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I dig my heel into her throat. “Why were you attacking my familiar?”

She chokes out a scream, fighting against me.

“Why?” I press.

When she says nothing again, I funnel my magic into the earth, letting a little more of it swallow her up.

The witch makes a strangled noise before gasping out, “I…can’t…talk about it.”

I frown down at her. Lauren, the instructor, said something similar when Memnon questioned her.

“She wants you,” she adds, which is about the least helpful piece of information she could give me. I already know this—people are leaving me threatening notes and attacking my familiar. What I want to know is?—

“Who?”

“Lia,” she finally chokes out.

CHAPTER 23

Lia.I remember that name. It’s the same woman who’s been coordinating the spell circles and forcibly binding witches.

A burst of magic hisses through the air. The moment it hits the ground, it explodes, throwing me off the witch and into a nearby tree trunk. I grunt as all my cursed wounds scream.

Another spell hits me, this one carving open my chest. I gasp as blood spills from me.

“Fuck you.” The witch who strides up to me is petite, with cropped, curly black hair.

“Yasmin?” I say softly.

Only last night, we’d been drinking and chatting together. I considered her a friend. And last I saw of her, she had made plans to hunt down the fae rider.

I can’t reconcile that woman with this one, who helped torture an animal.

“Help!” the half-buried witch calls out.

While I bleed out, Yasmin turns from me and pulls the other witch from the ground.

I begin to stand, my magic gathering. Yasmin glares at me as she helps the other witch to her feet, then lobs another curseat me. I don’t dodge quick enough, and the spell hits me in the forehead, knocking me out.

My queen. My queen, you must wake.

I rouse at the panic-laced notes of Memnon’s voice.

I blink, and Memnon’s dark form takes shape in front of me. I stare at him for a moment, searching his gaze. Pain muddles my thoughts. I’m cold. Tired.

His hands cup my cheeks, and his eyes glow.

I shiver. The chilly night feels like it’s burrowed itself in my bones.

Abruptly, the air around me warms, and I’m certain Memnon is responsible for it. Beneath his palms, magic seeps into me, drifting through my body and driving out the cold. As it moves through me, it stitches together torn flesh.

I look dazedly around.

Nero.Where’s Nero?

He’s alive, my queen,Memnon says. There is heartbreak in those burning eyes.But you are battle-battered.He says this lightly, using the same tone he takes with badly wounded soldiers.

I’m fine, I insist, trying to get up. Only now that adrenaline and outrage aren’t fueling me, my body has given out almost entirely.