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His eyesglow, as though they are lit from behind, looking like amber and flame. And yet for all their illumination, they don’t seem to see anything at all. His jaw is clenched, his face like stone.

What has happened to my husband?

As though he heard the thought, those eyes drop to mine. The being staring out through them is unrecognizable.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of who this version of Memnon is and how familiar I can be with him.

Around us, the screams begin to die off, fading away like wisps of smoke. Not much time left for those souls.

With featherlight fingertips, I touch Memnon’s cheek.Memnon, whatever is happening, please, fight it.

Memnon continues to stare blankly at me.

Please, I beg.

You’re safe, he insists, misunderstanding my motives.

I trace his scar.But nobody else is.

The silence between us is loud.

I rack my mind, trying to think of a way to stop him, when my gaze drops to Memnon’s mouth.

If he cannot be persuaded, maybe he can at least be distracted.

I swallow, unsure if this will work. But the screams are weakening, and time is running out. Making a hasty decision, I lean forward and press a kiss to Memnon’s mouth.

For several breaths, his lips are unyielding against mine.

Then his hands move to my arms, and he squeezes them softly, a shudder working its way through him. Finally, his mouth moves against mine, tentative and perhaps a little perplexed.

The pained shrieks die off, and with a sigh, Memnon ends the kiss.

His eyes are closed, and for several inhalations, he remains that way, his hands still gripping my upper arms. When he finally opens them, they’re back to their normal hue.

Memnon reaches a hand out, his knuckles stroking my cheek while his brows pinch together.

I stare at him warily. He looks like my Memnon once more, but I…I don’t know.

His eyes lift over my shoulder as his magic clears, and my skin prickles at the deep silence. I turn in the saddle, following his gaze.

I wish I hadn’t.

Where once there was a mighty army, now all that’s left are bloody, mangled bodies. Blood oozes from their eyes, their ears, their noses and mouths. Their bellies are split open, their innards bursting forth like overripe fruit.

Memnon killed them all.

“I…am not like you.”

Memnon admits this quietly over the last remaining embers of our dying campfire.

His men have all retired for the night, their meals largely uneaten. I would’ve assumed vanquishing a foe would be cause for celebration, but like me, Memnon’s men seem largelyunnerved by the Romans’ grisly deaths. Perhaps because that was no ordinary battle—it was a massacre.

I sit cross-legged next to him, Ferox’s head in my lap, stroking his dark fur. Like me, my panther was unharmed by Memnon’s magic.

“I was planning on telling you.” I see his throat work. He stares at the fire. “My magic is not like yours—not entirely.”

My hand stills on Ferox. I already know Memnon can alter minds, and I remember seeing his glowing eyes once before. Even what I saw today wasn’t unprecedented. The Roman arena had been a bloodbath as well. It doesn’t make what I witnessed earlier any less frightening.