Page 34

“However, we have some clever spells in place.” She lifts her hand and snaps her fingers. Fire bursts to life along the row of candles. “ Wine ,” Eislyn commands, folding a bit of power into her voice.

Delicate blown-glass cups shaped like flowers slide off the boughs of a nearby marble tree, where they had discreetly hung, and they float down to a side table next to a beaked glass jug.

“There is an underground chamber where we keep wines and beer,” Eislyn says as the jug lifts into the air, “but there is almost always something to drink here in the kitchens and dining hall.”

The glass jug pours its contents into first one flower glass, then the other, before it resettles on the table. The glasses, however, continue on, rising from the side table and drifting along the air until one lands in my waiting palm.

I’m trying not to gape—at the cups, the magic, the room itself—though I am overwhelmed.

Eislyn raises her glass to me. “A toast: from lowly seamstress to lofty queen. May all such ambition be duly rewarded.”

Her words cause an uncomfortable lump to form in my belly. I lower my glass.

“I did not marry Memnon to be queen,” I say softly.

“Oh?” Eislyn arches a pale eyebrow. “Then I overestimated your ambition. Shame, I do appreciate a determined woman.”

I frown into my glass. That definitely seemed like an insult.

Eislyn clucks her tongue. “Stop acting like your wine is poisoned and drink . You deserve it. In fact, I think we should have another toast since I botched the first one.” Once again, she lifts her glass. Guarded, I follow.

There’s a glimmer in her clear blue eyes. “To being a beloved first wife,” she says, giving me a closed-lip smile. “Enjoy the exalted position.”

My eyes widen at her words and my glass trembles a little as I lower it once more.

Eislyn’s expression turns distressed. “Have I made a mess of this toast too?”

I give my head a shake if only to knock away the thoughts now cluttering it. “What do you mean, ‘first wife’?” I ask hoarsely.

Her distress turns to surprise. “Warriors are allowed multiple spouses,” she says. “Most do it—especially kings. It is nearly expected of them.” She tilts her head, that pale-blond hair spilling over her shoulder. “Did you not know?”

I shake my head again, stunned into silence. In the distance, I can hear Memnon and his father talking, their voices drawing closer.

I move to the long table and set my glass down, its delicate base clattering against the polished surface.

Memnon and Ilyapa enter then, Ilyapa looking jovial. Memnon, however, seeks me out with his eyes, his expression somber.

Roxi, is everything all right? he asks. I can sense your distress.

Another shake of my head. No, I don’t think I’m all right.

“Memnon, you made me look bad,” Eislyn accuses.

Without meaning to, one hand goes to my stomach, the other to the table.

It will be all right , I tell myself. It all has a reasonable explanation.

What has a reasonable explanation? Memnon asks, crossing the room. He cups my face, his eyes searching mine. He dips his head, trying to better peer at me. “Have I done something?”

“No.” But I can feel my lower lip trembling. Gods, I do not want to lose my composure.

“She had to learn from me that you will undoubtedly take more wives,” Eislyn says.

Across from me, Memnon goes rigid. “What?” he growls, slowly looking over at her.

I can feel the flame of his anger and a surge of his power. Blue wisps of his magic curl around my face.

“Why, in all the gods’ names, would you think of bringing such a subject up? To my new bride, no less?”

His attention returns to me. Roxilana, I will not be taking more wives , he says fervently. Not ever.

I nod, but I’m not looking at him.

Memnon moves away from me, toward Eislyn, his power spilling out of him. “Eislyn, you had no right .”

She lifts her hands placatingly. “I did not mean to startle her. I was merely making a toast to her new position. I thought she knew .”

I look up to see Memnon’s hair lifting and his eyes beginning to glow.

If I was distraught before, now I am alarmed.

In three quick steps, I cross to Memnon, placing a hand on his forearm.

“It was a misunderstanding,” I say, even as I eye Eislyn apprehensively.

I’m fairly certain it was no such thing, but I am not ready to see the woman get disemboweled over it, and that may very well happen if I don’t stop Memnon. “It was just a shock.”

“You had no right,” Memnon repeats to Eislyn, his power deepening his voice.

