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“Little witch”?I repeat, my attention snagging on the endearment.

Do you like it?Memnon asks.

Despite its obvious oddness, I…do.

Why “witch”?I ask.

Because only a witch could reach across nations and speak directly into my mind, he says.You must have more than a little magic in you.

The thought makes me want to laugh, particularly when the hem of my stained stola is tied in a knot midway up my legs and sweaty wisps of my hair have escaped my bun.

I lean on the broom handle.Yes, I’m very powerful.The thought is more than a little appealing, especially when I feel so very powerless.

Memnon hesitates, as though he’s about to tell me something important, but at the last moment, I sense him change his mind.

I was also considering “man-slaying sorceress,”he says casually,but you haven’t ever killed a man, have you?

Uh, no.I smile at the silly thought as I begin to sweep again.

Once you do, I might have to reconsider the nickname, Memnon says.

“Once I do”?I echo, raising my eyebrows even though he can’t see the action.I have no plans to kill anyone at the moment.

You’re a vengeful spirit; it’ll eventually happen, he says with complete assurance.

I bite back a laugh.Haveyouever killed?I ask.I’m still convinced you’re the one who’s the vengeful spirit.

Memnon grows quiet, and the levity bleeds away from the moment.I have, he confesses, his voice…strange.

You have what?I say, not immediately following. Half my mind is still on sweeping in near darkness, today’s chore Livia is forcing me to complete before bed.

I have killed a man, Memnon admits.Many, in fact. I killed my first in battle several years ago. I’ve killed dozens since, and I’ve hurt many others.It all spills out of him, one confession begetting another and another.

At first, I cannot make sense of his words. We were just joking a moment ago. Surely he’s not serious…

But he is. I can feel it in the twisting of my gut and the heavy silence sitting between us. My mind just doesn’t want to accept what he’s said.

Once it sinks in, bile rises up my throat, and I nearly drop my broom.

I should’ve known this confession was coming. The first time we spoke, he told me he was trying to not get killed. But I didn’t ask questions. If I’m being honest, I didn’t want to know.

Roxilana?Memnon says.You’ve gone quiet.

I set the broom aside and lean my back against the nearby wall, drawing in air through my nostrils.

Dozens?I echo hollowly.

Memnon pauses.Why did your voice change?

I can still taste that bile at the back of my throat. Memnon’s not denying it. And my heart, my foolish heart, feels like Icarus, soaring too high only to falter and fall. And break.

My eyes drop to a lit lamp on the nearby kitchen table. It hisses softly, and the tiny flame reminds me of the other, larger ones that haunt my memory.

Immediately, I fall into the past. I hear the screams that end abruptly, then the wet, gurgling sounds. Death and more death. I can hardly remember the years before that fire, and I’ve entirely forgotten much of the time that followed, but that night…it will be forever burned in my mind.

That’s…awful, I finally say, my stomach knotted and my heart aching.

I sense Memnon recoil from me, clearly put off by my words.