Page 22

Someone tried to enter our room.

I’m seated on Memnon’s horse with my husband at my back, his men flanking us and the streets of Rome sweeping past us, when I learn of this. How someone with ill intentions tried to get to us and only Memnon’s ward prevented them from doing so.

I shiver now, thinking about what could’ve happened had the magic not been in place.

I don’t pretend to understand the treacherous ways of rulers, but it’s clear that with power comes danger. Whether Memnon’s magic wore off on the emperor is still a mystery, but the threat was real enough.

A horse-drawn cart rattles behind one of Memnon’s men as his horse pulls it through the otherwise-quiet streets of Rome.

I lean around Memnon’s large frame to catch sight of the wagon.

Resting inside it are supplies the men brought with them, along with a bored-looking Ferox, who idly watches the buildings go by as he’s pulled along.

A subtle blue sheen coats the panther. It’s another of Memnon’s wards, this one a spell meant to protect the panther from harm.

There are more spells placed on all manner of items in Memnon’s care, and I yearn to understand this aspect of our magic.

For all the years I’ve had my power, I’ve only ever used it for simple things—to stitch faster, to mend a broken pot or remove a stain from a tunic. And, of course, to heal wounds.

How do you know so much about magic? I ask.

Memnon shifts in the saddle, the hand not steering his horse resting on my thigh. My father possesses power; he taught me about it long before I ever wielded it.

At least one of my parents must have had magic as well, but their knowledge is lost to time.

Cautiously, Memnon asks, Would you like me to teach you?

There’s no hesitation. Yes.

I both hear his husky laugh and feel the vibrations of it where his chest meets my back. It sends a pleasant shiver through me.

All right. While we travel, I’ll teach you a little of what my father taught me , Memnon promises. By the time we reach Sarmatia, you will certainly be better at it than I am.

Up ahead, one of the arching gates of Rome comes into view. Unlike the rest of the city, there are people awake and about here, namely soldiers.

I tense when they see us.

Easy, little witch , Memnon says. There is no reason for worry.

As he speaks, plumes of his magic pour out of him and streak toward the waiting soldiers. They wrap around each man like a snake constricting its kill, until the magic envelops them entirely. When his power clears, the soldiers’ movements appear unchanged.

I glance over my shoulder at Memnon. What did you do to them?

It’s an enchantment , he says.

When he sees my quizzical expression, he elaborates. An enchantment is like a ward, but rather than offering protection, it creates illusions.

I watch the soldiers, trying to better understand the magic at play.

I don’t immediately notice it, not until one moment rolls into the next and the soldiers don’t seem to see us.

In fact, they seem to look everywhere but at our group.

And when one of them does look in our direction, his eyes pass over us, as though we don’t exist at all.

As we close in on the gate, Memnon’s steed picks up speed.

Faster and faster, he gallops. Behind me, I can hear the wooden wheels of the wagon clacking over the road.

I glance over my shoulder and catch sight of Ferox sitting up, wearing what can only be described as an annoyed expression on his face.

I bite back my laugh and face forward, just in time to see those soldiers in vivid detail. Then we’re racing past them. I’m under the looming archway for no longer than an inhalation, and then, I’m free.

Free like the swallows soaring above us and the bees that move about the wild grass beyond us. I’m drunk on the air whistling past me, and on a whim, I stretch out my arms just to bask in it. I’m certain that if we rode any faster, I might just get swept up and carried off by one of the Four Winds.

I think I’m laughing, but then—no, there’s wetness on my cheeks.

Memnon says nothing, though his hand moves from my thigh, wiping my cheeks.

I thought I’d never leave that city. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.

“I’ve never been so happy either,” Memnon whispers against my ear, raising goose bumps along my arms.

I lower my arms and lean into him, downright giddy as Memnon and his men steer the steeds east, toward where the sun rises. Somewhere far off in the distance, at the very edge of the known world, lies my new home.

Sarmatia.

“We will begin small,” Memnon says that evening as we stand among the wild grass we’ve staked out for our camp. Apparently, we will be doing this every night. It’s gritty and nowhere near what I would’ve envisioned for a king, but I’m thrilled at the novelty of it.

