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I urge the horse forward into a gallop, leaving the clearing behind and heading for the outer reaches of the settlement. My goals are somewhat complicated—I don’t simply want to protect my people. I also have a driving need to find Memnon and Ferox. Though they are technically fine for now—I checked on both via my bonds—the attack still rages.

And then there’s the matter of my own unexpected rage, which I’ve kept bottled for a decade and now wantsout.

Gods save me, I let myself have a taste of my own inner darkness.

“Die,” I incant anytime I pass an enemy rider.

Die. Die. Die.

This spell is efficient, slicing my victim’s necks right at their jugulars. Their hands go to the wounds, their eyes wide with surprise. I neither pause to watch them crumple in their saddles nor do I think about the deeper moral consequences of these acts. I will later, but for now?—

A lancing pain cuts through my bond with Memnon, so sharp I choke on my own breath.

Memnon?

His thoughts are muddled and faint, but the pain, that is bright and loud.

No. Gods,no.

This is my worst fear come to life. Memnon, injured, maybe even…dying.

My hold nearly slips from the reins as terror washes through me. But as soon as it comes, it’s eclipsed by a far more powerful drive to find my mate and heal him. In the past, when I felt Memnon’s injuries, I was hopelessly far from him. I’m not anymore.

Hold on, I say down our bond.I’m coming for you.

No, Roxi, Memnon begs.Stay with our people.

Youare my people.

Without him, there is nothing else.

I urge my stolen horse on, faster and faster still. Memnon tracked me across the vast Roman Empire with his magic alone. I can do the same.

I call on my magic once more, my arms tingling as it moves down them, weaker than before. No matter. I don’t need much.

“Lead me to my soul mate.”

My power snakes out of me, the orange line of it weaving through the tented city. I follow it as best I can, taking detours when my magic cuts through tents untouched by fire.

A projectile hits me, throwing me forward with a grunt. I gnash my teeth against the throb of impact, even though the arrow clatters uselessly to the ground, the ward I placed on myself holding strong.

Straightening, I place another protective ward on myself, taking Tamara’s earlier words to heart: I cannot help Memnon if I get myself killed.

The line of my magic leads me out of the burning city to the steppe beyond. In the distance, I make out writhing shadows, their forms cast in bluish hues beneath the light of the moon and a large blue orb of light that Memnon must’ve cast.

My throat constricts, and hope takes root. He must be close if his magic lingers nearby.

I urge my horse on when, out of the corner of my eye, an enemy moves.

I raise my hand, magic weakly gathering in my palm as I ready my attack?—

“Ferox?” I nearly weep at the sight of the panther slinking toward me.

To think I almost attacked him.

I stop my horse long enough to lean far over the saddle and reach for Ferox’s head. “Thank the gods you’re okay.”

He nuzzles my palm with his nose. I pet his snout and head, and as I do so, I speak: “Protect this body against harm.” Power spills over Ferox, coating him from head to toe. I nearly shudder with relief, knowing my panther is safe.