Memnon reaches out, stroking my power like it’s a cat. “I’m listening,” he says, his eyes flicking from my magic to me.
“When the curse was lifted, did you see into my past?” I ask.
The sorcerer’s brow furrows. Whatever he thought I was going to say, this isn’t it.
“I saw your recovered memories from this life,” he responds slowly. “But once the curse moved to your first life and you started to weep, I lost the connection.”
He’d been wiping away my tears and reassuring me I was okay. I’d almost forgotten those details.
“So you didn’t see how that life ended,” I say, just to be sure.
His gaze moves between my eyes and my mouth. “No, I didn’t.”
“What do you think happened?” I ask.
Memnon’s expression grows grim. “I haven’t the faintest clue. That is what I still wish to know. Why you cursed me to endless sleep and what you did after I was gone.”
I can hear other, more personal questions that he won’t voice but still echo down our bond.
Did you regret burying me alive? Did you betray me for another? Did you fall in love with someone else? Were you happy?
“How did I betray you?” I prod him. “Tell me exactly the steps you believe I took to entomb you.”
Memnon’s eyes narrow as he looks at me, a muscle in his cheek jumping. “Selene, if this is some sort of trick—”
“Oh, there’s a trick involved, but it wasn’t made by my hand.”
His brows rise, caught off guard by my response.
“Tell me,” I insist. “How did I fuck you over? I want to know every detail you believe I carried out to place you in that sarcophagus.”
The sorcerer’s jaw tightens with indignation. “This is my life you ruined—”
“No,” I say viciously. “It is my life that you ruined. Two thousand years ago along the banks of the Amazon River, I died to keep you safe from a horrible fate! There was no grand plan. There was no life after you. I protected you, and what did you do when you woke? You blamed me. You attacked me. You betrayed me and everything we once were with your vengeance.”
Memnon looks as though I’ve struck him.
Goddess, but my bones ache, and I’m breathing heavily. All around us, my magic twists and writhes with my churning emotions.
“What?” Memnon finally says, his voice hushed.
“You wish to understand the past and my motives better?” I grab his hands and place them on either side of my head. “See them for yourself.”
Memnon’s hands flex against my skin, wisps of his magic curling out from beneath his palms as though he can’t quite contain his emotions. Down our bond, I feel the first tendrils of his rising horror.
I don’t think he wants to believe me, nor do I think he wants to read my mind. Not now that he knows he might not like what he finds.
“Do it,” I insist, shaking his hands a little from where I still grip them. My eyes are pricking, and I didn’t mean to get worked up over this. I just wanted his help, but this is how I get it without owing him anything. This is how the sorcerer understands that he owes me. The truth of our past—and our first demise—makes everything he’s done to me so much worse.
Memnon works his jaw, his scar tugging a little at the action. His smoky amber eyes hold my gaze for several seconds.
Finally, he bows his head, then nods, his fingers flexing against me again. “All right, Empress. As you wish.” He adjusts his hold. “Repeat after me,” he says. “Pes datapzaka kubiwapsasava vi’savva ziwatunutasa vak mi’tavekasavak ozakos detgap.”
I bare the last memories of my first life for you to see.
I recite the incantation, gripping his hands tightly, my heart beating fast as I prepare to relive this particular memory.
Memnon’s magic rushes from his hands, the blue tendrils of it slipping into my mouth and up my nostrils. I arch my back as it moves to my head, my hands tightening against his.
And then that final, fateful day of my last life unfolds right before my eyes.
CHAPTER 659 AD, BOSPORUS, CRIMEA
ROXILANA
Roxi…
My eyes snap open, and I stare at the dark ceiling of the palace bedroom, Memnon’s voice ringing in my ears. A deep, inexplicable sense of dread has lodged itself in my marrow. Was it a bad dream that I dragged with me from sleep? Something else?
I take several shallow breaths, trying to get my bearings, then I reach for Memnon. The other side of the bed, where my soul mate should be, is empty.
Memnon? I call down our bond.
All that comes back to me is silence.
He had woken me, I’m sure of it, so where is he?
“Memnon?” I call out softly, thinking maybe he’s somewhere in this dark room. But the space feels empty, and no one answers me back.
Did he stay up late to strategize future battles with his blood brothers and other high ranking officials? It wouldn’t be the first time.
But if he were awake, he would answer me. He doesn’t.
I try again.
Memnon?
No response.
My heart begins to gallop, and the unsettled feeling I woke with amplifies.
Perhaps my husband fell asleep somewhere else. He doesn’t usually do that, but it’s entirely plausible. He’s been overworking and undersleeping, his mind consumed with war.
At the foot of the bed, Ferox, my familiar, lifts his dark head, his form merely a deeper shadow among the rest. My anxiety must be loud if it’s roused him from sleep. I want to tell my panther to be at ease, but I cannot—not when I’m still trying to figure out what has set me on edge.
Out the palace window, I listen to the call of a starling as I steady my breath. Even the birdcall pricks at my skin. Damn this relentless unease.
Throwing my sheet off, I move to the window and rest my hands on the stone sill, drawing in a deep breath of the briny air. I gaze down at the royal harbor and the moonlit shores of the Black Sea.
Another starling call joins the first. If I had woken up less agitated or had I not woken up at all, I would’ve easily missed it.
Starlings come in the winter, not the apex of summer, and they come in swarms of millions, not in lonely pairs.
The groan and creak of wood has me glancing down at what I can see of the vessels moored at our docks.
I frown as my unease ratchets up.
Were those ships there earlier today? It’s too dark to be sure.
I strain my eyes in the darkness, making out a few figures on those docks. The longer I stare, the more figures amass, all of them silent as the grave.
Something’s wrong.
Deeply, deeply wrong.
Memnon? Why won’t you answer? I plead, more to myself than to him.
Does he know something is afoot? Could something have happened to him?
No. I refuse to believe that. I sense him on the other side of my bond, even if his end of it is subdued. He lives still.
Moving away from the window, I pad to the chest at the foot of my bed. I open it, and by feel alone, I grab a shirt and breeches. I don’t dare illuminate the room as I dress in case my worst fears have come to pass.