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I scoop Roxi up, clenching my jaw at the cold, limp feel of her in my hands. She’s riddled with arrows, but already my magic is there, wrapping around the projectiles and yanking them out.

Acidic, soul-destroying fear rides me, but I fight it back just as I do all my other opponents. This is not the end. Not of her, nor us.

I dash to my horse and, with the aid of my power, hoist us onto the beast. Ferox is there, pace for pace, the panther’s ears flattened and his tail twitching.

“We are going to save her,” I tell him. Already a plan is forming.

“Yah!” I shout at my horse, nudging the beast into action.

Cannot be dead, cannot be dead. Even as I think it, I feel that ache in my chest deepening, as though something is eroding away, bit by bit. Something essential. My magic spills out of me, and I can feel my hair lifting.

I cannot lose control yet. I need all the power and focus I can manage for this.

I drive my horse toward the Roman temple perched on a nearby outcropping.

If anyone is capable of saving Roxi, it’s the gods—Sarmatian, Roman, I’ll take any of them so long as they hear my broken prayers.

Several of my men have left the fighting to follow me. I glance down at Roxilana again, and a dark, desperate thought takes root.

I pull the reins on my steed, drawing him up short. The warriors around me slow.

“Gather all the injured enemies you can and bring them to the temple,” I command, and then I am off again like a shot, heading for that colonnaded entrance.

My horse is still galloping when I swing off him, Roxi cradled in my arms, Ferox like a shadow at my heels.

Barging into the temple, I rush to the back of the space, where the altar is. There’s incense burning on it and fire blazing in nearby braziers, but the priests who lit them must’ve fled with the fighting.

Sweeping the incense aside, I lay Roxilana out, choking back a sob at her limp form. Her rich, cinnamon hair is partially matted to her face and neck, and her skin is paler than usual.

Every second that passes, she moves farther into the afterlife. At some point, her soul will wander too far, and she won’t return.

I must be quick.

My warriors follow me in, but for now I ignore them.

Grabbing my dagger, I raise my hand, my power gathering in my veins, my hair lifting off my shoulders. With a swift slice of my blade, I cut my palm open, letting my blood spill forth, onto Roxi and the altar.

“Papaios—Pluto, I give you my blood in exchange for the life of my wife!”

Nothing. Not even a stirring in the air. Just my wife’s ever-cooling body.

But of course the gods would not act on that plea. Blood for a soul? That is hardly an exchange worth making.

Katiari and Zosines come in then, each of them dragging a severely wounded Roman.

Once I see their captives, I exhale.

I do know an exchange the gods might not overlook.

My sister nearly drops her prisoner when her gaze lands on my queen, horror spreading across her expression. “Roxi,” she chokes out. She swallows. “Is she…?”

“No,” I say, viciously, my gaze pinned on Roxi’s blood-spattered face.

Going to save you, my love.

“Gods,” I call out again, “give me my wife back, and I shall send you many souls.”

Katiari gasps. “Memnon,” she says, alarmed, moving closer. “Whatever you’re thinking of, don’t. You seek to meddle in fate itself.”