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“Repair,” I incant as my horse slows, now slogging through the line of Roman infantry pushing back with their shields.

The bow creaks a little as the splintered layers of wood reconnect and smooth over. Within a few inhalations, it’s as good as new.

Arrows whizz past us, one glancing off my warded horse before embedding itself into the ground.

I need to get to the back of these Roman lines. It’s where us Sarmatians are most lethal. Unfortunately, these Romans seem to know that, and they’re doing their best to keep us at bay. I’m stranded in the thick of battle, which, for cavalry like me, is the worst place to be.

I nock my bow, urging my steed on while I scan the field for a target. Instead, my eyes catch on a flash of white in the distance.

Beyond the charging mass of riders, Eislyn sits on a white steed, wearing a stola with an equally white cloak shrouding her. She’s a vision on this bleak battlefield with her long pale hair and her body free of blood and mud.

She stares at me, her hand slightly raised.

What in all the gods’ names is she doing out here?—

I don’t feel the arrow, nor do I see it until it’s sliced through the side of my neck.

The force of the blow throws me forward, and I nearly tumble from my horse all over again.

Shock dulls my pain, and I have to reach for my throat to assess the wound. Between one breath and the next, my fingers are coated in blood.Myblood, and far too much of it. Warm liquid isspurtingout of my neck with every beat of my heart. A river of it pouring from me.

Much, much too much.

ROXILANA!

My name is thunder wrenched from the heavens. It echoes inside my head and across the battlefield, surprise and anguish and terrible, awesome power wrapped into the sound.

I think…I think I should be afraid.

Even as the thought crosses my mind, my vision begins to darken.

HEAL YOURSELF, ROXILANA!Memnon bellows down in my head, fear lacing his words.

Magic—of course, I think sluggishly.I need my magic.

I reach for my power, but it’s as slippery as my blood, and fading just as swiftly as my vision…

ROXILANA! I’m coming! Hold fast and take what you need of my power!

I can feel the thick mass of Memnon’s magic pressing against my sternum, bits of it seeping into my bloodstream. I reach for it, even as my vision continues to darken and I list sideways on my horse.

Another arrow lodges into my back, then another. And another.

I grunt, then topple off my steed, landing hard on icy mud and the cooling remains of a dead Roman.

Didn’t I have wards in place protecting me?I think absently. A shiver wracks my body, tugging at all my injuries.

Cold. So cold. And the pain…the pain should be worse, I think. But I cannot see much, and though I hear the screams and the clash of blades, they come from far away, muffled as though through water.

I think I feel the brush of fur, the nudge of a nose.

Ferox?

I try to reach for him, but my limbs aren’t working right.

Roxi, stay with me.Memnon’s voice is no longer thunder. It’s painfully, terrifyingly human.Please, my love, heal yourself. I’m almost there…

But his voice is fading. The pain is fading. Everything is fading.