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I cannot say the same thing about my husband.

I right myself in my saddle, staring down at Ferox solemnly. “I’m heading into that battle,” I tell the big cat, jutting my chin in the direction of the fighting. “You will stay out here where it’s safe, and I’ll find you after the fight.”

His tail twitches with what seems to be annoyance, but he watches me as I nudge my horse into action. We’ve only made it a short distance, however, when I realize Ferox is shadowing us.

“Ferox.”

He doesn’t look at me and doesn’t slow.

There’s not enough time to force him to stay away from the battle. Memnon’s pain still throbs across our bond, though it’s feeling worrisomely faint.

I huff out a breath. “You will put your safety before my own,” I say to Ferox. “And rip out the throats of any who threaten you.”

With that, we rush straight for the melee, following the orange line of my magic.

As soon as we enter the battlefield proper, it’s clear that the biggest issue is distinguishing friend from foe. Back in the settlement, mounted men lighting arrows or attacking civiliansmade their loyalties obvious, but out here, it feels like everyone is an enemy. Swords clang, and men bellow and rage as they battle, their breaths heavy and puffing.

Mud squelches beneath my steed’s hooves, and it’s only as I begin to see the bodies and hear the low moans that I realize the ground is wet with blood, not water, and it’s no longer safe to ride without crushing people.

I swing myself off the horse, Ferox moving to my side. Then I’m stumbling, running after that thread of my magic until, suddenly, it dips down to the ground.

And there he is.

A guttural cry leaves my lips, and I fall to my knees.

Memnon’s not moving, his eyes closed. My gods, my gods, my gods?—

The panic is back, its mouth gaping wide, ready to swallow me up.

I draw in a deep breath. Memnon had been so steady with me earlier; that’s how he needs me to be right now.

So I pull myself together and scan his body in the near darkness, looking for injuries.

Memnon’s arm appears to be partially severed, but that does not seem to be what mortally wounded him. Lower down, his blood-spattered scale mail has been punctured right through his abdomen, though the weapon that did so is long gone.

My lower lip trembles. Gods, it’s bad. I know it’s bad, and I haven’t even gotten a good look at the injury itself.

Gingerly, I move aside his armor as best I can and lift his tunic beneath. His stomach is smeared with blood, and more oozes from that abdominal wound.

I slip my hand between his clothing and his skin, pressing my palm to where his injury still weeps blood. “Heal the wound. Mend that which is broken,” I murmur.

My magic slips out beneath my palm, coming out more slowly than it should. I draw on more of it. More and more.

I just need him to survive. Then it can all give out.

Beneath my touch, I feel my power sink into his skin. Memnon’s flesh shifts beneath my palm as it reforms and begins to seal back up.

I gather more power still, even as my muscles throb and my temples pound.

Ferox crouches on Memnon’s other side, his form tense. I hear a low growl come from him a moment before he lunges.

I drag my gaze from Memnon in time to see my panther leap over my shoulders, right at a looming fighter brandishing a sword—one I hadn’t heard or seen in my desperation to heal Memnon. I stare in horror as Ferox collides with our attacker, knocking them both to the ground.

There’s a scream, then a spray of blood as Ferox rips out his throat. I stare at my panther, tears welling in my eyes as I realize he just protected me and Memnon when we were defenseless.

Ferox continues to pin the man down for several inhalations, until he’s sure the man no longer draws breath, and then he returns to my side, licking his lips.

I press my head to my panther’s temple. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice wavering. Ferox butts me with his nose, rubbing his blood-soaked snout against me before he turns back around and scans the battlefield, his body held rigid.