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He nods along with me, and then his gaze moves to the clothes still clutched in my hands. He jerks his chin in their direction. “Get dressed, my queen,” he commands.

I nod again, then do so with fumbling fingers while he moves to another chest that holds his weapons.

When Memnon turns back to me, it’s with a bow and gorytos. He uses his magic to secure them to my body.

“Now grab your boots,” he says.

If this were any other time, any other situation, I might think his commands were silly, even overbearing. But right now, whenfear and adrenaline cloud my mind, I’m grateful for them. I stumble over to where I set my boots last night and pull them on.

Outside, the shrill screams and crackling fire are growing sharper,closer.

When I rise, Memnon’s there, his weapons and armor strapped to him, looking wrathfully beautiful, his eyes eerily illuminated by that blue orb of light. His gaze sweeps over me, and through our bond, I feel his thick, rich approval.

Memnon drags me to him and crushes his lips to mine. But it lasts only for a moment.

He pulls away, still cupping my face. “Look at you,” he says, his eyes appraising my outfit and the weapons strapped to it. I can see the pride in his eyes. “You look like the vengeful goddess I feared you were.”

I certainly don’t feel that way. Not when the sour tang of my own terror sits at the back of my throat.

His expression turns serious, and my barely banked fear is rising again, threatening to swallow me whole.

“I am going to ride out with my warriors, and together we’ll drive back as many enemy fighters as we can, drawing them out of our city, then battling them on the plains.”

I’m nodding—or maybe I’m shaking my head. I’m a child with childish worries and thoughts and I cannot, cannot?—

Memnon grips the side of my face. “Youcan,” Memnon says, giving me a firm shake and disrupting my chaotic thoughts.

He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “The children and the elderly will be led to the main tent behind the clearing,” he says. “There they will be vulnerable. Protect them.”

Again, my eyes well, and I’m afraid. So afraid.

“You don’t need to be afraid. You are not that child anymore. But now there are others, and they are counting onyou.”

My stomach drops at that.

He pulls me in and kisses me fiercely, his lips devouring mine. But the contact is over before it’s begun, all that fire and passion and desperation touching my lips for mere moments.

“I need to go,” he says, backing away.

“Memnon!” I call out after him, fear rising like a leviathan.

“The vulnerable, my queen,” he reminds me. “Please, help them.”

The fire is roaring louder, both in my head and outside it, and the screams are mounting.

“Don’t die!” I plead. My voice breaks as I say it. I cannot endure that loss.

At the doorway, Memnon glances over his shoulder. “I wouldn’tdare.”

Then he slips through the tent flaps, and he’s gone.

I stumble out of the tent, my bow and gorytos slapping against me uselessly. People are screaming and running, entire neighborhoods engulfed in flame.

The taste of smoke and ash clings to my tongue, and my eyes water from the sting of it all.

Gods above and below, this is my past relived.

Through the melee, I catch sight of the raiders. The enemy is on horseback, weapons in hand, shouting hair-raising war cries.