Page 27

“It’s kumiss,” Katiari says as I force the drink down, the corners of her mouth wavering, like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Fermented mare’s milk.” She takes in my expression.

“Apparently it takes some getting used to, but it’s a beloved drink amongst us Sarmatians.

” She leans in close. “More importantly, it lights up the body the same as wine.” Her gaze flicks over me.

“And I mean this in the kindest way possible, sister, but you look like you could use a little something to…relax.”

I lift my brows. “Is it that obvious?”

Katiari gives me a soft smile. “Only up close.”

She lightly touches the metal fibula at my shoulder, and as she does so, I notice her knuckles are tattooed. I hadn’t realized Sarmatian women also inked themselves.

Her eyes linger on the fastening at my shoulder, and for a moment I think perhaps she’s pondering about my ways and customs before her eyes lift to our surroundings.

“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” she says. “Hence, the kumiss.”

I glance at the jug, then cautiously bring it to my lips again. The flavor is still a shock to my taste buds, but this time I’m braced for it. And once I feel the warmth of the drink coat my throat and spread through my stomach, I’m reconsidering my initial thoughts on kumiss.

I hand the drinking vessel back to Katiari. “So you and Memnon are siblings?” I decide to open with.

She nods. “Yep. I’m his younger, prettier sibling.” She doesn’t say how much younger exactly, but as I take in her profile, I would guess she’s no more than a couple years younger than me.

I try to fathom the thought of growing up with a sibling, but all I feel is a deep yearning for the bond Memnon and Katiari must have, a bond that I might’ve had, had my world not shattered all those years ago.

“Will I meet your father?” I ask without thinking.

“My father’s dead—fell in battle nearly ten years ago.”

I feel myself pale with horror. “Gods, that was thoughtless of me,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

She waves my apology off. “He died valiantly while protecting our people, and speaking of his sacrifice only honors him, so it’s all right.

” Her boots and my sandals crunch against the earthen pathway.

“Memnon’s dad, however, is still alive. Eventually you’ll meet him, though on his own terms I suppose—he’s not from around here. ”

I hadn’t realized Memnon and Katiari didn’t share fathers.

Hiding my surprise, I say, “Memnon’s father isn’t Sarmatian?”

“Nope,” Katiari says distractedly. She points to our left, to an area beyond the final line of tents. “There are the corrals where we keep our oxen. Our horses are on the other side of camp.

“The most important parts of camp are at its center,” she continues.

“The great tent and the main clearing, where we met, are the two main assembly areas, though there are others as well. Tanneries, forges, butcher shops, and the like are located on the edges of camp with most dwellings somewhere in between. Smaller shops and stalls are interspersed between houses.”

I nod as I take it all in. In truth, Katiari’s explanation of this settlement is hard to gasp when I cannot yet distinguish one pathway from another.

She tilts her head toward me. “As for Memnon’s father, he visits as often as he sees fit—but he comes from a long way off, so I assume the trip is challenging.”

“How did your mom and Memnon’s dad initially meet?” I ask, my curiosity growing.

“Memnon didn’t tell you?” she asks, steering us down yet another pathway. People lingering outside their homes watch us with interest.

I shake my head.

Katiari eyes me, then stops altogether. I pause, watching as she blows out a breath. “Of course he’d put me in this position,” she mutters to herself.

Katiari glances to the heavens, then back at me. “Okay,” she finally says, coming to some sort of decision. “Memnon should be the one to tell you, but I can try to explain.”

My brow furrows. “I do want to know.” It would help me feel a touch less lost when it comes to my husband’s family.

“So, you know Memnon has…” Katiari lifts a hand and wiggles her fingers.

I press my lips together to keep them from twitching. “Power?” I say.

“ Yes .” She sounds relieved that I know this. “Well”—she begins walking again, and I trail after her—“his father, Ilyapa, is the one he inherited it from.”

“Okay…” I say, not sure I understand where she’s going with this.

“Ilyapa is the King of the Moche Empire, some great and distant nation,” she says, “one too far away for ordinary people to visit. However, like I mentioned, Ilyapa is not ordinary. Long ago, he used his magic to come here, and once here, he searched out my mother. From what I understand, he’d heard of a place where female warriors fought alongside men and got curious.

“At that time,” Katiari continues, “Tamara was the queen of our people and one of Sarmatia’s fiercest warriors.”

“So they met,” I say.

“Yes. Apparently she nearly cut him down and only his magic spared him some gruesome fate.”

My eyebrows rise. “And from that they…fell in love?” I say skeptically.

Katiari throws back her head and laughs. “Love? No, I don’t think it was ever love. But power is drawn to power, and they both had plenty of it. As my mother tells it, Ilyapa wasn’t here for long, but he was here long enough.” She gives me a knowing look.

“And that,” Katiari finishes, “is how my dear brother came to be.” She punctuates the thought by having another drink of the kumiss before passing it to me.

Distractedly, I take a sip, hardly noticing the sour flavor as I grapple with the story of Memnon’s origins.

I hand the kumiss back to Katiari, and the two of us continue in silence as the last dying rays of light settle over the tented city. Several Sarmatians are lighting torches staked into the ground along our pathway.

“My mother and Memnon’s father do like each other,” Katiari finally says, “and perhaps their lives would’ve looked different if they weren’t both rulers, but that is not the world we live in.”

“No, it isn’t,” I quietly agree. The world we live in exalts power and punishes love as weakness. Perhaps the only reason Memnon and I have what we do is because my husband is willing to use his immense power to get what he wants.

“We should probably get back,” Katiari says. “I’m sure you’re tired, and tomorrow will be an eventful day.”

A bolt of nerves courses through me at the thought of getting married—again—tomorrow and, this time, publicly.

Katiari smiles and bumps her shoulder against mine. “Hey, it’ll be all right, I promise,” she says, reading my facial features. “Besides, I can always slip you more kumiss if you need it. Just ask.”

I give her a grateful look. “Thank you, Katiari,” I say sincerely. “For the tour and the kumiss, but most of all, thank you for making me feel welcome.”

Her eyes soften. She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Hey, we’re sisters. That’s what we do for each other.”

My heart swells because, as I stare at her, I think she means it.

I nod, flashing her a shy smile. “Sisters,” I agree, testing the word out.

“Exactly.” She threads her arm through mine then, and together we walk back to my new home.