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“ Allow no smoke to enter this space. ” Vaguely, I’m aware of the drain these wards must be having on my power, but adrenaline and determination mask it.

“Roxilana.” Tamara gently grabs me by the shoulders. “You are hurt.”

“I know,” I say distractedly.

Was that enough wards? Should I make another?

“Can you heal yourself as Memnon can?” Tamara asks, demanding my attention.

I hesitate for a moment, forcing myself to focus on her and her words. Then, I nod.

“Good.” She grasps the arrowhead in my shoulder and yanks it out with violent force.

A surprised shriek rips itself from my throat, the agony darkening my vision. But as soon as I register the pain, the worst of it is over.

Tamara places my hand on the wound. “Heal yourself.” Like Memnon, she has that commanding tone, one I cannot ignore.

Though my mind is on other people and things, I force out a silent healing spell, and thick ropes of my magic move to the wound.

Once I feel the last twinge of pain disappear, I drop my hand from the injury.

Tamara slowly releases me, peering at my shoulder. I hear her sharp inhalation.

“You really can do what my son can.”

I guess she hadn’t fully realized it until now.

I nod, my gaze drifting to the rest of the room, which is filled to the brim, mostly with the young and the old, though there are a few men and women roughly my age or a little older.

Despite the crowd, I know this is only a small portion of the people who live here.

The rest of them must be fighting for their lives.

“Look at me,” Tamara orders, calling my attention back to her.

Dazedly I do so.

She gives my cheek a gentle slap. “ Look at me.”

My gaze sharpens.

“There you are,” she says. She braces my face with her bloody hands. “Listen carefully to me, daughter: you cannot help others if you yourself aren’t okay. You understand me?”

I nod, and she shakes her head. “Say it.”

“I understand.”

Now she smiles softly, then pats my cheek. “Good. Then go and make use of your magic.”

I waste no time doing so, leaving her side to hunt down the mother and child. When I find them, I finally see that it was the mother and not the baby who sustained the injury—a small blessing. Though based on the blood drenching her side, the wound is in desperate condition.

I drop to the ground next to her, vaguely aware of the other people who’ve gathered around, helpless. No one stops me when I place my hands on the woman’s side, though she screams, the sound causing her baby, tucked against her other side, to begin to wail too.

Swiftly, I incant, “ Heal the wound .”

Beneath my touch, I sense muscle and sinew reforming and stitching itself back together. Again, I’m distantly aware of the toll I’m placing on my magic, but right now I cannot be bothered to care.

When the last of the wound seals up and my magic tapers off, I lean back on my haunches, breathing heavily.

Around me, someone gasps. “She healed her!”

I rise, retreating from the woman as more people exclaim. Now isn’t the time to explain my magic, not when hooves still pound outside and arrows ping uselessly against the walls of the tent.

Screams fill the air beyond the structure, accompanied by the telltale whoosh of more flames. The sound drags me back to the walls of my childhood home again. Smoke fills the air. The whole village is burning, dying .

No .

These people might be safe, but everyone outside this tent is not.

I’m going to have to break my promise to Memnon.

I move to the wall of the tent and place my hand against its surface to reinforce the wards already in place.

“ No enemy shall enter, no weapon shall pierce, no flame shall alight. I offer you my protection. My magic will defend you. My blood will spill before yours does. This I vow. ” My magic spreads out along the material, the shimmering threads of each layered ward weaving together.

The spells will not hold forever, but hopefully they will be strong enough to last the night.

I place a hand over my heart then, bowing my head. “ Guard my body against harm. ” Another burst of power, this one running over my skin like a stream, coating me in magical armor.

This, I also hope is enough.

I move to the tent’s entrance, bracing myself for whatever lies beyond it.

“Roxilana, where are you going?” Tamara calls out from behind me.

I don’t pause. “To protect my people.”

Outside the main tent, enemy fighters battle armed Sarmatians. Metal clangs as blade meets blade.

I pull my bow off my shoulder, sighting a mounted warrior who holds the severed head of a woman by her braids.

I nock an arrow; my earlier nerves have settled. “ Find your mark and land true ,” I spell-cast, releasing the arrow.

My shot goes wide, my aim still dismal; however, as the arrow arcs across the sky, it curves back on track, closing in on my target.

The fighter sees the incoming projectile and tries to duck, but it slams into his neck all the same, entering and exiting his throat with such force, it knocks him off his steed.

