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“I am proud of my son and committed to my legacy,” he says, “but I kiss cheeks and embrace family and feel only a spark of fondness where once fires raged. I long to get back what time and power have taken from me,” he admits, “but it is beyond even my reach.” He stares after his son. “Perhaps I am wrong about Memnon’s fate,” he continues. “You and he are bound by forces larger than any of us, and the gods love to be unpredictable.”

I taste bile as I gaze at my husband’s back. I had not anticipated losing the best parts of him piece by piece over the ensuing years. A conscienceless Memnon would be terrifying.

My attention drifts from him to Eislyn. The woman now lays her hand on my husband’s arm and leans into him in a way that is far too familiar, even if he sidesteps the touch a moment later. My unease spills over from future maladies to more immediate ones.

“Who is she?” I ask, gut churning.

“Eislyn?” Ilyapa says as we exit the settlement and head onto the open steppe land. “She’s interesting, is she not?”

“Mmm.” I nod. It’s the best response I can muster.

“She comes from a realm beyond land and sky,” Ilyapa says conversationally. “She is older than even the trees. She refers to herself as a fairy and her kind, the fae.”

She sounds disturbingly like a goddess.

Ilyapa notices the shrewd way I watch her. “You’re smart to keep an eye on her. She is clever and very beguiling.”

“Has she beguiledyou?”

He laughs. “Oh yes. Me and the rest of my line,” he says, his gaze flicking back to Memnon.

That bit of news is a blade to my heart, one I can barely breathe around.

“Your husband has kept her at arm’s length,” he adds. “His half brothers, however …”

I raise my eyes. “Memnon has brothers?” I assumed Katiari was his only sibling.

“Three,” Ilyapa clarifies. “And they would do well to not meet your husband. Some of my sons have more power and less heart than others.”

I peer at Ilyapa, questions bubbling to the surface.

My attention drifts back to the woman at Memnon’s side, and I scrutinize her. “If Eislyn is from another realm, what is she doing here in ours?” I ask.

“She was banished from her own.”

We reach a large mound then, one that rises like a boil from the earth around it. I have seen a few of these during my travels with Memnon, and he told me they were called kurgans, Sarmatian burial mounds.

What business we have visiting one right now is beyond my understanding, but Memnon must know, for he and Eislyn walk up the earthen hill.

I give Ilyapa a quizzical look. “I am very confused about this gift of yours,” I admit.

The wizened king laughs lightly and pats my hand again. “Help me to the top of this hill, then I will explain.”

The four of us climb the kurgan. The top of it is flat and barren, though the view of the land around us is amazing.

“Roxilana, have you ever traveled by ley line?” Ilyapa asks as Memnon moves to my side.

My brows come together. “Ley line?” There’s that term again.

They are magical roads that certain beings can use to travel great distances in a short amount of time, Memnon explains, grasping my hand.

I glance down at where our fingers intertwine, my heart hurting a little as I remember Ilyapa’s earlier words.

In our lineage, a sorcerer’s power comes at a price. The more we use it, the more it eats away at our conscience…

Memnon’s brow furrows as he senses my conflicted mood.Roxi, are you all right?

I give my head a shake, then nod, my emotions in knots.It doesn’t matter, I tell him. Now is no time to discuss this.