The door to my room hangs slightly ajar—no one bothered to fully close it last night after I was taken away. My heart twists at that.
I push it open and step inside. The space is still covered with sticky notes, and my newest journal sits wide open on my desk. It’s a time capsule of my life before my memory was restored. This version of me—the one who meticulously crafted her life to work with her memory loss—I feel like I lost her when I gained these memories.
And even though there’s a lightness to me where the curse once bore down, I feel a bit like a ship without an anchor, forced to drift about aimlessly.
Nero prowls over to my bed, then hops on it, completely uncaring that I’m having a moment.
He stretches out his forelegs, then sprawls out on his side, closing his eyes.
“Clearly, you’re super torn up about last night,” I mutter, dropping the duffel bag with my notebooks. A few of the journals spill out.
I move to my desk, looking over the open page of my newest notebook. I run my fingers over one of the last messages I left myself:
Do not trust Memnon the Cursed.
I can still remember the anger and the panic I felt in the moment. Strange to be on this side of it. My eyes slip away from the warning to a sticky note placed in the center of the page. I smooth a hand over it before I realize the penmanship isn’t my own.
I pull the sticky note off the paper.
You might’ve forgotten what happened at the spell circle, but we have not.
I drop the note on my keyboard, staring at it before looking first to my window, then to my previously open door. The wards I made to keep out intruders are still in place, the spidery threads of them softly glinting in the air.
Whoever wrote this got past those wards. A chill runs down my spine. How? Someone who meant me ill shouldn’t have been able to, not without ripping the spells down.
I glance back at the ominous message. Whoever left this is aware of my memory loss but not that the magic causing it was lifted.
And they won’t learn of this, I decide. I will keep that revelation as quiet as I can.
Something ancient and buried stirs within me. Enemies ended me once, long ago. I didn’t endure that fate to be played once more.
I pull out my chair and sit down, opening my new notebook to a fresh page. I might no longer need this journal to remember my tasks, but there are other things it can be useful for.
Grabbing a pen, I jot down the disturbing events that have happened on campus since the school year began:
Murdered witches
Monthly spell circle with illegal binding spells
I’ve been connected to both of these events. Until now, I was too busy trying to stay one step ahead of the shitstorm to actually address either of them. But now I can. I glance at the sticky note again.
I must.
Returning my attention to the notebook, I tap my pen against the paper. Many of the murdered witches attended Henbane Coven.
There are so many questions I have about these murders, starting with Memnon’s involvement, but before I can get too distracted by that, I force myself to look at the other incident listed. The spell circle happens every new moon, and if my experience was typical, then these all center around forcibly binding an unwilling supernatural—in my case, it was a shifter—to the high priestess running the circle.
According to the sticky note, she and the other witches haven’t forgotten that I fucked their spell to shit, and unfortunately for me, I don’t know who those witches are. They’d all worn masks. But I do know they can get past my wards and into my room.
A bit of that old, iron-fisted spirit of mine rises in me again.
If I want to live in peace, I’m going to have to deal with these enemy witches before they deal with me. Removing whatever threat they pose to me is more important than even my studies.
My pen moves to write the information down, and only halfway through scribbling my plans out do I realize it’s unneeded. I won’t forget.
I will, however, need help.
I tap the top of my pen against the paper.
In the past, Memnon was just as keen to discover these witches as I was. I don’t think his interest had anything to do with revenge. Even then in the depths of his anger, I believe he still sought to protect me. I’m nearly positive he would be willing to get his hands dirty on my behalf once more if I asked.
But he might simply use this request as leverage to get something else out of me. The thought leaves me cold.
No, that will not happen. I won’t let it.
My mind strays back to the last of my ancient memories, the truly painful ones, and I press my lips together.
I have leverage of my own.
Memnon, I reach out down our bond.
I feel warmth from his end of the magical cord. I’m sure he thinks this is me caving to his wishes.
Before he has a chance to speak, I say, Meet me in the Slain Maiden’s Meadow in an hour. I… I close my eyes, forcing the next part out. I need your help.
CHAPTER 5
The ache in my bones is getting worse.
Earlier, I assumed it was exhaustion and the aftereffects of overdrawing my power. I assumed the spells Memnon cast to remove my pain wore off. I assumed, I assumed, I assumed.
But I was wrong.
This is what Memnon had been hinting at when he wanted me to come to him.
I’m starting to feel the effects of the unbreakable oath.
I blow out a breath as I weave my way between the massive evergreen trees, dread gathering in my stomach. I knew there were consequences to not upholding a magical oath. I didn’t realize they made you feel like shit.
I don’t know how much longer I will be able to ignore the vow before I end up begging the sorcerer to marry me, just to ease the pain.
Between the boughs of the trees ahead of me, I catch sight of Slain Maiden’s Meadow. The last time I came here, I wasn’t yet a student. The field looks lovelier now, in the dying light, the sunset painting the dead grass golden.
And there, in the middle of the field, my soul mate waits, his back to me.
Memnon is the sound of straining leather. He’s the smell of horse-sweat, grass, and man. He’s sun-warmed skin and wind-tousled hair. He’s a part of me just as much as Roxilana is, and no amount of magic or anger can change that.
As though sensing my gaze on him, he turns, his eyes lighting when they meet mine.
Memnon kisses me fiercely as he sinks into me. There’s only me, him, the endless grasslands around us, and the heavens above us.
“I am yours forever,” he breathes against my lips. He pulls away to search my gaze, his features bathed in the soft orange glow from my magic. “Forever.”
Can he feel it? The past pressing on us like it has a presence of its own? Does it close up his throat like it does mine? Or am I the only one drowning in these memories?
“Little witch,” he says, watching me as I cross the last of the distance between us. “You beckoned.”
A shiver courses down my back at the low, honeyed sound of his voice.
“We need to talk,” I say, switching to Sarmatian. Out here in these woods, we have more seclusion than my residence hall, but anyone could be listening.
I let my magic pour out of me. The pale orange glow wraps around us like a blanket, forming a magical barrier to block out sound. I don’t incant the spell, but it’s there nonetheless, woven into my magic through my intent alone.