a surge of pleasure through me.

I don’t know how I sense Memnon’s smile, but I do. And in that moment, I think it might be the most wonderful thing in the world.

Roxilana means “blessed one” in my language, he says.

The last thing I am is blessed, but I keep that thought to myself—or at least, I assume I keep it to myself. I have no way of knowing if Memnon can hear every stray thought or just the words I want him to hear.

Are you really a human?I ask.