Page 10

I lay in bed, listening to the sound of swallows chirping outside, dread souring my stomach. My wedding attire is waiting for me beyond the foot of my bed, but I cannot bring myself to look at it.

Are you awake? Memnon asks, jarring me from my thoughts.

I draw in a heavy breath. Yes.

Do you sense it, Roxilana? Our fateful meeting? Memnon’s words feel like a caress. I think today is the day. Passersby tell me I am close to the walls of your city.

Memnon… I say softly. I cover my eyes with my hand. My wedding—it’s today.

I’d been careful not to talk about the specifics of my betrothal to save us both the agony, but now that the ceremony is imminent, I cannot avoid discussing it any longer.

I sense his alarm. But rather than falling into hopelessness as I have, determination rises in him, paired with something like exhilaration.

We’ll see about that.

The stola is the whitest I’ve ever worn, and the orange gossamer veil that goes on over it is as delicate as moth wings. I touch the fabric even as my gut twists with unease.

The gods must have a sense of humor.

I move to the window and stare out at the rooftops of Rome while, beyond my room, the faint sounds of singing float in from the distance. My muscles tense.

It’s beginning.

I’m dressed and bejeweled, my cinnamon-colored hair braided and upswept and covered by my veil and a crown of flowers.

I’m supposed to be using this time to pray to Vesta about anointing this union. Instead, I send out a different, desperate wish to whatever god will listen— please stop this wedding .

Livia moves to the doorway of the room. “Are you ready?” It’s not a question.

I nod anyway, my heart thundering as I turn more fully from the window to face her.

Livia’s wearing a new stola for the occasion, and her hair has been elaborately coiffed, the long locks braided in the back with the end curls stacked at the crown of her head. The few pieces of jewelry she owns, she now wears.

She looks teary-eyed, and the sight is a shock to me. I have been so certain for so long that she was dying to get rid of me. That I was nothing but a nuisance. Seeing her emotional is a revelation.

She steps forward slowly, and in response, my magic sifts out of me, winding about my arms and torso, protecting me as it always does when she grows near.

And like every other time this has happened, Livia does not notice the pale orange plumes of my power.

To her—and seemingly everyone else in the city—my magic is invisible.

She takes my clammy hands and squeezes them in her own. “My sweet child, you are a vision.”

I force out a tight smile as the singing outside grows louder.

“I know you have not wanted this. I have waited as long as I possibly could,” she says fervently.

My brow furrows.

She notices the look and laughs. “You think I wanted to give you off? Of course not. I would’ve been happy to let things continue as they have.” She swallows. “But this day had to come for you, as it must for all Roman women.”

She’s not wrong. Only a select few women ever escape being married off. And yet, I’d never applied that reasoning to my own situation.

“We have not always…gotten along,” Livia continues. “I hope that can soon change.”

“Gotten along?” I whisper, my voice hoarse. She makes it sound as though I was part of the problem. As though her rages were simply a matter of disagreement between equals and not a mother physically inflicting her own hurt and anger onto a child.

Livia looks ashamed for a moment before the growing commotion outside becomes unignorably loud.

“We haven’t talked much about what will happen after today.”

My gaze drops to my few belongings, which have been neatly placed in two woven baskets.

“There are some things, such as us working together, that will stay the same. But you will live under a different roof, and you will have new duties to your husband and his family…”

She shifts her weight, and my stomach twists.

“On your wedding night…” She clears her throat, her eyes dropping to the knotted rope that cinches my waist, then draws in a deep breath.

“There are things that happen between married couples. Usually, it happens in the marital bed…” She still won’t look me in the eye.

“I’m sure you have at least heard of what I speak of?—”

“Livia!” someone shouts into the room, saving me from this agonizing conversation. “They’re here!”

She swallows. “Just be a good girl and listen to your husband. So long as you do as he says, you will be just fine.” Her eyes are shiny with unshed tears when she gives my hands another squeeze, and I try not to wince at her affection, which feels grotesque, especially alongside her instructions.

“Come,” she says, pulling me out of my bedroom.

Livia leads me into the main area of our house, where family and friends mill about. Once they see me, they begin to cheer, the sound blending with the singing happening out in the courtyard of the insula. Singing that’s moving up the steps and toward our apartment.

