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“Annihilate.”

BOOM!The entire castle trembles as power explodes out of me, blowing the soldiers in front of me apart. Bloody limbs fly, smacking into other soldiers farther back, knocking them down.

All that’s left of that golden-skinned man is a bloody splatter mark on the ground.

I stride forward as more soldiers pour into the hallway off the stairs.

I waited too long to leave this place, but I no longer care. My rage burns in me, scalding my magic.

I storm down the hallway while Ferox rips out the throat of a soldier struggling to push off the mutilated torso of a fallen comrade.

More magic gathers. “Annihilate!”

Another explosion. More scattered bodies. Those pretty Roman helmets are blown from the heads of their soldiers, or else they’re blown awaywiththe severed heads of their owners still inside them.

The sight of the scattered remains of soldiers soothes something primal in me. I never thought of myself as particularly malicious, but apparently, for my soul mate and my family, I am. Ruthlessly so.

So focused on the carnage am I that I don’t notice the first arrow that strikes me. It hits me in the right shoulder, andthough it doesn’t so much as tear the fabric of my warded tunic, the force of it still nearly knocks me off my feet.

Archers. There are archers inside the palace despite the close proximity of this space. The thought has me casting out another annihilation spell. Bodies burst apart and dust falls from the ceilings, and the walls shake. I don’t care if this whole, massive place falls on our heads so long as it takes these men out with it.

I try not to think about the grief and sorrow that claw up my throat at what I’ve lost this evening and what I might still lose.

Need to get to Memnon. Gods, I need to get to him.I still haven’t heard from him, and I sense little down our bond.

There are many places Eislyn could’ve taken Memnon, most of them entirely inaccessible. But if she and my mate are still here in this realm, then there is one place above all others where she would take him.

When I get to the stairs, I blow apart another cluster of soldiers, the spell taking out a large section of the stone steps with it.

I descend down what remains, recasting the ward I placed on Ferox, who clings close to my side.

The palace temple, then. That’s where I must go.

Down on the first floor, the sounds of battle cries and anguished screams are louder. And when I catch sight of the melee, it takes my breath away. A few loyal Sarmatians fight back against the soldiers, but they’revastlyoutnumbered. The Romans are also cutting down innocent palace servants who have no battle training and smashing or carrying out royal items, most of them relics of the rulers who lived here before us.

As soon as I’m noticed, the atmosphere in the main area of the palace shifts entirely.

“The queen!” someone shouts.

I can’t place the voice, and I have no clue whether it’s from friend or foe. But then I catch sight of Rakas, one of Memnon’snamed betrayers. He’s pointing his sword at me and shouting orders.

All my rage is directed into an unnamed curse, one I aim for that traitorous Sarmatian man. The pale orange magic that barrels toward him is threaded through with oily black stains. When it hits Rakas, it lifts him into the air, great plumes of orange smoke upwelling beneath him. Never have I made such a spell or committed such a feat as lifting a person into the air. This is fueled by rage and pain and my power’s own sentience.

The fighting slows, and people stop to stare as Rakas writhes above them, slashing his sword at thin air to try to break himself free.

The cursed magic still swarms around him, hugging close to his skin, and it’s only once it’s sunk into him that I clearly see his flesh begin to boil and bubble until all at once, his body explodes, bits of cursed flesh raining down on the room. People begin to shriek as the curse lands on them and burns their own flesh.

The Roman soldiers are screaming, horrified. They signed up for war, not witchcraft. Some run, but most cast new, deadlier gazes on me. That’s when the fighting begins in earnest.

I blow those nearest me back, then cast two more annihilation spells. Many, many bodies go flying.

Beneath my impassioned feelings, I begin to feel the drain of my magic. It’s running out; itwillrun out. Rather soon if I keep attacking as I am. It’s hard to care. Not when my cheeks are wet and a soul-deep ache has taken root inside me.

The moment the room recovers from their panic, a dozen arrows rain on me and Ferox. My familiar yelps when one of them hits his flank, and I lash out, my magic slicing a whole row of soldiers nearest me.

The temple, I remind myself. I need to get there if I have any hope of reaching Memnon.

I raise my arms to the room. “Incinerate.”