I stride forward, my rage still simmering, and this time the nausea doesn’t rise. I’ll deal with the consequences of my actions later.

The enemy’s horse, now riderless, trots forward, its movements a little spooked.

Still, it’s easy enough to catch its reins and stroke its neck, tendrils of my magic reaching out and soothing the beast. Beneath my touch, it calms, and after slinging my bow across my chest, I hoist myself onto its back.

I may not be Sarmatian and I may have no natural inclination toward horse riding, but sitting here in the enemy’s saddle, my power at my fingertips, feels right in some deep, inexplicable way.

I urge the horse forward into a gallop, leaving the clearing behind and heading for the outer reaches of the settlement.

My goals are somewhat complicated—I don’t simply want to protect my people.

I also have a driving need to find Memnon and Ferox.

Though they are technically fine for now—I checked on both via my bonds—the attack still rages.

And then there’s the matter of my own unexpected rage, which I’ve kept bottled for a decade and now wants out .

Gods save me, I let myself have a taste of my own inner darkness.

“ Die ,” I incant anytime I pass an enemy rider.

Die. Die. Die.

This spell is efficient, slicing my victim’s necks right at their jugulars. Their hands go to the wounds, their eyes wide with surprise. I neither pause to watch them crumple in their saddles nor do I think about the deeper moral consequences of these acts. I will later, but for now?—

A lancing pain cuts through my bond with Memnon, so sharp I choke on my own breath.

Memnon?

His thoughts are muddled and faint, but the pain, that is bright and loud.

No. Gods, no .

This is my worst fear come to life. Memnon, injured, maybe even…dying.

My hold nearly slips from the reins as terror washes through me. But as soon as it comes, it’s eclipsed by a far more powerful drive to find my mate and heal him. In the past, when I felt Memnon’s injuries, I was hopelessly far from him. I’m not anymore.

Hold on , I say down our bond. I’m coming for you.

No, Roxi , Memnon begs. Stay with our people .

You are my people.

Without him, there is nothing else.

I urge my stolen horse on, faster and faster still. Memnon tracked me across the vast Roman Empire with his magic alone. I can do the same.

I call on my magic once more, my arms tingling as it moves down them, weaker than before. No matter. I don’t need much.

“ Lead me to my soul mate. ”

My power snakes out of me, the orange line of it weaving through the tented city. I follow it as best I can, taking detours when my magic cuts through tents untouched by fire.

A projectile hits me, throwing me forward with a grunt. I gnash my teeth against the throb of impact, even though the arrow clatters uselessly to the ground, the ward I placed on myself holding strong.

Straightening, I place another protective ward on myself, taking Tamara’s earlier words to heart: I cannot help Memnon if I get myself killed.

The line of my magic leads me out of the burning city to the steppe beyond. In the distance, I make out writhing shadows, their forms cast in bluish hues beneath the light of the moon and a large blue orb of light that Memnon must’ve cast.

My throat constricts, and hope takes root. He must be close if his magic lingers nearby.

I urge my horse on when, out of the corner of my eye, an enemy moves.

I raise my hand, magic weakly gathering in my palm as I ready my attack?—

“Ferox?” I nearly weep at the sight of the panther slinking toward me.

To think I almost attacked him.

I stop my horse long enough to lean far over the saddle and reach for Ferox’s head. “Thank the gods you’re okay.”

He nuzzles my palm with his nose. I pet his snout and head, and as I do so, I speak: “ Protect this body against harm. ” Power spills over Ferox, coating him from head to toe. I nearly shudder with relief, knowing my panther is safe.

I cannot say the same thing about my husband.

I right myself in my saddle, staring down at Ferox solemnly. “I’m heading into that battle,” I tell the big cat, jutting my chin in the direction of the fighting. “You will stay out here where it’s safe, and I’ll find you after the fight.”

His tail twitches with what seems to be annoyance, but he watches me as I nudge my horse into action. We’ve only made it a short distance, however, when I realize Ferox is shadowing us.

“Ferox.”

He doesn’t look at me and doesn’t slow.

There’s not enough time to force him to stay away from the battle. Memnon’s pain still throbs across our bond, though it’s feeling worrisomely faint.

I huff out a breath. “You will put your safety before my own,” I say to Ferox. “And rip out the throats of any who threaten you.”

With that, we rush straight for the melee, following the orange line of my magic.