Page 27

It’s a terrible epitaph to leave him with—not that it’s inaccurate—but it will scare off almost anyone who can read it. But in case it won’t, I will need to ward it.

Just the thought of doing so is daunting. I splay my hand over the lid, preparing to wrangle more magic. Yet when I call it forth, my power surges forward, stronger than ever.

A gift from the unnamed god.

I bite my lip to keep from crying out my relief. Though my mind is addled with pain and encroaching death, the ward I cast is strong; the many threads of it have a smooth sheen. As soon as I finish it, another forms and another, until my focus becomes the room at large. This too requires a ward.

I move around the coffin, though my legs don’t feel as though they’ll keep me upright. That noxious presence is spreading, withering me away from the inside out.

Something presses against my legs, and when I glance down, I realize it’s Ferox. At some point, my familiar dragged himself off the ground and ventured into this cursed tomb to find me. He leans against me now, his eyes large, concerned.

I place a hand on his head. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper brokenly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

He pushes his nose into my palm, nudging it, as though demanding reassurance. I run a hand down his black fur.

“I release you, Ferox,” I say. “You shall not be bound by my curse,” I say, invoking my magic and weaving it into my words. “With my death, our bond shall sever, and you shall be free.”

He hisses at me then, as though I have committed some great and terrible act.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, my throat tightening. “You were always too good for me.”

He growls, like even my apology displeases him.

I stagger over to a wall and lean heavily against it.

More spells seep from my palms, coating the room in pale looping threads like some shoddily woven garment.

I heave from the effort, my bones aching, brittle. So tired.

Cannot give up now. Not when the biggest spell is yet to come. It’s a race against this thing inside me. Gods may occasionally be benevolent, but they are almost never merciful. Particularly not the bloodthirsty ones. I doubt this god will extend my life longer than they see fit.

I struggle up the stairs, and though Ferox is obviously still mad at me, he presses his body against mine to prevent me from falling.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice weakening.

The two of us make our way out, the overcast sky so much brighter than the dim room we were in. Once we’re outside, I turn around and lift my arm, my tears coming faster. Leaving Memnon in there feels like a betrayal all on its own, like another knife sunk into my flesh.

I straighten my spine, drawing on my will.

“Seal the opening.” The stone covering slides over the…tomb’sentrance, then with a thud sinks into place.

Ferox makes a low, baleful noise, scratching at the stone like he can unearth it. I have to stifle another sob, drowning in sorrow.

My heart seems to skip a beat, then stall. After a terrifying few moments, it begins to thump again.

I have precious little time left to commit one final spell. A curse that will eclipse Eislyn’s magic with my own.

If my desperate plan is to truly work, it is not enough for Memnon to outlive the enchantment. Eislyn must forget her fevered fixation so she might never come back for him. And those who could remind the fairy of Memnon’s existence, their memories must too be expunged.

I think of the soldiers pouring into the palace and the many cities Memnon has violently conquered. There are thousands who would want to kill my slumbering husband if they ever learned the truth. One whispered word into the wrong ears—it wouldn’t even have to be Eislyn. Other supernaturals could access the ley lines and end the king while he lies vulnerable.

Everyonemust forget my sorcerer, so that none may come searching.

Only I shall have that power.

That insidious dark force closes in on the last of me, and my heart seizes again.

One…two…three…