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Your disappointment gives me strength,
Roxilana, he finally says, his voice deepening with the roll of his voice. The name brings goose bumps to my skin. It doesn’t sound anything like the Roman names I’m used to. It sounds untamable, like something beyond the Empire’s reach.
Yes, well, you’re less terrifying as Roxi, Memnon says. Roxilana might cut my heart out of my chest, but Roxi…Roxi sounds like…a friend.
How can we hear each other if we live so far apart? I ask. It defies nature. This is the work of gods and magic, Roxi.
No, est menulumguva amage,8 Memnon says, they were merely preparing you. I frown in the darkness. Preparing me for what? Us.
You must have more than a little magic in you.
How I will never know what happened to my sister and that uncertainty will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I think about the pain of surviving that night—the hunger, the beatings, the ugliness of being needed but unwanted.
What is life like for you now? he repeats. Before, I had everything, I admit. But then, I didn’t actually have everything, did I? It simply felt that way. I clarify: I was loved. And now? Memnon prods. Reluctantly, my gaze drops to my bruises. Now I’m not. And I think it is as simple as that.
Vak busu dat dit kuppu sutvuvu evu di’nuvak, pesa suvup azakupusa. Pesa udugab vesamapusa.1
You can always talk to me, Roxi, even if you’re mad at me. Even if you despise me. He pauses. Will you do that? Will you speak to me, even in anger? Because I don’t think I can take more of your silence.
1 You will have everything once more, this I vow. I am yours forever.
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.
There’s something mesmerizing about writing. The neat lines, the straight, sharp edges. The ability to look at rows and rows of lines arranged just so and draw from them language. To hear in your mind words that someone else spoke, someone else imagined and felt.
Power has carved into him the way pain has carved into me.
I feel his smile down our connection. You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you ever again, little witch, he says with conviction. You are powerful.
will make graves of these grooms and anyone else who comes between us. Violent delight threads his words. You’re mine.
Hope might be a god, but it is such a capricious, fickle one.
I stumble back as Nero cries out, “What are you?” “The closest thing to a god you will ever lay eyes on.”
“I rode for two months so that I might feel your embrace.” His eyes dance like fire. “Of course you can touch me.”
His words banish my worry, and I’m simply happy. So unbelievably happy.
I think it’s finally settling in now that he is real, he is here, and he is mine. Memnon takes my hand and clasps it between his. “Always yours.”
We are the stories they tell their children at night to make them behave.
How to explain his touch? Like a memory and a dream rolled into one. It’s equal parts thrilling and comforting.
“You’re a queen. You can do whatever you want.” I smother my own smile. “That’s a dangerous proposition,” I whisper.
“Little witch, the gods couldn’t pry me away. Only you have that power.”
An enchantment is like a ward, but rather than offering protection, it creates illusions.
“So which is it?” I finally murmur. “Are you kind and gentle or ferocious and violent?” Memnon searches my face. “I’m all of it,” he admits sorrowfully. The weight of that confession looks heavy. “And I am sorry for it.” He bows his head. “But all of me—all my power, all that you love and fear about me—I lay it at your feet. It is yours.”
This is not a place where weakness thrives.
“Tell me the spirits whisper the truth.”
“But you should know: In our lineage, a sorcerer’s power comes at a price. The more we use it, the more it eats away at our conscience until there is nothing left of it.”
There aren’t many things truly worth living for in this life, but a good woman is one of them.”
“Truly?” I interrupt with a whisper, lowering the scroll. I stare at him, disbelieving. “You will teach me how to read?” Though I have received jewels and weapons, crowns and palaces since coming here, this is by far the most precious wedding gift of them all.
“The last people to speak ill of my wife were Roman soldiers and their centurion,” Memnon says, his voice far too calm. “All that’s left of them now are bones. Do you still wish to challenge me?”
“Disrespect me, and I will punish you. Disrespect your queen, and I will kill you.”
“I’m going to make a fool of myself,” I call after her. “Good,” she says over her shoulder. “A little humility never hurt anyone.”
There’s no word for this loss. Nothing that can encapsulate losing something so beloved before you even had it. And the grief, the grief is a leviathan, sorrow and longing and hope—such sweet, brilliant hope—dashed upon the rocks of reality.
No one sat me down and told me this part of life, this part that would absolutely break my heart.
Please. To whatever benevolent gods are listening, take what you want from me, just let me find my way.”
“What do you want most?” he asks in the darkness. Peace. Love. Family.
“You asked me how I felt about you. Do you remember what I said?” It takes a moment to recall his exact words. “You said you felt like you could conquer the world, just to lay it at my feet.”
“I will conquer the world,” he vows, echoing his long-ago words to me, “just to lay it all at your feet.”
Memnon crosses over to me, his gaze searching mine. “I know you’re afraid of Rome, but I am not. I will not bow to that boy king.” I stop myself from saying that Nero is hardly still a boy. “Nor will I tolerate their incursions any longer.” Deliberately, Memnon lowers himself to his knees, then presses a kiss to my lower belly. “The only one I bow to is you.”
“I know you tease,” he says, “but I give my wives pleasure and children. What more could they want?” I guffaw. “I don’t know, Zosines, maybe a life beyond sex and motherhood?”
The flickering candlelight makes her features glow, and I’m reminded all over again that she is not of this earth.
“You were not born to simply stop your enemies in battle,” she says, her eyes fixed on Memnon. “You were born to end empires.”
“Fuck, little witch,” he groans, “you feel like sin.”
Magic threads his words, and the world fades away.