Memnon’s men and Ferox have all wandered into the wilderness around us to hunt game, leaving me and Memnon to set up camp. And Memnon has used this as an opportunity to teach me about magic.

“You seem far too excited about this,” I say, the breeze tugging on the dusty wedding attire I still wear. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Roxi, have I ever let you down before?”

I can’t directly look at him, I’ve realized. When I do so, I start to blush or else I simply stare. Somewhere between yesterday and today, I decided that he’s absurdly gorgeous, and now I cannot act normal.

“Your teaching skills in the past have left something to be desired,” I say, toeing the ground with a sandaled foot.

“Yet you still learned to speak Sarmatian beautifully,” he fires back.

I pout a little at the compliment. I’m pretty sure it’s cheating to say nice things to someone when you’re supposed to be bickering with them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Memnon grin a little. At the sight, my stomach flutters and my throat catches. Memnon is no longer wearing his armor or his crown, and without them, he seems less intimidating, more laid bare.

He draws close to me, then catches me by the chin, turning my face to his. “You really do speak our language beautifully,” he says softly, his expression sincere. Heat rises to my cheeks as I dip my eyes, even as he searches my features. “Now, why won’t you look at me?”

Ugh, he’s going to make me say it. “Can’t you just read my thoughts?”

His eyebrows rise. “Can’t you just tell me?” he fires back.

Gods. Fine .

“You’re pretty,” I rush out. “Really, really pretty. And I cannot seem to?—”

“I’m pretty ?” Memnon’s eyes are wide with disbelief and the corner of his mouth is twitching.

“Yes,” I say. “Is that truly so?—”

Memnon’s lips crash into mine, and all thoughts vanish . I fall into the kiss the way I fell into each one last night. The memory of Memnon’s skin against mine heats my blood, and I want him now as I had him then.

Memnon groans against me, breaking off the kiss to lean his head against my own. “Gods, it was bad enough being in my own head all day, Roxi. But now hearing your thoughts really isn’t helping.”

They don’t have to be just thoughts , I say across our bond.

He curses. Then shakes his head. I want to make an actual bed for you to lay on before I’m inside you again.

Memnon pulls himself away from me and clears his throat. “Do you know how to build a fire?” he asks.

I give him an arch look. I cannot believe we’re actually going to do this when we could be resuming last night’s activities.

“No,” I say grumpily, “I’m completely inept at this one very necessary life skill. Yes, of course I know how to build a fire.”

Memnon narrows his eyes. “But can you build one without ever touching a log?”

Now I hesitate, and my sexual frustration dissipates.

As Memnon stares at me, he reaches out a hand to his side and says, “ From broken boughs and dried-out logs, I call forth wood of this wilderness to gather before me .”

My skin tingles, and I feel the brush of his power as it passes by me.

“That was an incantation—words spoken with magical intent,” he explains. “Incantations can help amplify your power.” As though on cue, the shrubs around us rustle, then part as branches of varying sizes barrel into our makeshift camp, clattering to the ground between us.

“All right, little witch, use your magic to build us a fire.”

I reach out a hand, just as Memnon did, biting back a grumble.

I assumed Memnon was going to teach me about wards tonight, not ask me to play with sticks.

I focus on my power anyway and try my best to move it down my arm and out my hand.

A small burst of pale orange smoke releases from my palm, and I give it a single command: stack the firewood.

It doesn’t surprise me when the branches do just that, arranging themselves exactly how I pictured they would in my mind.

“Good job, Roxi,” Memnon says. “Now, light the fire. And this time—incant the spell.”

“Gods, I forgot what a bossy teacher you can be,” I mutter.

Memnon steps in close. “Would you like me to supplicate myself before you later? Would that make you feel better about my demands of you now? Because for you, Roxi, and you alone, I would. I might even enjoy it…” His breath tickles my skin, and my eyes lift to meet his.

I can feel the heat between us rising up, up, up?—

Memnon’s gaze drops to my feet, and he curses, kneeling before me. I glance down in time to see the hem of my tunic has caught fire.

The Sarmatian king grabs the fabric and, using his bare hands, stifles the fire until it’s extinguished. He holds the ruined linen and begins to laugh. “You were supposed to light the wood on fire, little witch, not yourself.”

