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That’s all I can think as I stand inside the strange tunnel that seems to be made entirely from smears of light. I glance over my shoulder, scanning the walls for a way out. But there is no obvious doorway or even a ripple that indicates an exit.

What have I done?

I can hear my harsh exhalations. Facing forward once more, I take a step, and the whole world seems to shift around me.

I touch the curved walls at my sides, and my fingers dip into them just a little. Yet the walls seem solid—or if they aren’t, then they’re viscous like honey and just as sure to trap me within their membrane.

Memnon?

I wait for a response. Nothing.

Memnon?

I can sense him, but I cannot hear him—and he might not be able to hear me .

I try to breathe down my rising alarm.

Ley line magic is different than earthly magic. Memnon has told me this before, but I sense it now. Like entering a room where everyone speaks another language. It’s familiar yet still foreign.

I was hoping for something unearthly. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I was hoping to catch a glimpse of what lies beyond death.

But supernatural though these ley lines are, no spirits linger here, and if the afterlife does lie somewhere beyond these walls, it’s been hidden entirely from my view.

I begin to walk anyway, determined to find a way off this magical road. Eislyn was able to do so, and once she gave Memnon the knowledge, he was able to as well.

However, the farther I go, the only thing that changes is the pattern of light around me.

Uncertain and losing my nerve, I back up, then turn around, so that I might return to where I first entered this tunnel. I could look harder for an exit. I know one exists. But as I try to retrace my steps, the light and colors don’t ever shift back to something even vaguely familiar.

I pause again.

I could always try to find that river palace, the one gifted to us by Memnon’s father. I might have a better chance of getting there than trying to return home. The thought of grieving alone in a palace rather than in a tented city where anyone can listen to my cries sounds oddly appealing.

So I walk and walk until exhaustion overtakes me. Then I sit down on the ground, which does not really feel like ground. I sense if I stayed here long enough, I’d sink into the ley line until I was swallowed whole.

My shoulders begin to shake, and I weep from frustration and grief and weariness.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice broken. “All I want is to find my way to that Khuno River Palace. Please. To whatever benevolent gods are listening, take what you want from me, just let me find my way.”

But of course, nothing happens.

Until…something does.

The walls around me shiver and move, and the tears on my face dissolve.

Startled, I rise to my feet and touch my cheek, amazed to find it dry.

That wasn’t my own magic, was it?

I take a few halting steps forward, and then I fall .

I grunt as my body collapses onto a muddy bank.

My fingers dig into the soil just to confirm that it is in fact mud and not whatever substance the ley line was made of. But it smells like loam and feels like it too. The distant calls of birds and the closer buzz of insects distracts me.

Gingerly, I push myself to my feet and take in my surroundings. Thick foliage stretches in almost every direction, though I catch glimpses here and there of murky water beyond a section of trees to my left.

My pleas…worked.

Someone or something unseen listened to me. I touch my cheek once more, remembering what I said. Take what you want from me. And it had. The skin is now dry, my tears eaten up by that otherworldly power. I’m caught for a moment in wonder. They took my tears, and they dropped me off…here.

I glance around. It’s definitely not the steppe. And now that I’m looking, I catch sight of the glimmering wards suspended in the air nearby.

This is the river palace I was trying to get to.

I take a few tentative steps away from where I landed, crossing the mushroom circle I’d been inside a moment ago. I look behind me, taking in the shimmering ley line entrance.

I’ll have to get back on that thing at some point. I try not to cringe at the prospect.

Turning away from it, I wave a hand, allowing my magic to scrub the mud from my body, and then I approach the ward.

I touch the wall of spells just as I had the ley line.

And like the ley line, these spells put up no resistance.

My hand slips through, then the rest of my body, and I head in the same direction I went the last time I was here.

I’m not entirely sure it’s the correct one, not until I catch sight of a strikingly white column through the dense trees, the stone glittering where the light hits it.

I cut through the vegetation, heading up to the palace, my lips parting all over again as I take in the carved marble and gold-and-glass detailing.

I stop only when I get to the bronze doors. More wards drape these, but they seem indifferent to my presence, and I’m able to open them with only a little assistance from my magic.

