Page 190

Always Memnon.

Beautiful, monstrous Memnon.

I touch his cheek, my fingers slipping a little. “We will get another life. A better one,” I promise.

I lean into the sarcophagus, ignoring the way my body screams in protest, and press a kiss to his lips. They’re still warm.

I pull away, my mouth lingering right above his. “I will find you again, my king. I am eternally yours.”

Hot tears slip from my eyes as I straighten. All I want is to crawl inside that coffin and spend my last few moments with him. It would be a good place to die.

Unfortunately, if I mean to see this through, I can’t do that.

I lift a trembling hand, my breath ragged as I force my magic to lift the coffin lid into the air. I shift it over the sarcophagus and gently lay it down.

Another tear drips, and I can feel my lower lip quivering with sadness and exhaustion. My tired eyes rest on the inscription carved into the top.

For the love of your gods, beware of me.

Memnon the Cursed

It’s a terrible epitaph to leave him with—not that it’s inaccurate—but it will scare off almost anyone who can read it. But in case it won’t, I will need to ward it.

Just the thought of doing so is daunting. I splay my hand over the lid, preparing to wrangle more magic. Yet when I call it forth, my power surges forward, stronger than ever.

A gift from the unnamed god.

I bite my lip to keep from crying out my relief. Though my mind is addled with pain and encroaching death, the ward I cast is strong; the many threads of it have a smooth sheen. As soon as I finish it, another forms, then another, until my focus becomes the room at large. This too requires a ward.

I move around the coffin, though my legs don’t feel as though they’ll keep me upright. That noxious presence is spreading, withering me away from the inside out.

Something presses against my legs, and when I glance down, I realize it’s Ferox. At some point, my panther dragged himself off the ground and ventured into this cursed tomb to find me. He leans against me now, his eyes large, concerned.

I place a hand on his head. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper brokenly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

He pushes his nose into my palm, nudging it, as though demanding reassurance. I run a hand down his black fur.

“I release you, Ferox,” I say. “You shall not be bound by my curse.” I invoke my magic and weave it into my words. “With my death, our bond shall sever, and you shall be free.”

He hisses at me as though I have committed some great and terrible act.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, my throat tightening. “You were always too good for me.”

He growls, like even my apology displeases him.

I stagger over to a wall and lean heavily against it.

More spells seep from my palms, coating the room in pale looping threads like some shoddily woven garment.

I heave from the effort, my bones aching, brittle. So tired.

I cannot give up now. Not when the biggest spell is yet to come. It’s a race against this thing inside me. Gods may occasionally be benevolent, but they are almost never merciful. Particularly not the bloodthirsty ones. I doubt this god will extend my life longer than they see fit.

I struggle up the stairs, and though Ferox is obviously still mad at me, he presses his body against mine to prevent me from falling.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice weakening.

The two of us make our way outside, the overcast sky so much brighter than the dim room we were in. I turn around and lift my arm, my tears coming faster. Leaving Memnon in there feels like a betrayal all on its own, like another knife sunk into my flesh.