An itchy, restless feeling stirs beneath my skin. It’s that same feeling I get when I come across a hole in my memory. I feel turned inside out.
There may be things I can no longer remember, but then there are things I do inexplicably know.
Latin is one of them.
Latin and apparently whatever this language is.
I want to linger here and read this spellwork, just to taste this language on my tongue again. It…evokes some dear but unnamable emotion in me, something I’ve only felt in dreams.
But the longer I stand still, the more that blue magic coils around me. I can now sense the presence it belongs to beckoning me closer.
I tear my attention away from the wall and move on.
The narrow hall eventually opens into a chamber as large as my apartment, the entire space already lit by torches.
The room is decorated from top to bottom with more writing and images of fantastical beasts. I see griffins and deer with antlers that morph into the branches of nearby trees. I only spare it all a passing glance.
It’s what lies at the center of the room that grabs my attention.
Nero lounges on a massive block of white marble, the stone intricately carved to resemble a massive tree trunk. The fae who surely carved this went to great lengths to capture the texture of the bark and even what appear to be tree rings on the exposed end.
The trail of magic ends there, disappearing into the carved stone through a seam that runs the length of it.
It’s not simply a block of stone stylized to look like a massive felled tree.
It’s a sarcophagus, and this chamber, a crypt.
And yet…there’s something alive in this place. Something that lies in that stone coffin beneath Nero.
Horror rises in me as I muse on that. Whatever’s inside that coffin is alive enough to call to me.
How long have they been trapped here?
My queen…
Goose bumps pebble along my skin. The voice is so much louder and more intimate here in this room.
At last, you have come…
It is only now that I realize this voice has not been speaking to me in English. I just understood it as such. In fact, I understood it so well that I hadn’t even thought to question what language it was. But I think it’s the same one written on the walls.
That deep-blue magic pushes at my back, interrupting my thoughts and urging me toward the sarcophagus.
A chill sweeps over me as, reluctantly, I return my gaze to that coffin. As though I can’t help myself, I step closer.
Nero stands then and hops off the lid, exposing a smooth rectangular section of marble inscribed with more lines of text, though it’s hard to make out what it says from here. Ropes and ropes of spells cover the entire sarcophagus, the torchlight flickering off the phantom sheen of them.
The sheer quantity of spells looks excessive, but then, I don’t know what sort of being it contains, only that they were able to lure me here while trapped beneath it all.
I lick my dry lips, more of my misgivings bubbling up. I close the last of the distance to the coffin, peering down at the lid.
I run my fingers over the writing inscribed there, feeling the divots where someone painstakingly carved them into the stone. That simple brush of my hand is enough to release the knot of spells. The threads of them split and unravel, and the released magic blows my hair back as it passes through the chamber, making the flames dance wildly in their sconces for a second before resettling.
My fingers trace the inscribed letters, and I form the words on my lips. “Zoginutasa vaksasava vexvava ozakosa pesaguva ekawabiw di’nasava.”
For the love of your gods, beware of me.
Beneath that is a name.
Nu’suwnusavuva Memnon
Memnon the Cursed.
Conflicting emotions roil within me like sand kicked up in the tide. Fear, anticipation, desire.
Empress…
More than anything, I have the overwhelming urge to open the coffin. It goes against good judgment and rational thought, but then, most of today has gone against good judgment and rational thought. Why break from precedent now?
I didn’t come all this way to stop at the last moment.
Decision made, I splay my hand against the cool marble surface.
Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath and focus on my power.
“Spells unbind. Lid be cast aside. Reveal what lies within.”
Magic surges from me, slicing through the last of the spells coating the coffin. The pale orange plumes of it gather around the stone lid. It’s eerily silent as my power lifts the carved slab into the air, then slides it aside. Only once it’s completely clear of the sarcophagus does it fall.
BOOM!
The lid hits the ground, cracking apart. Clumps of dirt trickle from the ceiling and the earth tremors, just a little. I wave my hand at the cloud of dust it kicks into the air.
Once the dust and the magic settle, I peer into the open sarcophagus, my pulse racing.
Resting within it is a man—a stunning, flawless man.
This is no mummy—this isn’t even a fresh corpse. His chest isn’t rising or falling, but his olive-toned skin has a ruddy, sun-kissed appearance. It’s almost as though he were out in the sun hours ago and merely came in here to rest. And yet, if it were that simple, he would have woken up by now.
Even asleep, this stranger is the most mesmerizing person I’ve ever seen. I stare at his sharp high cheekbones, then his subtly hooked nose. His coarse black hair curls around his ears, and his lips…I can already tell those full, curving lips were made for wetting panties and ruining girls’ hearts.
A wicked scar cuts from the corner of his left eye toward his ear before sharply plunging down to the edge of his jaw.
Memnon seems like a badass. A hot, violent badass.
My pounding pulse grows louder and louder as I continue to stare. Something is happening inside me, something that has little to do with this man’s dangerous beauty.
Over my heart my magic gathers, the sensation so sharp, so visceral, I have to place a trembling hand over my chest just to tamp it down.
I move my gaze to Memnon’s broad chest, which is covered in scale armor. Unlike his physical form, the armor he wears appears brittle and tarnished. His leather trousers and boots look even worse off, the clothing rotted away completely in certain places. The tunic he wears beneath the armor is all but gone. Only the sheathed dagger at his hip looks like it’s in decent condition—that and the golden rings he wears.
My love…
My gaze snaps back to Memnon’s face, my breath leaving me at the endearment. I’m sure it wasn’t meant for me, but I’m moved by it all the same.
As I stare at him, I feel the strangest sort of longing, like my heart is shattering and reforming.
I lift a hand, reaching for him. Whatever force drove me here now desperately wants to touch this man—Memnon the Cursed.
Free him, my mind whispers. Rouse him from his deathless sleep.
When my hand is a hair’s breadth from Memnon’s face, I hesitate, remembering myself for a moment. But then I’m sucked under the spell of this place and the magic surrounding us. Tentatively, I press my fingertip to the edge of that scar near his eye.