Page 42

Since the surprise attack, the mood around camp has been grim.

Many, many homes have burned to the ground, leaving people with only the clothes on their backs.

The people themselves are in rough shape.

Many are wounded, and those who aren’t have the unenviable job of bathing and burying the dead—our dead, at least.

The enemy’s dead are treated with the utmost disrespect, their bodies left out for the scavengers or else placed on pikes outside the settlement, macabre warnings to anyone else thinking of ambushing us.

It takes three days for my magic to return in full, in part because as soon as I’m able to use it, I do, despite Memnon’s protests.

Like him, I move about camp and heal as many of the injured as I can.

It’s grueling, fatiguing work, made all the harder by the lingering ache in my bones, an ache that not even Memnon’s spells can soothe for long.

But I want to help. There’s something about this work that soothes the grief I feel over killing people. Grief I largely must keep to myself because no one but Memnon understands my complicated feelings toward war and death. So I tuck it away and do what I can to rebuild the settlement.

Nearly a week after the ambush, I’m woken by the slap of leathers on my body.

I jolt, sitting up quickly as Ferox snarls at my side, clearly annoyed. Besides the big cat, the space next to me is empty, as it tends to be in the mornings.

Memnon’s already off to work. My throat tightens at the thought of him. I’ve been a little jittery around my husband, much to his dismay, since he cursed those Dacians.

Instead of Memnon, a mother-in-law-shaped shadow looms over me.

“Whatever it is, no .” I turn over, resettling myself into my bed.

The blankets I’m snuggled under are ripped away, and the leathers are picked up, then dropped on me once more

Tamara gazes imperiously down at me. “Today, you will train.”

“You do realize there are other ways to do this?” I say. “You don’t have to always wake me up to get what you…” Her words catch up to me, and my gaze moves to the leathers she dropped on me. “Wait, train ?” I echo.

“Yes, train , dear girl. I hear you have little experience with a blade or a bow. Shame, considering I also hear you hate Romans more than I do.”

I clear my throat. “I have a little experience with a bow.” Specifically what Memnon, Zosines, Rakas, Itaxes, and Sattion taught me when we traveled here from Rome.

“A little will not save you in every battle. Nor will your magic, wondrous though it is.”

I rub my eyes.

“Well?” Tamara says, looking at me pointedly. “Up, up?—”

Biting back some grumbling, I rise. “Did Memnon put you up to this?” I ask, my voice hitching a little. Next to me, Ferox stretches out, unsheathing his claws and ripping a little of our blanket.

Tamara scoffs, moving to our weapons chest and removing my bow and gorytos from it. “That besotted fool is too in love to ask this of you.”

“And I’m guessing you’re not,” I say as she returns to me and hands the items over.

Tamara catches my chin, tilting my face so I get a good look at her soft, green eyes. “It is because I love you, dear daughter, that I insist you become a dangerous thing. Otherwise, how can you protect yourself or your king? Or your people? Because you will certainly need to.”

At her words, my mind flashes back to bloodied, dying Memnon. I suppress a shudder.

“All right,” I concede. “I’ll train.”

She leans forward and gives my cheek a soft peck, then releases me. “Put the leathers on,” she commands like the queen she was a short time ago. Backing away, she adds, “Bring the panther if you wish for him to join.”

She heads for the doorway of our tent.

“I’m going to make a fool of myself,” I call after her.

“Good,” she says over her shoulder. “A little humility never hurt anyone.”

The sun is bright and the day is hot by the time I’m mounted on horseback, Tamara to one side of me, Ferox to my other. The only respite is the cool breeze that stirs the tall grass.

Puffy, white clouds roll across the heavens above us, and I stare in awe at them as the two of us head out into the steppe. Ahead of us, mounted men and woman ride across the plains with bows and arrows, aiming their projectiles at makeshift targets.

My own weaponry hangs heavy on my body, and I taste bile at the back of my throat as I watch those arrows arc across the sky.

It was easy enough to shoot an arrow when I was simply hunting for game.

But now, after seeing arrows kill humans—after killing humans myself with arrows—the thought of using these weapons again makes my stomach turn.

I killed so many people.

At the time, I felt like I had no choice. Now, however, I do. I can turn around right now and return to camp. I don’t have to be a warrior queen. My hands tighten on my reins.

