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“Give me strength and speed,” I incant under my breath. Immediately, the weight of the two becomes more bearable and my legs move faster.

I’m nearly to the tent’s entrance when?—

THWUMP.

I cry out, falling into the tent, mother and child spilling from my arms, as an arrow embeds itself in the flesh between my neck and shoulder.

Several people inside the tent rush to my side.

“Help them, help them!” I say, pointing to the two individuals I carried in here.

Blood streams from my shoulder wound, and it hurts like the gods’ wrath, but I pay it no mind as I turn back to the doorway.

Pressing a hand to the felt wall of it, I incant. “Make this structure impervious to fire.” I’ve no sooner spoken that spell than I begin another: “Let no enemy come within.”

“Roxi!” Tamara calls out behind me, concern in her voice.

I don’t bother turning to look at my mother-in-law. “Make the walls of this tent strong as stone.”

Layer upon layer of my orange magic fan out, spreading over the vast space. I can see the web of wards crisscross over the fabric, looking like glittering lace.

“Allow no smoke to enter this space.” Vaguely, I’m aware of the drain these wards must be having on my power, but adrenaline and determination mask it.

“Roxilana.” Tamara gently grabs me by the shoulders. “You are hurt.”

“I know,” I say distractedly.

Was that enough wards? Should I make another?

“Can you heal yourself as Memnon can?” Tamara asks, demanding my attention.

I hesitate for a moment, forcing myself to focus on her and her words. Then, I nod.

“Good.” She grasps the arrowhead in my shoulder and yanks it out with violent force.

A surprised shriek rips itself from my throat, the agony darkening my vision. But as soon as I register the pain, the worst of it is over.

Tamara places my hand on the wound. “Heal yourself.” Like Memnon, she has that commanding tone, one I cannot ignore.

Though my mind is on other people and things, I force out a silent healing spell, and thick ropes of my magic move to the wound.

Once I feel the last twinge of pain disappear, I drop my hand from the injury.

Tamara slowly releases me, peering at my shoulder. I hear her sharp inhalation.

“You really can do what my son can.”

I guess she hadn’t fully realized it until now.

I nod, my gaze drifting to the rest of the room, which is filled to the brim, mostly with the young and the old, though there are a few men and women roughly my age or a little older. Despite the crowd, I know this is only a small portion of the people who live here. The rest of them must be fighting for their lives.

“Look at me,” Tamara orders, calling my attention back to her.

Dazedly I do so.

She gives my cheek a gentle slap. “Lookat me.”

My gaze sharpens.