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I lean into Katiari. “From sister to sister, will you tell me what is going on?”

Her gaze darts around me to her mother. “She would have my head,” Katiari whispers. She steps in a little closer and takes my hand, squeezing it lightly. “But all will be well. That, I can swear on.” She takes the jug from me and swallows a mouthful before passing it back. “Drink up, Roxi. Today is the final day of celebrations.”

I drink my share of wine as we wind our way through camp, the alcohol sitting like a fist in my stomach as we pass by the smoking remains of last night’s fires and the occasional passed-out reveler.

At last, we arrive at a large, indiscriminate tent. Tamara pulls the flap of it aside, and the first thing I notice is the smell. Thick, cloying incense fills the space with its pungent aroma.

A moment later, I notice the many women congregated inside. Nearly every age is represented, from young girls to withered crones, and unlike the sleeping revelers outside this tent, they are quiet alert. When they see us, they dip their heads.

I swallow. I’m still unused to the casual reverence I’m given, especially when I don’t have Memnon at my side to ease the shock of it.

At the center of the tent, a few pillows have been tossed onto the carpeted floor. Next to them are several bone needles,a cosmetic bottle, and the incense burner. A woman with curly, dark brown hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose kneels near these, and Tamara and Katiari lead me to her.

The woman clasps my hand. “Lovely to see you, my queen. Come, sit. The women of your new clan have been eager for this moment.” She leads me from my mother- and sister-in-law and down to the pillows, where I stiffly sit.

Around me, someone begins a chant, and the other women in the tent join in, the sound filling the air just as much as the burning incense is.

Tamara turns and addresses the room. “Today, we honor my new daughter, our queen.”

The chant grows louder, and I sway a little where I’m seated, the smell of the incense making me lightheaded.

Tamara continues. “She will bear the clan mark of the royal family to acknowledge her status and lineage.”

Bear the mark?

“A dragon to symbolize her marriage to our king, Memnon the Indomitable, leader of the dragon clan,” she says.

My gaze drops to the bone needles and the cosmetic jar in front of me and understanding washes through me.

Oh gods. I’m getting tattooed.

This was the secret kept from me until now, when I’m surrounded by kinswomen. I glare up at where Tamara stands because I can do nothing else. I know very little about being queen, but even I can figure out that protesting now would earn me only ire from the women who are to be my family.

It’s an impossible position she’s put me in, and she must know it too.

“Please lie back,” says my tattooist, as she settles herself in front of me and preps the bone needles.

I do so, though I’m beginning to tremble. I feel exposed, lying before a room of women who will watch as someone pierces myskin again and again. And the only person who feels truly safe to me has been called away on kingly duties.

Tamara settles herself behind me, Katiari at her side.

My mother-in-law leans forward and squeezes my shoulder. “It is a sign of strength to make no sound,” she breathes as the tattooist begins to heat a bone needle over the flame of the incense burner.

“Damn you,” I say softly to her.

She smiles and gives my arm a squeeze. “That’s my daughter. Already the fire of my clan heats your blood.”

The room is still chanting, the notes of it pricking at my skin.

The tattooist leans over and opens the wrapped collar of my top, exposing a breast and the smooth skin above it. I lock my jaw to keep from gasping. Embarrassment burns my cheeks as the room stares on.

The tattooist grabs a bone needle whose tip is coated with charcoal and moves it over my heart.

At the first prick, I suck in a sharp breath. The needle digs into my skin, depositing the pigment into my flesh. I grind my teeth together, tears welling in my eyes as it’s wiggled about. It hurts far more than a small needle has any right to. At least it doesn’t hurt as much as a lashing.

When the needle is removed, blood wells from the wound, but Tamara is there with a small cloth, curtly wiping it away. The bone needle reenters my skin a moment later, andgodsbut that hurts.

In and out, the needle works, moving over my skin. The pain is sometimes sharp and sometimes throbbing but always constant. Now I understand the alcohol.