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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.

I refocus my attention on Ilyapa and clear my throat. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Then this will truly be an experience,” Ilyapa says.

“Memnon, take my hand,” Eislyn says, her voice lilting.

My husband’s eyes are still on me, his brows creased as he absently grips her hand. Eislyn grasps Ilyapa with her other hand.

Her gaze is unwavering on my husband when she says, “Follow me and don’t let go.” She takes a step backward, then vanishes into thin air.

I don’t have time to cry out in alarm. Not before Memnon and Ilyapa move along with her. To my horror, their bodies are swallowed up by the air itself too. Or at least most of their bodies—I can still see Memnon’s disembodied hand tightly gripping my own.

A scream is building in my throat.

It’s all right, my queen , Memnon says, a touch of humor easing the previous concern in his voice. This is the doorway to the ley line. All you have to do is step forward.

If anyone else suggested such a thing, I would mutiny. But with Memnon, conscience or not, I’d follow him to the edges of the world. So I take those few fateful steps forward.

When I inhale, I am in Sarmatia. When I exhale, I am somewhere else entirely.

I stare wide-eyed at my surroundings, struggling to make sense of them. It appears as though I’m in a tunnel of sorts, one made of smears of light and color. It stretches on either side of me seemingly forever.

I’ve barely had a moment to process the sight when Eislyn begins leading us down the tunnel.

Around me, the color shifts and changes, the sight of it making my head pound.

What are you thinking? Memnon asks.

I glance at him only to catch him staring fondly at me, though that crease is still there between his eyebrows.

With my free hand, I reach out and smooth it, making the decision to leave the hurt and ire back in Sarmatia. We will speak of it later. For now, I will simply enjoy the moment.

I’m thinking this is the most unbelievable experience I’ve yet had , I admit.

More unbelievable than having a voice inside your head? he asks, the corner of his mouth curving up.

I fight back a grin. It’s not a competition, Husband.

For an instant, his eyes seem to glow. I want you to call me that again, tonight, when I am inside you.

Memnon. My eyes widen.

I can feel his humor down our bond. They cannot hear us, little witch. We can talk about anything at all, and Eislyn and my father would not know. Like how I enjoy the way you try to escape when I am eating you out, and the sounds you make when you are getting close to orgasming ? —

“We’re here,” Eislyn announces over her shoulder, her gaze briefly touching on the two of us. If she notices my flushed cheeks or quickened breath, she says nothing.

She turns and steps into the wall of the tunnel itself. Again, I have to swallow a shout at the sight of her body disappearing from view.

The rest of us follow her, leaving the ley line and stepping out into a muddy, shaded forest.

The longer I look, the more I realize that this is no forest like I’ve ever seen. The trees are tightly packed together, and their leaves are waxy and shockingly green.

The air seems to lie on our bodies like a blanket, heavy and mildly warm, and it practically vibrates with noise from whatever fantastical creatures lurk within the dense foliage. The land is alive in a way I have never experienced.

“Ah, we are here,” Ilyapa says, stepping forward.

I glance past him, trying to understand where here is, but I cannot see anything beyond the dense vegetation.

He pulls aside a curtain of vines and places his hand on an enchantment hanging in midair, one I didn’t notice. A deep green color flushes it for an instant before it dissolves away.

I gasp.

The vegetation in front of me dissipates like steam from a pot, revealing a palace made entirely of glittering, white marble.

I take a halting step toward it, mesmerized by the sight.

It looks like something the gods themselves designed.

There’s a columned entrance and colonnaded walkway as well as three domed roofs, the grandest set beyond the main entrance.

The longer I stare, the more unbelievable it seems.

“ This is your wedding present,” Ilyapa says proudly.

I stagger back. Even Memnon halts, his face wiped clean of expression. “What?” he says, turning to look at his father.

Ilyapa looks immeasurably pleased. “I didn’t mumble, Memnon. This is yours.”

Memnon glances from him to the palace. I follow his gaze, my breath hitching in my throat.

It’s been hard enough to accept the copious wedding gifts we’ve received from my new people and harder still to wear the diadem that rests on my head. But a palace?

Not even Memnon, king that he is, has such a thing.

“Come, let me show it to you both,” Ilyapa says. Already Eislyn wanders ahead of us, her fingertips trailing over the flowering plants she passes.

There are columns of marble carved into the shapes of trees, gold vines wrapping around them.

The leaves are made of gilded marble, and the flowers that bloom along these stone trees and vines appear to be made of blown glass, their centers golden.

I touch the tree trunk, the bark of it as rough as the real thing, and then my finger runs over the slightly serrated edge of a marble leaf.

I marvel. No mortal craftsman could’ve made this.

This must be the work of gods or magic, though I know not which.

The stone trees bend into an archway of sorts, and beyond them lies a set of massive, bronze doors. Ilyapa steps up to them and pushes them open with ease, a little of his pine-green magic leaking out with the action.

Our soft footsteps echo inside.

“This is the Khuno River Palace. No one besides Eislyn and myself know about this place—and now you.”

I don’t know what to make of that—any of this, really—but Memnon seems to. He strides forward and embraces his father. “Thank you. You honor us.”

“No, no, my son,” Ilyapa says, pulling away and lightly gripping Memnon by the back of his neck. “It is you who honor me .”

I remember Ilyapa’s earlier comments about how blunted his emotions are, and I wonder what it is, exactly, that he feels right now, giving his son an entire palace. I wonder if his heart is truly as cold as he says it is.

“Come,” Ilyapa says to Memnon, patting him on the shoulder. “There is more yet I want to show you.”

I watch the two of them enter the palace, though this time, I don’t follow. Blunted emotions or not, Memnon is having a bonding moment with his father, and I sense he doesn’t get this much.

“They are quite a pair, are they not?” Eislyn says, coming to my side.

I startle a little. I’ve been so consumed with this place that I forgot she was here with us.

She continues, leaning in conspiratorially. “Ilyapa says he doesn’t have a favorite child, but, well, you have eyes and ears.”

I nod absently, my skin prickling with awareness now that this woman is at my side. I still cannot decide whether she is a goddess or something else, but when I turn to her, I’m just as ensnared by her features as I was the first time I laid eyes on her.

Finally, however, she meets my gaze.

“Congratulations,” she says, nodding to my diadem, “on both your marriage and your crown.”

“Thank you.” I dip my head, proud when my diadem does not topple off.

“What did you do before Memnon found you?” she asks, her gaze wandering over me as though her eyes might uncover my secrets.

“I was a seamstress.”

Eislyn raises her eyebrows. “From seamstress to queen. What an immense leap.”

I cannot tell whether the words are meant to be sweet or unkind. Eislyn’s face gives nothing away.

“Come,” she says, her hand moving softly to my upper back. “This calls for a toast.” She leads me into the palace, steering me to the left, the opposite direction that Memnon and his father went.

We pass through what looks like a sitting chamber with reclining couches made of jewel-toned fabric, our footsteps echoing around us.

“The palace has no servants, so any needs you have require magic to accomplish.” As she speaks, we enter a dining hall. A single table made of polished wood occupies the space, running the long length of the room and decorated down its center with green glass leaves and flowers and candles.