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I feel Memnon’s disbelief down our bond.You think you saw her?

I know I did, I say.

Next to me, Memnon’s rage awakens like a flame brought to life.

One of the riders comes up to Memnon then, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. The warrior’s movements are hesitant and as skittish as a colt’s. The rest of Memnon’s warriors have spent the whole day giving him space when normally they would be teasing him about his shortened hair or his smooth jawline.

But just as I am not myself at the moment, neither is Memnon.

The warrior at Memnon’s shoulder whispers something to him, and reluctantly, my husband stands, his chair groaning as he does so.

As soon as he’s out of his seat, he leans down and gives me a lingering kiss.

I will be right back, he says. I cannot tell who he’s reassuring, me or himself.

With that, he leaves the dining hall, and I’m left to hollowly stare at the revelries around me.

My dagger is belted at my side, and without really thinking, I withdraw the blade, the sharpened edge of it oddly mesmerizing. So easy to part flesh. So difficult to heal it up without magic. And even then…

A flash of pale-blond hair catches my eye. Across the room, Eislyn speaks with Zosines.

I play with my dagger, staring at her as she talks. My mind is conjuring lurid fantasies of burying this dagger into the woman’s neck right here amongst the celebrations.

I could do it. I’m tempted to right this instant…

As though she feels me staring, Eislyn glances over at me. I don’t bother smiling, nor do I look away. I just continue to play with my dagger and consider whether it would be as satisfying to whisper a simple death spell and end it all right now.

I swear I see her shudder.

I cannot prove Eislyn tried to harm me, just as I cannot prove she was near the battlefield this morning, but I do know that the protective wards placed on me failed when they should not have, and Eislyn was the last familiar face I saw before I was struck. But I don’t feel the need to prove her guilt, either. No, I think my conscience could handle stabbing her without that knowledge.

My eyes catch on another figure sitting in the far corner of the room, one who looks just as haunted as I feel.

Sliding my dagger back in its sheath, I rise, leaving the table behind and weaving between revelers, ignoring the looks I receive as I make my way across the dining hall.

Katiari sits quietly in the darkness, staring at the fire raging in the hearth near her, her goblet of wine all but forgotten.

“Princess,” I say.

She startles at my voice, then forces a smile for me. “‘Princess’?” She raises her eyebrows. “Since when have you ever called me that?”

“Since I woke up today and everything felt wrong.”

She huffs out a breath. “So I take it you’re not having a good time?”

“About as good a time as you are,” I say, sitting down next to her.

Katiari gives a soft, humorless laugh, then takes a drink from her cup. For several long moments, the two of us are quiet.

“I was there today, at the temple,” she finally says.

I hadn’t realized she had been present. Despite the heat in the room, I shiver, remembering that unholy place.

“You saw him…save me?”

Katiari runs her thumb over the rim of her cup, her leg beginning to bounce. “Saved…saved…” It’s like she’s testing the word out on her tongue. She gives her head a shake. “No, he didn’t save you, Roxilana.” Her eyes rise to meet mine. “He resurrected you.”

I hold her gaze, one of my hands creeping to my neck, right where my wound was.