Page 7

I choke on a cry as a horrible pain startles me from sleep. It twists my gut, carving me open from the inside out.

I reach for my abdomen, certain my hands will come away bloody. Certain my insides are spilling out.

My hand closes over my dry linen tunic. No blood, no spilling guts, and yet—I groan from the pain, curling in on myself. My eyes search the darkness, looking for an intruder—or worse, Livia —my sleep-clogged mind unsure whether this agony is real or imagined.

It takes several ragged breaths for me to realize this pain is not my own.

Gods—

Memnon!

He doesn’t respond.

Memnon!

Terror courses through me, the metallic tang of it coating the back of my throat.

New, lacerating pain blooms on my face, near my left eye. My hand moves from my stomach to cup the area above my cheekbone, and I put pressure on a wound that doesn’t exist.

Not on me at least.

Please, please, Memnon, answer me , I beg.

Roxi? he says, his voice dazed and sluggish. Wha ? —

His voice morphs into a bellowed cry as the pain moves, dragging across his face, all the way to his ear.

I feel the echo of it, so sharp that bile rises.

It feels as though it’s carving into the very bones of my face, and I bite my lower lip until it bleeds, just to keep from screaming or retching.

It’s all I can do to breathe through the pain—pain that must be a shadow of Memnon’s.

What is going on? I force out the words.

Battle…struck down , he gasps out. Dacian king above me trying to…my face…

Memnon begins to scream again as the pain drags down his face to his jawline. All of this is in addition to that deep, gaping ache in his abdomen.

Over his pain, my own panic surges, stirring the magic in my veins.

Memnon! I am frantic, helpless.

I think that maybe my beloved friend is—is dying .

My breath comes faster and faster at the prospect of his life ending, of my mind being my own once more. No more sporadic commentary, no more chats, no more warmth and kindness from the only person in the world who I care about—and who cares about me.

Gods, but I cannot lose him.

I cannot.

I won’t .

Since my magic Awoke, I’ve used it sparingly. I have a lot of fear of it and little control over it. But now, instinct guides me.

At my beckoning, my power thickens in my veins, burgeoning within me until it strains against my skin, eager to be unleashed.

You are the only thing that matters to me in this godsforsaken world.

The confession burns coming out, but it doesn’t matter.

There is iron in my soul. I won’t let you die, Memnon.

Not today. I’ve never spoken like this—not to another living soul—but I can still hear his screams, and rational thought has fled my mind.

Fear and determination crowd out everything else in me.

I gather my magic and lead it to that point beneath my sternum. If there were any place where Memnon’s essence meets my own, it would be right here, so very close to where my heart lies trapped within the cage of my bones.

I focus on that point of connection and then I flood it with my power.

Use my magic, Memnon , I command, shoving it out to him the same way I do my thoughts. It is yours.

From the other end of my connection, I feel a dull tug on my magic that must be Memnon.

No sooner than he has drawn on it, however, than I hear Memnon’s roar ringing in my mind. Light bursts behind my eyes, and then dimly, I sense another’s magic mingling with my own.

Memnon’s, I realize. Somehow, in his moment of need, his magic Awoke, just as mine had.

Roxilana, your power , he says wondrously, it brought mine forth!

I press the back of my hand to my mouth to smother my relieved sob. Tears begin to spill down my cheeks.

Through our bond, I sense Memnon’s strength returning, even as I continue funneling my magic to him. The phantom pains in my abdomen fade away, though the throb in my face only dulls a little. He must…he must be healing it all.

I exhale, relieved he intuitively knows how to do such a thing.

The enemy king…is no more, he says.

My stomach twists at the admission, and I hear what Memnon doesn’t say—that he was the one who killed him.

I stay as close to his mind as I can even after he mends himself, listening in on Memnon’s stray thoughts as he gathers his newfound power and continues to fight.

The sky outside my window has just started to lighten when Memnon says, little witch…it’s over. His voice is threaded with exhaustion. My face still aches ever so slightly; it’s the only indication that Memnon is still injured there.

After a moment, he adds, If it were not for your magic, I would be dead.

I blink away the tears that want to slip free. I hadn’t allowed myself to truly believe he was safe, not until now.

Thank you, for saving my life several times over , he says with quiet reverence.

I tuck a long lock of hair behind my ear.

So long as I am alive, you will never die , I vow. I won’t lose Memnon like I did my family.

At my words, I feel something from him. It’s stronger than warmth and deeper than fondness. There’s a sweetness to it, like honey, and it comes on with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

Roxilana… Memnon says. His voice grows hoarse. There are things on my mind that I have wanted to confess for a long time. Things ? —

Abruptly, he stops speaking.

Memnon? I call out across our connection. Is everything okay?

It’s quiet for a bit longer.

He curses to himself. I’m sorry , he says. I cannot talk now. There is much to be done, and I— Again, he stops himself, then seems to pick his words carefully. Our enemies sought to obliterate my people. We have to gather and discuss a possible counterattack.

Another battle? The thought makes my fear climb once more. I didn’t think I had any energy left to be afraid, but apparently, when it comes to Memnon, I do.

Are you worried for me? he says, sensing my emotions. I swear there’s a smile in his voice.

Of course I’m worried , I say. I woke to you dying.

That was before I had magic. Now, however…

Something trickles into me from the center of my chest.

I gasp. Memnon’s magic. It feels like a summer storm rolling through me—simultaneously warm and refreshingly cool.

My stomach dips at the sensation. Up until now, only Memnon’s thoughts could enter me.

Now, however, I experience his magic as though it were my own. I touch my sternum, marveling at it.

Little witch, your power Awoke mine , Memnon says wondrously, his words punctuated by the continued caress of his magic. We both have magic— Another interruption comes. Then, I’m sorry , he repeats. I have to go.

Wait! I call out, uneager to let him go.

Memnon pauses, waiting for me.

What color is your magic? I ask.

I feel his exhausted grin. Blue.