In the distance, a familiar figure moves into my line of sight, distracting me from my thoughts. There’s no leaking magic and no regalia to indicate who he is, but Memnon never needs those tells. His long torso and broad back are enough—as is his shorn hair and the tattoos that run along his form.

My husband’s tunic is gone, and his sweat-slicked body gleams in the sun. He sits on his steed, one hand lazily holding his bow, his other holding the reins. He rides like he and his steed are a single, fluid being. Even far away he’s hypnotizing to watch.

You shall do to those you love what you have tried to do to my loved ones. And then you will die… I shiver at the memory as I stare at him.

Memnon must feel eyes on him because he turns his horse, then stills when he catches sight of me and his mother.

My queen? he says down our bond. Is that you? Hope and joy surge across our bond.

If I had known you would be bare chested like this , I respond, my levity a little forced, I would’ve come out here much, much sooner.

I feel his smile, and then he’s charging forward on his steed, riding as swiftly as his horse will carry him.

“Well, that didn’t take him long,” Tamara says, smirking a little. She turns her horse around and begins to head back the way we came. Ferox, the traitor, begins to slink away alongside her.

“Wait, you’re not staying?” I call out. My desire to follow both her and my panther rises again.

She laughs. “You don’t need me to learn how to fight. Everyone out on this field is more than capable of teaching you—starting with your husband.”

I stare after her and Ferox, my stomach knotting, even as Memnon closes in on us.

“Oh, one last thing,” Tamara says, pausing.

She glances over at me in such a casual, measured way that I know this moment was premeditated just as many others have been.

“If anyone asks, this was your idea, and you will train like this every day from this moment on,” she commands me. “That is my order to you .”

I feel myself pale.

“Make yourself strong, dear daughter, so that no one can hurt you. Because you may not yet realize this, but every single life here depends on you. Not your husband, you .”

I don’t exactly understand the deeper meaning beneath her words, only that the responsibility she’s placing on me is terrifying.

Now I better grasp why Memnon never spoke of being king.

Because even when he’s not fighting or strategizing, leading or listening to his people’s complaints, there is the constant, relentless pressure to be everything for everyone.

And whether Tamara is aware of my own conflicted feelings, she’s forcing me to consider my role.

She nudges her horse and trots away from me, Ferox trailing behind her, just as Memnon closes in.

“What are you doing out here?” Memnon asks when he reaches me.

“I…” I can still get out of this. An excuse forms on the tip of my tongue. I swallow it down. “I wanted to train with you.” I force out the next bit. “Every day, if possible.”

Memnon’s face breaks out into a smile. “Truly?”

No.

“Yes.” I stop myself from looking over my shoulder at his mother’s retreating form. “Absolutely.”

“All right. Then grab your bow and let’s begin.”

It’s like we’re traveling together all over again. The weapon, the practice, the instructor. Memnon has me standing stationary, bow in hand, an arrow nocked.

“Widen your legs,” he instructs, tapping his booted foot against my inner leg. “And I want your upper body more upright.”

He leans over me and points in the distance to a life-sized straw dummy. “We’re going to aim for that.”

He steps in closer, moving to my back, and I can feel the warm press of his chest against me. He smells of sweat, leather, and horsehair. It shouldn’t be nearly as appealing to me as it is. So much so that my hand slips on the bow and the arrow flies, veering wildly off course.

Memnon gives my backside a slap. “Don’t distract yourself.”

“Then stop rubbing your sweaty chest all over me.”

He pulls me against him. “Straighten your form,” he says again.

Now you’re definitely just doing this to mess with me , I complain.

“You’re going to have a lot worse distractions on the battlefield,” he says, annoyingly unruffled. “Now, grab another arrow and let’s try this again.”

Grumbling under my breath, I pull another one out and nock it.

“Good,” Memnon says, and I hate how, despite how spooked I still am by him, I preen under his praise. “Now sight your target and aim for the chest. That will be the easiest mark to hit.”

I do as he asks, pulling back on the bow string.

“Once you’re ready, shoot.”

I take a deep breath and focus on the target. My power sifts out of me, coiling along the arrow’s shaft.

“Wait,” Memnon says, pressing a hand to my bow and forcing the weapon down. He shakes his head. “No magic for this,” he says.

I glance at him questioningly. During our travels, he hadn’t minded that I used it when I trained.