There are wonders to behold inside this palace—trees of stone and glass, veins of gold that run through the stone.

Silks and linens in colors my eyes have never seen on fabric before.

Tapestries so intricately woven, they look like paintings.

And paintings so expertly crafted, they seem to come alive.

I walk past it all, unmoved, as my grief rushes back in, strangling me in its grip. No art and no wealth can compensate for what I’ve lost.

I don’t stop wandering through the palace until I find a bedroom. Once I do, I drop onto the mattress, and there, I surrender wholly to my pain.

Roxi…

Roxilana…

ROXILANA!

I wake with a gasp.

Sitting up, I blink, the skin near my eyes feeling stiff and crusty. My brows come together when I take in the thin muslin draped above my bed, the fabric caught in the boughs of the carved wooden bedposts, green blown-glass leaves protruding from them.

Where in the gods’ names?—

ROXILANA!

I startle again, my heart pounding fast at Memnon’s panicked voice.

Memnon? I say, reaching down our bond.

Thank the gods. He sounds audibly relieved. Where are you?

I push back my cinnamon-colored hair and look around again. The past day rushes back to me all at once. The miscarriage, the burial, the ley line, and…

Your father’s river palace , I murmur as the heaviness begins to sink in once more.

My father’s what ?

The palace he gave us. I’m there.

There’s a long pause.

How did you get there? Memnon finally asks, wary.

I…used a ley line.

I can sense his shock, followed by his deep confusion.

Instead of voicing any of it, he simply says, I’m coming.

I meander through the palace, my footsteps echoing against the stone floor, looking at the space all over again with new—albeit, sadder —eyes.

The marble trees and the carved flowers.

The gold detailing that seems to make everything glimmer.

Everything mimics the natural world, yet none of it is alive.

Like the first time I visited this place, no one is here. No guards, no servants, no tenants besides me. Yet there is wine waiting in blown-glass bottles and bowls of fresh fruit and even a warm loaf of bread, the yeasty smell of it wafting from the kitchen. But no people.

Only then do I really notice the magic clinging to this place—to the walls and floors, to the bottles of wine, to the fruit and even the yeasty bread.

I wander over to one such bowl of fruit and peer down at it, studying the magic that coats the items. It is lilac in color but so pale I hardly see it, and when I tilt my head, I swear it changes colors to the softest pink.

Strange.

The echoing tread of boots on the polished marble floor distracts me.

I straighten. “Memnon?”

Just as I speak his name, he steps into the doorway to the kitchen, still clad in what he wore this morning.

My gaze scans his body, looking for any signs of injury from his most recent battle.

There’s isn’t so much as a speck of blood on him.

Worry, however, pinches his eyes and tightens his mouth.

The moment he sees me, his entire body seems to relax.

“ Roxi .” Both relief and concern are wrapped into that single word.

Closing the distance between us in a few short strides, he cups my face. I can feel his hands trembling as he kisses me fiercely.

Are you all right? I ask down our bond.

No , he says simply.

I’m about to respond when I hear the click of claws on marble, then feel the brush of fur against my hand. Ferox’s familiar, wet snout nuzzles my hand, and I run my hand over his head.

You brought Ferox with you? Emotion clogs my throat.

“Mmm,” Memnon assents against my lips. He wouldn’t leave my side.

Even once the kiss ends, Memnon doesn’t let me go, instead gathering me into his arms, holding me close—so, so close, I can hear the rapid pound of his heart.

“I couldn’t find you,” he whispers against my hair, burying his face deeper into it, like it will suffocate his worries.

“No one could. Not even Ferox, who was as agitated as I’ve ever seen him.

And when you weren’t at the”—his voice catches—“ grave , and you weren’t answering me…

” Memnon goes quiet, holding me close, his body trembling with his emotion.

I thought I lost you too , he finally admits.

I run my fingers through his wavy hair, grief and guilt twisting up my insides.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, holding him close. “So sorry.”

I hadn’t meant to scare him, especially considering recent events. I simply hadn’t been thinking about him—or anyone else. I’d been so wrapped up in my own pain.

I stroke his skin.

“I killed them all,” he admits, his face still buried in my hair.

My hand stills.

“Killed who?” I finally ask.