“I didn’t know. Truly.” Eislyn glances at Ilyapa, perhaps for aid, but Memnon’s father doesn’t seem keen to jump to her defense.

Memnon stares at her like he doesn’t care what the fuck she knew or didn’t; he’s ready to cut her down for her sheer audacity.

“Eislyn, apologize for being naughty,” Ilyapa finally says, watching the situation with a detached sort of curiosity.

“Memnon, a thousand apologies.” She dips her head. “I have offended you and wounded your new wife, and for that, I am sorry.”

Memnon’s hair is still rippling, and his eyes are glowing.

I move around to his front and place a hand on his cheek.

Memnon , I say, turning his face to mine. It’s okay.

Rising onto my tiptoes, I press a kiss to his lips. At first, he’s unresponsive, but then he draws in a sharp breath, like maybe he is returning to life. He kisses me back, his hands finding me. Slowly, slowly, his power recedes into him.

He shudders against me, and when I look at his eyes next, they have dimmed back to the beautiful smoky-amber color they usually are.

“Well, before we cause any more marital strife, I think we should see ourselves out,” Ilyapa says. He retreats to the archway out of the dining hall, then pauses.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, rotating back around. “Memnon, there is a second part of your gift, one Eislyn is willing to share with you.”

My husband casts a wary glance at the woman, his power right there, barely banked. Eislyn crosses the room to him, ignoring the hostility still pouring off him.

“Part of your father’s wedding gift—our gift—to you is that you may learn how to travel these ley lines.” She touches her temple with two fingers. “I give you my permission to use your magic and take the knowledge from my mind.”

A muscle in Memnon’s jaw clenches. Down our bond, I can sense his complicated emotions. His desire for such a skill is battling his simmering annoyance.

Finally, he grimaces and dips his head. “Thank you for this gift,” he says.

He takes a deep breath, then another, like he’s readying himself. Then, stepping into Eislyn’s space, he grasps her head, his fingers flexing as his power twists out of his hands.

It happens quickly, the blue lines of power slithering into her mouth and nostrils. Her eyelids flutter, and she grasps his forearms as his magic takes hold.

I have seen Memnon do this to the unwilling. It is strange seeing his power at work when his subject is willing.

All at once, Memnon releases Eislyn, backing away to my side.

His father looks between the two. “Did it work?” he finally asks.

“Mmm,” Memnon says, giving a subtle nod, his eyes a little hazy.

Eislyn is slower to retreat, her attention still fixed on my husband.

“Then we should leave,” Ilyapa says.

He approaches us and embraces Memnon once more.

“Congratulations, my son. There aren’t many things truly worth living for in this life, but a good woman is one of them.

” He pulls away, patting him on the cheek.

“Enjoy newly married life. And make me some grandchildren I can spoil next time we meet.”

Ilyapa releases Memnon, then comes over to me.

“Dear daughter,” he says, taking my hand.

He gives me a gentle smile, his gaze searching my own.

“You have knowledgeable eyes, but they are not shrewd, not the way a queen’s must be.

I lament that the next time I see you, they will look shrewd.

” His smile tightens, turning bleak. “Power always exacts a cost. Always.”

With that unsettling line, he lets go of my hand and hugs me.

Conscienceless or not, Ilyapa gives me the sort of hug that Tamara does, one that makes me feel like I belong. Like I am family.

Giving my back a final pat, he releases me.

“Come, Eislyn,” he says, backing away. “It is time we left. Who knows what machinations await us back at our palace?”

Eislyn comes up to me, stepping in close. “I hope we can be friends,” she says. “I have counseled your husband’s family for many generations. It is my wish to see the mother of his future children well and happy.”

I nod and try for a smile, but the truth is, I don’t like her, and my intuition is telling me to watch her closely, that she is a slippery thing.

She turns from me and hugs Memnon, holding him for a touch too long. “You can ask anything of me,” she says softly, “anything at all, and I will give it to you. You understand?”

“I want nothing,” Memnon says, extricating himself.

“Nothing more, you mean,” she responds, touching her temple. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” She backs up, nodding to both of us. “Felicitations on your marriage.”

With that, she and Ilyapa leave, their footsteps retreating, the large double doors groaning first to open, then to close.

Once they’re gone, I feel the tension leave my body. Suddenly, I’m tired.

