Page 5

I sit outside on a stone bench behind one of the villas Livia and I are visiting today, sweat gathering beneath my long tunic.

The summer sun feels hot enough to cook meat, but I don’t mind.

Livia’s inside the large house, gossiping with her client, while I’ve used the spare time to slip away and eat a wedge of bread and listen to the cicadas calling from the tall, dry grass.

As it so often does, my mind drifts to Memnon. I heard him only a short while ago, uttering some soft thought not meant for me.

I think about the beautiful, rolling notes of his native language and wish, not for the first time, that I understood them.

I know Latin and a bit of Greek but not Sarmatian.

For a long while, I was okay with that, but not anymore.

I want to understand all his thoughts just as he understands all of mine.

Memnon? I reach out across our connection. Can you teach me your language?

Roxi?

That first touch of his awareness makes my breath catch. It’s quickly followed by surprise and delight, the sensations flooding through me like snowmelt in spring. It’s intoxicating— he is intoxicating.

I would love to, est menulumguva amage , he says, though I swear I also sense a spike of something else. Unease? Maybe I’m reading into things too much.

Can we start with that phrase? I say, taking a bite of my bread.

“Est menulumguva amage”? he echoes. If Memnon is busy with the demands of the day, he doesn’t let on.

What does it mean? I press.

You’ll find out soon enough , he says cryptically.

Soon enough? I scoff, even as a light, happy emotion works its way through me. What sort of answer is that?

I didn’t promise I’d be a good teacher , he says, and I sense his smile. Besides, I’m trying to leave a little mystery in our relationship.

Oh, so now we have a relationship? I say. My blood thrums at the thought.

I feel his smile. Oh yes, Roxi.

Now I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face or the hopeful rush his words bring with them.

Vaksasavazaku pesa susagub mi’tasavakvu evupusa? he asks. What do you think I look like?

I realize this is his attempt to teach me Sarmatian: to think a sentence first in his language, then repeat it in Latin. Who knows, maybe it will work.

I don’t know , I answer him.

Kezak di’napuvusagu do kusgu i’banud mi’tgasavakpa? Have you thought about it at least?

Of course I’ve thought about it , I say. My mind has wandered to this topic many, many times. Memnon’s rich, arresting voice practically begs for a face to go with it.

I close my eyes, basking in the midday sunlight, and search my mind for the image I’ve cobbled together of him.

I imagine you with short, light brown hair and…smooth, oiled skin.

His laughter echoes down the bond we share.

Why are you laughing? I demand. If he thinks smooth, oiled skin is laughable…what must he look like, then?

No reason, little witch.

Do you look like a monster? I ask, somewhat surly, taking another bite of my bread.

Memnon laughs again, this time cocky. Not a monster, Roxi.

That makes my heart skip for some odd reason. I’m never going to see Memnon in the flesh, so what he looks like is irrelevant.

Sapu sanburvak? he says in Sarmatian. What are you doing?

I stare down at my bread. Just eating lunch—and talking to you.

I wish I were there with you , Memnon admits.

He pauses, and this time, when he speaks again, it’s in Sarmatian.

Botuvap iv’tabiwvusasa logu suwas wanubpusa.

He pauses, as though he’s searching for the right words.

Pesa wetasavakvu wevugavusa sobivakvu kuvug sanupusa.

Xu nudnutasavasa i’rugavusa sisa. Pusa vak danusa di’vak lib di’nvusa kuxivu xu vaksa ovaknud wotugavusa etvu kuvug sanupusa. ? 1

I try to focus on the sounds that make up his language, determined to learn. It somewhat helps that I can pick out bits of his emotions, which feel giddy and ardent, much like the way I feel once wine hits my blood.

Vaksu i’k wanapsa i’tvuwavakgu est buvisu si’tsoxap vakosguma, vak est vatnutapsa dukup mi’tavakgusdanad inavakasavak popmas, ? 2 he finishes.

After a pause, I ask, What did you say?

I feel his smile and more of his warm, heady emotions.

“Girl!” Livia’s sharp voice cuts through my thoughts. The cicadas go quiet.

Shit.

I have to go, Memnon , I rush out.

I stand quickly and pop the last bit of bread in my mouth.

Is that Livia? he asks.

Yes…

Will you be all right? Memnon asks, alarmed. He now knows how she is.

“Girl!”

I have to go , I rush out. I’ll chat again tonight. And I’m serious, I want to learn Sarmatian.

Botuvap ipis sinavakasa wanubpusa, ? 3 he says.

What did you say? I ask, rushing back to the villa.

His emotions seem conflicted, but I hear another smile in his voice when he says, I can’t wait to teach you.

1 ? I wish it so strongly, my heart aches from it. I envy the sun that gets to touch your skin. And the bread that gets to kiss your lips. I envy the air that shares space with you and the ground that gets to hold you.

2 ? And my only fear when it comes to teaching you my language is that you might learn my secrets before I’m ready to share them.

3 ? I pray my heart will survive it.