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I really am, he says.

I make several stitches in the veil as I make sense of the fact that fate somehow connected me to an entire other person.

Where do you live?I finally ask.

That depends on the season, Memnon responds.My tribe moves often, but generally we Sarmatians live near the Black Sea.

Sarmatians. I roll the word around in my mind. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of such a people. The Black Sea, on the other hand, Ihaveheard of, though it’s as remote to me as Egypt and Anatolia. As remote as Britannia, the island I came from.

I’m in Rome, I say.

I try to imagine that distance between us, but I simply cannot fathom it.

How can we hear each other if we live so far apart?I ask. It defies nature.

This is the work of gods and magic, Roxi.

A shiver runs down my spine.

Memnon seems much more accepting of this situation than I am. Then again, he’s apparently had years to consider it.

I thread my needle through the edge of the veil, listening to the distant chatter of Romans still out on the streets.

If the gods are real, they have abandoned me entirely, I say softly.

No, est menulumguva amage,?8 Memnon says,they were merely preparing you.

I frown in the darkness.Preparing me for what?

Us.

1 Must stay on my horse…

2 Hurts so fucking bad.

3 Ignore the pain. Have to keep fighting…

4 Running low on arrows…

5 Can’t get the angle right with my arm shaking.

6 Damn this arm! The faster I kill my enemies, the quicker it can be over.

7 Of course the girl chooses now to speak. Right when I needed more distractions.

8 My future queen

CHAPTER 3

ROXILANA, 12 YEARS OLD

48 AD, Rome, Roman Empire

It takesweeks to adjust to having another voice in my head. Weeks of headaches and distractions and beatings from Livia for being absent-minded. I feel like I am being unmade, thought by thought. And all evidence suggests that, short of death, there will be no end to this sharing of minds.

Eventually, I do get used to having Memnon’s voice in my head, thank the gods. It helps that his stray thoughts are in a language I don’t understand. And at night, after the work of the day is done, we often chat.

What are you doing, little witch?he asks now, as I sweep out the last crumbs and dust that have collected in the living room. Livia has only just blown out her lamp, and I can hear her settling into her bed.