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“There you are,” she says. She braces my face with her bloody hands. “Listen carefully to me, daughter: you cannot help others if you yourself aren’t okay. You understand me?”

I nod, and she shakes her head. “Say it.”

“I understand.”

Now she smiles softly, then pats my cheek. “Good. Then go and make use of your magic.”

I waste no time doing so, leaving her side to hunt down the mother and child. When I find them, I finally see that it wasthe mother and not the baby who sustained the injury—a small blessing. Though based on the blood drenching her side, the wound is in desperate condition.

I drop to the ground next to her, vaguely aware of the other people who’ve gathered around, helpless. No one stops me when I place my hands on the woman’s side, though she screams, the sound causing her baby, tucked against her other side, to begin to wail too.

Swiftly, I incant, “Heal the wound.”

Beneath my touch, I sense muscle and sinew reforming and stitching itself back together. Again, I’m distantly aware of the toll I’m placing on my magic, but right now I cannot be bothered to care.

When the last of the wound seals up and my magic tapers off, I lean back on my haunches, breathing heavily.

Around me, someone gasps. “She healed her!”

I rise, retreating from the woman as more people exclaim. Now isn’t the time to explain my magic, not when hooves still pound outside and arrows ping uselessly against the walls of the tent.

Screams fill the air beyond the structure, accompanied by the telltale whoosh of more flames. The sound drags me back to the walls of my childhood home again. Smoke fills the air. The whole village is burning,dying.

No.

These people might be safe, but everyone outside this tent is not.

I’m going to have to break my promise to Memnon.

I move to the wall of the tent and place my hand against its surface to reinforce the wards already in place.

“No enemy shall enter, no weapon shall pierce, no flame shall alight. I offer you my protection. My magic will defend you. My blood will spill before yours does. This I vow.” Mymagic spreads out along the material, the shimmering threads of each layered ward weaving together. The spells will not hold forever, but hopefully they will be strong enough to last the night.

I place a hand over my heart then, bowing my head. “Guard my body against harm.” Another burst of power, this one running over my skin like a stream, coating me in magical armor.

This, I also hope is enough.

I move to the tent’s entrance, bracing myself for whatever lies beyond it.

“Roxilana, where are you going?” Tamara calls out from behind me.

I don’t pause. “To protect my people.”

Outside the main tent, enemy fighters battle armed Sarmatians. Metal clangs as blade meets blade.

I pull my bow off my shoulder, sighting a mounted warrior who holds the severed head of a woman by her braids.

I nock an arrow; my earlier nerves have settled. “Find your mark and land true,” I spell-cast, releasing the arrow.

My shot goes wide, my aim still dismal; however, as the arrow arcs across the sky, it curves back on track, closing in on my target.

The fighter sees the incoming projectile and tries to duck, but it slams into his neck all the same, entering and exiting his throat with such force, it knocks him off his steed.

I stride forward, my rage still simmering, and this time the nausea doesn’t rise. I’ll deal with the consequences of my actions later.

The enemy’s horse, now riderless, trots forward, its movements a little spooked. Still, it’s easy enough to catch its reins and stroke its neck, tendrils of my magic reaching out and soothing the beast. Beneath my touch, it calms, and after slinging my bow across my chest, I hoist myself onto its back.

I may not be Sarmatian and I may have no natural inclination toward horse riding, but sitting here in the enemy’s saddle, my power at my fingertips, feels right in some deep, inexplicable way.