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I drop to my knees before Memnon and press my palm to his wound, my nausea rising as his blood seeps between my fingers. Immediately, heavy ropes of my magic sink into him.

“Heal the flesh, mend the wound,” I incant.

Beneath my hand, Memnon’s skin tugs together as it heals from the inside out.

Memnon places his own hand over mine.You’re trembling, little witch.

You werestabbed.There’s a note of hysteria to my words.

It happens from time to time, Memnon says lightly. Though his body still holds some of his earlier tension, he’s looking at me with soft eyes.I like you tending to me.Then, the mirth leaves his face.Angry warriors think with their pride, and they are quick to act. You and I must be quicker still.He dips his head to peer into my eyes.Do you understand me?

I do. He wants me to fight—and to be the aggressor if the situation calls for it.

I glance back down at his wound, wordlessly commanding my magic to clean away the blood on his skin and clothes. Pressing my lips together, I reluctantly nod.

Okay, I say down our bond, though it’s hard to even fathom the violence he’s suggesting.If it happens again, I will…try.The thought makes bile rise up my throat.

When,my queen, Memnon says grimly. Whenit happens again.

CHAPTER 25

ROXILANA, 18 YEARS OLD

54 AD, Northern Sarmatia, near the Borysthenes River

“My king! My queen!”

I jolt awake; the transition happens so rapidly that my mind is still halfway immersed in my dream when I sit up and blink out at the darkness. Like me, Memnon sits up quickly.

Muttering a spell, light blooms in his hand, the bluish orb of it floating up to the top of the tent like a seed on the wind.

Itaxes rushes into our tent, breathing hard. “Attacked!” he calls out. “We are being attacked!”

Memnon hastily throws the covers off, rising from the bed. I’m quick to follow, my heart hammering against my rib cage.

“From what direction?” Memnon asks as he heads to our chests to retrieve clothes, armor, and weapons. I’m his shadow, echoing his movements as I open my own chest.

“Northeast,” answers the man, his form ghostly under Memnon’s bluish light. “They’re heading for our main entrance. But they could have easily sent some fighters to the back to drive us out.”

I glance to the darkened wagon, looking for Ferox, but the room appears empty. Panic claws up my throat. Swiftly, I slip down our connection until I’m staring out my panther’s eyes. I crouch in the wild grass outside the settlement, staring back at the city.

Thank the gods, he’s safe. For now.

Stay here, I order Ferox.

I withdraw from him, my awareness returning to the tent.

“Rouse everyone you can, starting with the warriors,” Memnon commands Itaxes as he quickly dresses. “Send someone to wake my mother and sister as well; they will handle logistics within the settlement. And tell any able-bodied adult to grab what weapons they can and fight.”

Itaxes nods, then dashes from our tent.

My eyes meet Memnon’s. Before either of us can speak, the whoosh of fire roars in the distance, and screams start up.

The breath in my lungs stills. The past is a terrible song that sometimes sings to me of old horrors. I hear it now.

Memnon shakes his head. “Tonight will not be like the last attack you lived through,” he swears to me, speaking with all the authority of a king and a commander.

I nod, swallowing.