My gaze makes it to the threshold of our house just as, from the open doorway, my groom steps into view.

Quadratus is stout, with curly, close-cropped hair, a wide smile, and a gap between his teeth. Most telling of all, he has kind eyes.

Strange that looking into them, what I feel most is panic and dread. Like my future is a flip of a coin, on one side, I have the life of a tailor’s assistant and a merchant’s wife; on the other…Memnon and the vast unknown.

Quadratus crosses the room, his eyes fixed on me. Behind him enter his father, Titus, and the magistrate with his purple-edged toga. The rest of the groom’s guests wait in the courtyard below, and Livia’s guests leave our insula to join them until the ceremony is complete.

The magistrate scans the group of us. “Are both parties present?”

“We are,” Livia answers for the room.

“All right.” The magistrate unrolls a bit of papyrus and lays it out on the table.

The marriage contract. All it needs are our signatures for it to be complete. I stare at the papyrus, afraid I’m going to retch all over this pristine garment I’m wearing.

My groom moves over to me and reaches for my hand. My limb shakes as I take his.

I can’t marry this man. I can’t do it. I’m sure of it now that I’m touching him.

My gaze drifts to the doorway, and I fantasize about running straight out and not stopping until my legs gave out.

I could. It would ruin the reputations of everyone here, but I could do it.

Fear keeps my feet rooted in place.

Quadratus squeezes my hand, and when I glance at him, he gives me a reassuring smile, which makes this entire situation worse. Because I’m getting the impression that Quadratus is actually a good man. Maybe Livia deserves to have her reputation smeared, but I’m not sure my groom does.

The magistrate comes over to me and Quadratus. He nods to my groom, though he does not acknowledge me.

“I see you’ve found your bride,” the Roman official says, his gaze dropping to our joined hands.

Livia titters with nervous laughter as she and Titus gather close.

The magistrate clears his throat. “Let’s begin.”

Romans are big on omens. Good ones, bad ones—they dictate much of Roman life.

So when screams start up in the distance, I’m sure it’s an ill omen for this marriage.

Not that I’d ever been hopeful about this particular wedding.

The magistrate, who has been droning about the legal obligations of this union, now pauses as the rest of the room shares uneasy looks. An omen like this might be reason enough to postpone the wedding. My heart soars at the possibility.

But neither Livia nor Titus indicate that they want the proceedings to stop.

So the magistrate resumes speaking, even as the screams continue.

I listen to them, the sound raising the hairs on my forearms. In Rome, when people scream, there’s a good reason for it. Maybe an apartment tower has fallen, or a fire has broken out, or there’s violence in the streets. And perhaps it’s my imagination, but I swear the noise is getting closer.

“ Daughter ,” Livia says sharply.

I blink, realizing she’s been calling for me.

I clear my throat. “Yes…Mother?”

“Your vows,” she says slowly.

My vows? We’re already to that part?

Livia eyes me like she thinks I might run. And I feel it in my blood again, that driving need to cast off all these garments and flee this house and never look back.

My groom gives my hand another squeeze, and when I glance at him, his face is reassuring.

“Where you are…” Quadratus prompts me.

There I am. That’s how the vow goes. Short. Simple. All I need to do is utter those three words and the vows will be complete.

My skin pricks at the weight of everyone’s stares.

I clear my throat, ignoring the way my magic is beginning to leak out of me again.

The screams draw closer. Beneath them, I hear something else, something that grows louder and louder.

Hoofbeats.

My heart begins to pound, and excitement replaces fear. Could it be…

Memnon?

The other individuals in the room are now glancing at the open doorway as the sounds of charging horses and screaming civilians become unignorable.

Little witch…I found you.

I press my free hand to my chest.

He’s here . I don’t think I fully believed he would be until this very moment.

A smile spreads across my face.

Yes , I say down our bond.

From my vantage point, I can see just a sliver of the courtyard below. Several guests from Quadratus’s wedding procession begin to scatter, visibly terrified.

The magistrate leaves our side, striding to the doorway. “What in all the gods’ names—” Whatever he sees steals the rest of his words from his tongue.

Livia glances nervously at me, then at my groom and future father-in-law. This is more than a bad omen; even she knows that.

All at once, the sound of stampeding horses halts, and the screams seem to die along with them.