The witch cries out, struggling now against both me and the earth. But her hands are pinned, and the more she struggles, the deeper she sinks into the earth.
I dig my heel into her throat. “Why were you attacking my familiar?”
She chokes out a scream, fighting against me.
“Why?” I press.
When she says nothing again, I funnel my magic into the earth, letting a little more of it swallow her up.
The witch makes a strangled noise before gasping out, “I…can’t…talk about it.”
I frown down at her. Lauren, the instructor, said something similar when Memnon questioned her.
“She wants you,” she adds, which is about the least helpful piece of information she could give me. I already know this—people are leaving me threatening notes and attacking my familiar. What I want to know is—
“Who?”
“Lia,” she finally chokes out.
CHAPTER 23
Lia. I remember that name. It’s the same woman who’s been coordinating the spell circles and forcibly binding witches.
A burst of magic hisses through the air. The moment it hits the ground, it explodes, throwing me off the witch and into a nearby tree trunk. I grunt as all my cursed wounds scream.
Another spell hits me, this one carving open my chest. I gasp as blood spills from me.
“Fuck you.” The witch who strides up to me is petite, with cropped, curly black hair.
“Yasmin?” I say softly.
Only last night, we’d been drinking and chatting together. I considered her a friend. And last I saw of her, she had made plans to hunt down the fae rider.
I can’t reconcile that woman with this one, who helped torture an animal.
“Help!” the half-buried witch calls out.
While I bleed out, Yasmin turns from me and pulls the other witch from the ground.
I begin to stand, my magic gathering. Yasmin glares at me as she helps the other witch to her feet, then lobs another curse at me. I don’t dodge quick enough, and the spell hits me in the forehead, knocking me out.
My queen. My queen, you must wake.
I rouse at the panic-laced notes of Memnon’s voice.
I blink, and Memnon’s dark form takes shape in front of me. I stare at him for a moment, searching his gaze. Pain muddles my thoughts. I’m cold. Tired.
His hands cup my cheeks, and his eyes glow.
I shiver. The chilly night feels like it’s burrowed itself in my bones.
Abruptly, the air around me warms, and I’m certain Memnon is responsible for it. Beneath his palms, magic seeps into me, drifting through my body and driving out the cold. As it moves through me, it stitches together torn flesh.
I look dazedly around.
Nero. Where’s Nero?
He’s alive, my queen, Memnon says. There is heartbreak in those burning eyes. But you are battle-battered. He says this lightly, using the same tone he takes with badly wounded soldiers.
I’m fine, I insist, trying to get up. Only now that adrenaline and outrage aren’t fueling me, my body has given out almost entirely.
Memnon’s thumb strokes my cheek from where he cups it. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Too much. You need to rest.
I can’t. My eyes move to the darkened forest where the witches fled. Where Yasmin—
His gaze follows mine.
Memnon turns back to me. “Where are they?” His voice carries a dark, lethal note to it.
The witches, he means.
“They ran,” I say hoarsely.
“I’ll find them,” he says menacingly. I remember that menace in all its horrific glory. The fields of dead soldiers, the blood he sometimes wore like a second skin.
Memnon rises, the shadows catching on that scar of his. But it’s his eyes that are the most sinister. They still glow like dying embers, and though I know it’s only his magic that makes his irises smolder like that, the effect is downright villainous.
“Stay here,” he says. With that, he turns and disappears into the Everwoods.
For several seconds, all I hear are my own ragged breaths. My eyes scan the darkness until I see the slumped form of Nero.
I make a small sound, forcing myself up. Every muscle protests.
I told you not to move, Memnon chastises down our bond. He must’ve sensed my pain.
I’m the one who gets to be bossy, I say, dragging myself to my familiar.
I let out a shaky sob when I see the state he’s in. Despite my earlier magic, my panther’s wounds are still open and still sluggishly bleeding. I can sense oily magic churning inside him. Whatever curses they placed on him, they haven’t evaporated away yet.
Memnon! I all but cry out down our bond. Come back. I…I think I’m losing Nero.
“Bind the flesh. Mend what has been torn and broken. Heal the wounds within. Make Nero whole once more.” I incant the spell for the third time since I fell to my familiar’s side, pouring my heart and what’s left of my magic into it. The pale orange plumes of my power sink into his body just as they have the last two times.
His wounds heal for a few moments before my spell gets no further. I want to scream, but the sound keeps getting trapped beneath this knot of fear in my throat.
The forest has gone unnervingly quiet. It’s just me and my helpless grief. I’m losing my familiar, and there’s nothing I can do.
I pet Nero softly, my touch light. “Though the pain exists, you shall no longer feel it,” I whisper.
My panther nudges my hand, his body relaxing just a touch. I begin to sob then, bowing my head over him.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, Nero. I never meant for this to happen.” I should’ve been more cautious with him. It’s easy enough for me to be brave in the face of threats, but my familiar is another matter altogether. He’s a true weakness of mine, and the witches who attacked him know that.
Yasmin knows that. I cry a little harder, even as my vision darkens at the edges and a shiver racks my body.
Memnon’s strong, warm hand falls to my shoulder. “Save your tears, little witch. You are not losing anyone tonight.”
I glance up at him, my heart giving a hopeful stutter, as the sorcerer scoops up an unconscious Nero and settles the big cat over his shoulder.
I’m about to stand when Memnon bends down and scoops me up in his other arm.
“If you think I’m going to let you walk in the state you’re in, you better start revisiting those old memories of ours,” he says, striding into the forest.
I lean my head tiredly on his shoulder, not bothering to fight him or revisit those old memories.
Thank you for coming, I say down our bond. Distantly I’m aware that I must be in bad shape to be, of all things, thanking Memnon.
Memnon’s mood darkens. I got here too late.
Maybe for the battle, I say, but not for me and Nero.
My gaze drifts to my panther’s dark form. At least I hope so.
Will he be okay? I ask. I’m holding my breath, terrified of Memnon’s answer.
The sorcerer glances down at me, his eyes no longer glowing. “Ferox didn’t survive the Roman arena and the many battles on the steppe only to be cut down by a few hasty curses. He has your magic running through his veins, sustaining him when his own body cannot. He will be okay, little witch. I swear it.”