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What is the state of your attacker?

I study Gaius, noticing the unsteady sway of his upper body and the blood dampening his hair.He’s injured.

I sense Memnon’s relief as well as something that feels like…pride.

Well done, Roxilana.

Of course a warrior like him would be pleased. My gut, however, still churns.

Are you safe?he asks.

Not…yet.

If he tries anything else, Memnon says grimly,hurt him again.

At the thought of doing so, more orange smoke spills from my hands and circles my body.

Across from me, Gaius pushes himself to his feet, his limbs trembling. He eyes me up and down like he’s unsure what to do. Finally, he looks young. Young and uncertain and…weak. Once more, he takes in the distance between us, then backs away from me slowly. When he reaches the doorway, he spares me one final, wary glance, then dashes out. I can hear the slap of his leather sandals as he retreats.

As soon as he’s gone, I place a hand over my mouth and slide down the wall, silent tears dripping down my cheeks.

Wisps of that light orange smoke still slip out of the palm pressed to my mouth. I’m breathing it in, and the sensation of it sliding into my lungs causes my flesh to pimple.

Roxilana?Memnon says softly.I am still here with you.He sounds like he’s been there the whole time, sitting in the back of my mind, keeping me company the only way he can.

That makes me cry harder, my entire body shaking from the effort, and I have to use my hand to muffle my sobs. All I really want is to be held right now, even though my skin is still crawling from the last person who touched it.

He-he almost…I can’t finish the thought.

What is his name?Memnon says, his tone so deceptively gentle.

I should be nervous about that gentleness. It doesn’t match the swirling anger coming from him. I press my palms to my eyes.Gaius, I admit. Not that it matters.

Memnon cannot do much with the Roman name but curse it.

Something came out of my hands and pushed him away. It’sstillcoming out of my hands.I don’t mean to confess this, but I can’t seem to screen my thoughts, not when my panic is building all over again.

What does it look like?Memnon asks, and he doesn’t sound skeptical or unnerved.

I lower my trembling hands and study them, watching the thin wisps rise and curl from my palms.It looks like smoke, but it’s the color of sunset.

There’s a long pause.

You don’t know what it is?Memnon eventually says.

Should I?I respond somewhat hysterically.

Again, there’s that silence. It feels like there’s so much behind it, but if there is, I don’t hear any of it.

Roxi, he says softly,it’s magic. Your magic.

Magic?

My body begins to tremble badly, and I am close to completely losing it.What?

I believe in magic—most Romans do—but only in the same vague way I believe in gods. It all exists in whispers and prayers, in subtle turns of luck, portentous omens, and scribed spells one can buy for a coin.

I never assumed it would be blatant…not like this.