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“Gods!” I call out. “Take my power! It’s all for her.”

Nothing.

I bite back a sob.

In a final, desperate move, I grab a section of my hair—my pride and power—and saw through it, debasing myself for these entities. Visions of the last time I did this overlay this macabre moment.

“You’ve ruined your hair,” Roxi said.

“It was frightening you.”

I’m going to hear that soft voice again, I vow to myself.

I drop my shorn hair like an offering, then hack away at my beard. “Release her, I beg of you!”

The warriors that remain in the temple back away. Rakas, Thiabo, Zosines—even my sister retreats from me. These are Sarmatians who’ve fought at my side for years, who’ve killed dozens of people for reasons far less noble than this, and yet it’s now, when I’m trying to save their queen, that they decide I’ve done something unconscionable.

The gods themselves seem distant, maybe even…affronted.

Only Ferox remains unwavering at my side.

But there’s that beloved presence, so close I can almost touch it.

Who needs the gods when I am nearly one myself?

With an anguished growl, I gather all my boiling magic and move my hands to my mate’s chest, the sheer quantity of it incinerating me from the inside out.

“Roxilana, I call you back,” I say, my voice hoarse. “My queen, my soul mate, my truest friend, I cannot do this without you.” I ready my magic. “Please, come back to me.”

I shove all of my vast power down my arms and through my palms, propelling it into her body. It’s like lightning in a touch. Enough to fell forests and annihilate armies. Enough to bring my mate back from the dead.

Roxilana’s back arches like it did on the battlefield, but this time—this time I hear a ragged inhalation.

Alive.

She’s alive once more.

I make a noise that’s part sob, part exalted roar. As rapidly as I can, I force more power into her body, willing it to not just restart her heart but to heal her. The sinew of her neck stitches itself back together, faster than I’ve ever seen it, and I sense the rest of her arrow wounds mending themselves.

My mind itself feels aflame. Things are burning in there—things I fear I will never get back.

My father warned me of this. The cost of our magic.

I find I don’t care, that I would pay this tithe a thousand times over for my wife’s beating heart.

As soon as her injuries heal and her chest continues to rise and fall in a steady rhythm, my legs give out, and I only just manage to catch myself on the edge of the altar. I can feel my shoulders shaking, my body heaving.

I press a weary kiss to Roxi’s forehead. “My Roxi, my eternal soul mate.”

I did it. Robbed fucking Death himself.

CHAPTER 38

ROXILANA, 23 YEARS OLD

59 AD, Panticapaeum, Tauris

Roxi,my Roxi…