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I was shot.

I touch the side of my neck as I remember, a gasp caught in my throat. But there is no wound, nor scab, nor scar. Simply unblemished skin.

“Did you heal me?” I ask, still touching my throat. It’s a ridiculous question. He obviously did. But…I was so far gone.

Too far gone.

“Something like that,” Memnon says, stroking my cheek like he cannot help himself.

My eyes return to the bodies scattered around the temple, awareness creeping up my spine. I can feel the pieces of what happened here coming together like a puzzle. The temple, the bloodless bodies, the arrow holes in my clothing, the altar I rest on…

“It’s time to go, my queen.”

I’m still painfully confused. “The battle?” I ask, even as Memnon helps me off the altar, Ferox following me down.

My boot squishes on a limp arm, and my stomach rolls in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time.

“Don’t concern yourself with it.”

My limbs shake severely as I try to pick my way through the bodies. A few steps in and my vision darkens once more. My hand slips from Memnon’s and my legs fold.

I fall only for a moment. Then Memnon is there, catching me, cradling me in his arms. I lay my head tiredly against his chest.

“I don’t know why I’m so weak,” I murmur.

“You came back to me from a long way off,” Memnon says, his grip tightening as he speaks. “I’m sure your body needs time to recover.”

“Did I…die?” I ask.

For an instant, I feel a cold chill gripping me from the inside out. Then it’s gone, banished by the warmth of Memnon’s body against mine.

My husband’s face grows grim, and when he casts his gaze down at me, I see so much veiled sorrow. “Sleep, Empress.”

Magic threads his words, and the world fades away.

CHAPTER 39

ROXILANA, 23 YEARS OLD

59 AD, Panticapaeum, Tauris

The victory celebrationis nearly intolerable.

I sit at the dining hall’s head table clad in all my queenly refinery, trying to not let my shoulders curl in on themselves. What is usually an enjoyable experience is now too loud, too boisterous, too hot and nauseating.

“My queen, you must eat,” Memnon urges softly from where he sits next to me.

He hasn’t left my side all day—he’s barely stopped touching me in some manner. Nor, for that matter, has Ferox, who leans protectively against my leg.

I shake my head and stare on, not really seeing the faces that crowd the rows of tables. I’m still cold and haunted by whatever transpired in that temple hours ago. The only things that sharpen my focus are the few strange looks I get from our warriors. They stare at me like I’m a specter.

It makes me wonder if I am. My skin still feels too heavy, and there’s a wrongness to the world. Or maybe the wrongness is within me.

Eislyn enters the room, and all of my apathy bleeds away. I straighten, my gaze homed in on her.

What is it?Memnon asks.

She was there, I say.At the battle.