Tired and a little dejected.

“Is it true?” I ask. “That Sarmatian kings take many wives?”

I think of how Eislyn fawned over him. There are many more women back at our settlement who would do the same thing if given the chance.

Memnon’s nostrils flare and he grimaces, but after a moment, he reluctantly nods. “It’s true.”

“ Have you ever considered multiple?—”

He laughs— laughs! —before I can even complete the thought.

“Why are you laughing?” I demand, my hurt rising.

“Because it is preposterous .”

“It doesn’t sound like it is,” I say. “It sounds entirely”—unbearably—“normal.”

“Yes,” Memnon agrees, nodding, mirth still in his eyes. “Sarmatians are allowed multiple spouses, and many previous kings have done so. Those kings, however, wanted other wives. I do not. I never touched another woman before you, and I do not intend to— ever .”

For the first time since Eislyn spoke the words, I feel I can breathe again. Still, Memnon hasn’t been completely forthright with me. “Would you still feel the same if you lost your conscience?”

He rears back like I’ve hit him, but his eyes, his eyes look guilty. “What?” he says softly.

My earlier hurt rises, despite my best efforts to leave it back in Sarmatia. “Your father told me about the cost of your power.”

Memnon’s face falls, and he looks boyish and young. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, casting his eyes downward. “I meant to tell you, but I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” I say, searching what I can see of his features.

“I was afraid it would scare you off,” he admits, glancing back up at me.

“I deserved to know,” I say adamantly. “And I shouldn’t have learned it from your father.”

He nods, and I see his throat bob as he swallows. “I should’ve said something.”

“Yes,” I agree. “You should’ve.” I step in close, placing my hand against his cheek, his ropey scar pressed to my palm.

“I’ve seen you kill ,” I say softly. “This knowledge was never going to be what scared me off.” I take a deep breath and drop my hand, taking a step back.

“Just please promise me you’ll protect your conscience—I happen to be very fond on it,” I say wryly.

Memnon gazes at me deeply, then lifts his chin. “Command it of me—along with forbidding me to take other wives.”

I open my mouth to protest, taken aback

“You are a queen,” Memnon elaborates. “You command me, and I command you.”

“I don’t want to be commanded,” I say. “Nor do I want to command you.”

Memnon smiles slowly. “But I will command you, and you will inevitably command me back because we are both headstrong and stubborn in our own ways. And we will clash, but then we will fuck and make up because I love you and you love me.”

I search his face.

“So I will begin,” he continues. “You are not to touch another man…or woman. You are mine and mine alone.”

I guffaw, thrown by his demand. “That would never happen.”

“Would it not? And how do I know?” he says. “Where is my reassurance?”

“There were no others before you either,” I say testily.

“But there almost was.” Memnon steps in close. “Would you have married that man had I not stopped the wedding?”

I search his gaze. The truth is, I don’t know. Women are supposed to be meek and agreeable. Livia beat that notion into me.

“Would you have let him touch you?”

“ Memnon . I will never let another touch me,” I vow. “And you are not to touch another man or woman. Nor are you allowed to overuse your magic and lose your conscience.

“Oh,” I say as another thought comes to me, “and I want Eislyn to keep her hands to herself when it comes to you.”

“Or else what?” Memnon challenges, lifting his chin.

My power begins leaking out of me. “Or else I will make her do so .”

My king’s eyes smolder, and he looks pleased. Quite pleased. “There’s my queen.” He leans forward. “I do like the sight of you jealous.”

I give his shoulder a playful push, and he laughs again, then scoops me up.

I yelp, wrapping my arms around his neck as he strides out of the dining hall, heading deeper into the palace.

“I agree to your many commands,” he says, gazing at me fondly.

“As you should,” I say tartly.

I glance over his shoulder as he makes his way down a long hall with more marble and gold accents. “Where are you taking me?”

“Have you forgotten?” he says. “I’m still determined to get you to call me husband while my cock is buried in you.”

“ Memnon .”

He grins. “Your mock outrage is such a turn-on, little witch.”

“You know,” I say conversationally, “you don’t have to say everything you think.”

“Lucky you, you’d still hear it anyway.”

And with that, he carries me away.