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You wound me, my queen, he says, cutting down an enemy in front of him.Fine, I’ll stop. But only for now.

Memnon raises his sword once more and bellows another war cry, and the Sarmatians fighting alongside us join in.

Ijoin in. Battle is brutal, but it’s also a rush of blood through my system, and…I can see why others enjoy this, even if it is terrible.

As we Sarmatians circle our horses back around, so too do our enemies. Again and again, we rush at one another. Using my magic, I knock Dacians off their horses and blow arrows sideways; I rip swords from hands and break the wooden shafts of spears. And when a Sarmatian sweeps in to kill a Dacian I made vulnerable, I tell myself I didn’t really cause their death, just stopped them from harming Sarmatians.

At the center of the battlefield, I catch sight of Katiari. My sister-in-law is on her feet, her horse nowhere to be seen. Several Dacians swarm her. Already, I can see a massive gash on Katiari’s arm, and blood coats her thigh.

Alarm rises in me. I hadn’t thought to ward her earlier when we left, and if Memnon did, its effects must’ve already worn off. For a moment I hesitate, my morals around killing warring with my worry for Katiari’s safety.

I gather what power I can, funneling down my arms.

“Protect my sister,” I incant. “Let no weapon harm her.”

My magic leaves my palms and floods the air, the plumes of it moving across the battlefield and wrapping around Katiari just as several blades thrust at her. The weapons glance off her body, though the blows still drop her to her knees.

At her back, an enemy soldier wraps his arm around her neck, dragging her back, and?—

“Die.” The spell is uttered before I even have time to think about it.

The Dacian’s head whips back, blood spraying from his neck.

My eyes move to the others.

“Die, die, die.” I mutter the death curse over and over, silent tears beginning to slip down my cheeks as I kill the Dacians surrounding Katiari until no more remain.

I wasn’t supposed to do this. I was merely meant to protect. I taste my own rising sickness at the back of my throat, but I don’t vomit.

Katiari’s safe. That’s all that matters.

The battlefield has descended into chaos. The low-lying fog churns as mounted warriors clash and foot soldiers fight in twisted clusters, the clang of their armor and the sounds of their screams filling the air.

I catch sight of Memnon on horseback, his body twisted in the saddle so he can shoot behind him. For a moment, I can’t help but stare. His hair lifts in the wind, only the top of it held down by his circlet, and his eyes glow with his magic, the light of them cutting through the mist. He releases his arrow, then nocks another.

It’s only then that, to my horror, I notice the group of Dacians trailing him. Though Memnon’s arrow already took one out, more assailants amass, drawn in by the lure of killing Memnon the Indomitable.

I part my lips to utter that horrible death spell again when pain lances through my leg.

I gasp, reaching for my thigh, only to realize that the limb is fine.

My gaze returns to my husband.

Memnon!I cry out down our bond.Are you hurt?

No, he says in that low tone, the one I know is fueled by his magic.Areyouall right?

Yes…I say, even as I continue to squeeze my leg against the sharp pain.

Horror dawns when I realize what I’m feeling.

Ferox.

I slide down the bond I share with my panther, and between one breath and the next, I’m staring out from feline eyes.

I pant, lying on my side on the outskirts of the battlefield, horses and men clashing nearby. An arrow protrudes from my upper leg, the head of it embedded deep within my muscle. I taste blood on my lips and my paws are wet with it.

With a jerk, I shift back into my own mind.