“But I did get you supplicating yourself before me.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

A surprised laugh slips out of Memnon, and I feel his delight at my remarks. “That you did.”

Before I know what’s happening, he wraps his arms around the backs of my thighs and rises, picking me up with him. I yelp, grabbing for his shoulders as he spins us around.

“Beautiful, beautiful Roxi, if I’m a terrible teacher, then you’re a terrible student.”

“That sounds like something only a terrible teacher would say,” I insist.

He laughs again, and I’m suddenly greedy for that laugh. I want to capture it, bottle it up so I can listen to it at whim. Since I can do no such thing, I think I’ll have to settle for giving him a reason to laugh every day.

“Maybe,” he agrees. His eyes drop to my lips, and he turns serious.

“Why are you staring at my lips like that?” I say softly.

“Can you not hear my screaming thoughts?” Memnon says. “I very much want to kiss you.”

I run a hand over his cheek, which is still smooth despite the fact that his facial hair has had a whole day to begin to grow back. I think he might intentionally be keeping it short for me.

“We still haven’t made camp,” I say.

“Fuck camp,” Memnon murmurs.

“That also sounds like something a terrible teacher would say.”

Memnon smiles, but then his expression turns serious once more. Slowly, he lets my body slide through his arms until the two of us are face-to-face.

An ache grows in me as the moment drags on, and my face heats again. He really is beautiful.

Memnon leans in, and at last, his lips meet mine. A shiver races through me at the contact, and I can feel my magic sifting out of my palms as my mouth moves against his.

He lowers me to the ground, and the kiss goes on and on and on. I cannot get enough of the way his body seems to wrap around mine.

“Ehy!” one of Memnon’s men calls out as he stomps back into camp. “You two lovers going to make out until the sun rises, or are you going to help us finish setting up the damn camp?”

I grin as I break off the kiss. “Naughty teacher,” I say breathlessly, “kissing your pupil.”

Memnon’s eyes are heated as he stares at me, and for once, there’s no quippy response. He flicks a hand, and the fire lights itself and piles of wooden poles and folded felt lain out a little ways off now build themselves into tents.

“You happy now?” Memnon calls out to his man.

“Show-off,” his comrade mutters.

Memnon steps away from me and holds out his hand. “There are two final spells I do want to show you.”

He leads me around the newly erected tents, toward the edge of our campsite. We only stop once we’ve passed the tents and draw near an olive tree.

Memnon turns his attention to the land around us. “You wanted to learn about wards.”

A thrill runs through me. This is the knowledge I’ve yearned for. But as my eyes sweep over our campsite again, I grow skeptical. “You’re going to ward this whole place?” That seems far too vast an expanse of space for either of our powers to cover.

But even as I think it, Memnon raises his hands and begins to speak—no, incant —in Sarmatian. “ A roof to cover us and a wall to encircle us .” Memnon’s magic pours out of him, swarming between our tents. “ Form an impenetrable barrier that our enemies may not pass through .”

The indigo smoke rushes around camp, filling the space, then thinning out until it shapes itself into a semitransparent dome as delicate as insect wings. The deep blue color drains away from the phantom structure, leaving behind lines and lines of what look to be text that float in midair.

I walk up to this…ward, studying the way the strange writing glints in the waning light. Reaching out, I touch one such letter. It shivers a little under my touch, and I can sense the warmth and brightness of Memnon through it.

Is this real writing? I ask.

If it is, I cannot read it , Memnon says. It’s simply the signature my magic leaves behind.

I’m still touching the ward, and now I push my hand through it, then my arm. Finally, I step across it entirely, curious what it feels like. But like Memnon’s ward in Rome, this one doesn’t have a feel to it beyond that very subtle warmth.

“So if I were an enemy,” I say, turning around to get another look at the ward, “I would not be able to cross this?”

Memnon shakes his head. “No. Tomorrow, I will have you help me create the ward?—”

“Really?” I can’t help the eager smile that spreads across my lips.

Memnon looks enraptured by my expression. “If making wards together means you’ll look at me this way again, then gods, yes, my queen, we can make all the wards in the world.”

I press my lips together, feeling giddy and pleased and excited . “Perhaps you’re not so bad a teacher after all,” I say. “Just don’t let it get to your head.”

“Oh, little witch, it is far too late for that.”