We have enemies. We have always had enemies. Never more so than now. Memnon has always made sure to be one step ahead of them, but I don’t believe he anticipated this.
As I finish pulling on my boots, there’s a soft rapping near the portiere, the curtained doorway to my room.
“Roxilana!” a masculine voice whispers urgently. It takes me a moment to recognize that it belongs to Zosines, Memnon’s closest and fiercest blood brother. Another insistent rap. “Roxilana! Wake up!”
I’m crossing the room to draw back the curtains when Ferox growls softly. I go still.
Very slowly, I glance at my panther, feeling that disquiet in my stomach. I can see little beyond my familiar’s general form, but as I stare at him, I can just make out that Ferox’s eyes are fixed on the portiere.
I follow his gaze. The wards that cling to the curtained doorway like cobwebs now shine faintly in the darkness, as though they’ve been activated. Zosines must be trying to get in—and he cannot. That threshold is warded against malevolent intent.
Chills skitter down my spine.
I glance back down at Ferox, my body still steeped in unease.
“Roxilana!” Zosines calls out again. His voice is louder, more panicked and insistent.
My familiar lets out another low growl, then drops soundlessly to the floor, prowling forward like he’s homing in on a kill, his belly low to the ground. I slip down our bond and into Ferox’s head, curious about what is alarming him.
I’m not even fully seated in his mind when I first scent blood. So much blood. The acrid tang of it is ripe enough to taste.
“Roxilana!” Zosines pleads. “We’re about to be under attack! We need to get you out now!”
I touch the closed curtains between us lightly, imagining the tall warrior in my mind’s eye. Zosines and Memnon have been fierce friends since they were children; the two are bound by a blood oath and many, many battles. My mate trusts him with his life.
But intuition and observation are telling me something else altogether.
“Asphyxiate,” I whisper.
I don’t see my magic wind around Zosines’s throat, but I hear his surprised chokes and then the clatter of something heavy, followed by the thump of his body hitting the floor. Only then, once he’s sufficiently distracted, do I dare push aside the curtained partition.
On the other side of it, Zosines claws at his throat, trying uselessly to pry away my power. Those who don’t wield magic cannot stop it. Next to him lies a wicked-looking dagger, one he must’ve been holding when he called for me.
Wordlessly, I command my magic to draw the blade to me. The weapon rattles against the ground for a moment before it streaks across the space and into my hand.
Stepping up to Zosines, I kneel next to him and indolently press the blade to his throat.
His dark eyes glare up at me.
“What are you doing?” he rasps.
I honestly don’t have the faintest clue, but panic still laces my blood, and my intuition has never steered me wrong.
I command more of my power to wrap around him, tethering him in place. The last thing I want is for Zosines to get away now that I have him in a vulnerable position.
“Where is my husband?” I demand as Ferox comes to my side, his gaze unerringly trained on the warrior.
“Can’t breathe.” Zosines’s eyes are starting to bulge.
I ease up on the spell. “Where?” I press.
Zosines gasps in a few lungfuls of air. “Safe,” he hisses out. “But you are not. The palace is about to be breached, my queen. There is not much time. We need to go.”
Distress is contagious, and I want to agree, I do.
The faint scent of blood catches in my nostrils, and I remember all over again how even sequestered in our room, Ferox could smell the iron tang of it. Zosines said the palace was about to be breached, but violence has already happened here.
My gaze roves over him, and I notice then the fresh speckles of blood on his clothes. Violence he must’ve partaken in.
I lift my eyes. The rest of the hallway is eerily silent, save for the soft hiss of torches in their sconces. In the distance, I can hear something else. Voices?
Refocusing on Zosines, I gather my magic and force it down his throat. “Only the truth shall cross your lips,” I incant.
Zosines jerks and fidgets against the magic holding him in place. He’s seen enough of my power to fear it.
“What is happening?” I demand. As I ask it, I retract my magic completely from his throat.
He presses his lips together.
“Speak.” My magic bears down on him. “Now.”
“A coup, you cunt,” he bites out.
My blood runs cold. A coup.
“Where is Memnon?” The question is more pressing than ever, now that I know there’s a price on his head.
Zosines laughs. “Wherever the fuck that crazy bitch Eislyn took him.”
Eislyn…took him? During a coup? To hide him? He wouldn’t have allowed that. Not when his closest family and friends are here in the palace under attack. But then again, I haven’t heard from him since I woke.
“Is he alive?” I ask.
Zosines snickers, and I focus on that callous reaction. “I doubt for long.”
I can’t breathe. Not when I’m drowning in panic.
Later. I can be sad later. He’s apparently alive for now. With Eislyn. Probably in that land beyond the land.
My fingers twitch a little as I fight the urge to hunt my soul mate down.
“Why is this happening?” I demand.
“The Romans held this territory for a century before Memnon took it. They want it back.”
There are enough clues sprinkled about. “Who made a deal with them?”
Zosines’s throat works as he fights against the words. He pulls futilely against the magic binding him in place.
“Memnon’s plans would’ve killed us all. I wanted what was best for our people.
“Who did the Romans make an offer to?” I press. Someone was promised something.
“Me.” The word rips from his throat. “They came to me. Eislyn brokered the deal.”
I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse about the situation, but I do. Eislyn turned on Memnon as well. Unbelievable. I always assumed it was me she’d fuck over.
In the background, I can hear more voices. They sound louder, bolder. Whatever precious time I have, it’s slipping through my fingers.
“Tell me the rest of the plot.”
Zosines laughs weakly. “You cannot hope to outmaneuver it.”
I pull the warrior’s dagger away from his throat. There’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, maybe a little victory, as though the futility of my situation is finally sinking in.
I study him, meeting those dark, devious eyes. Now I’m not mistaken—triumph does flicker in them. Unfortunately for him, he cannot see the thick plumes of my magic wrapping around us.
Adjusting my grip on his dagger, I shove the blade into his side.
He begins to scream, but it does him little good. My power swallows up the sound.
“Stop fucking with me, and tell me the full plot,” I command, “and maybe I’ll heal this wound.”
He gasps, but an unholy excitement dances in his eyes. “You’ll pay for that later, my queen,” he vows, spitting out my title like it’s an oath.
I twist the knife, and Zosines screams between clenched teeth.
“Answer me.”
“Half of Memnon’s top warriors were in on it. Itaxes, Rakas, Tasios, Palakos, Thiabo, Dzoure—and more,” he gasps out. “You were both to be drugged at dinner. Once you were sedated, the plan was for Eislyn to take Memnon away—she had very specific plans for him—and you were to come with me. But you left dinner early, so here we are. There are five hundred Roman soldiers and mercenaries ready to descend on the palace—if they haven’t already. Another thousand mercenaries, mainly Cimmerians, are at the ready, should anything not go smoothly.”