Chapter 29
“Brave, foolish woman…” The words are spoken in Sarmatian with such familiar sweetness.
My eyes flutter open, and my throat works as I stare up at Memnon, who cradles me in his arms and smooths my hair back, his eyes flickering.
“There you are,” he says affectionately. “Fighting our immortal enemy. Drinking her wine,” he emphasizes, giving me a look.
My cheeks heat. Now that Eislyn is gone, I feel sheepish to have done something so brazen, especially when I know better. She is capable of atrocious things. But at the very least, the distracting tingling in my veins has settled.
I press my hand over his, trapping it against my face, even as a little of my pale orange magic seeps out, shimmering as it drifts past my eyes. “What happened?” I ask dazedly.
“Judging by the state you’re in, I imagine you fought her,” Memnon says.
My eyes move over my soul mate’s face, and I notice a smudge of blood over his eyebrow.
I draw in a sharp breath. “You’re hurt,” I say, alarmed.
I reach for his wound. As I move, however, I feel something sticky tug at the back of my head.
“I’m not hurt,” Memnon says as I reach back to touch my hair. “You are.”
My fingers come away red. And now I very, very dimly sense Memnon’s anger, and again I see his power flicker, then linger in his eyes for several seconds before snuffing out again.
“She has terrorized us for the last time,” Memnon says, iron in his voice.
“I had her right here.” My gaze drifts a little as I speak. “I could’ve ended her, but I—”
My words fail me entirely when I see Nero lying in a pool of his own blood on the ground next to me.
A choked cry leaves my lips as I lunge for him.
“Wait—wait,” Memnon says gently, catching me. “I’ve patched him up. He’s fine, just sleeping off his blood loss.”
I frown, staring at my familiar, my body trembling. I had meant to take him away from Henbane, where it wasn’t safe for him. I’d been too slow, and once again, my fearsome, loyal panther paid for it.
I reach out and run a hand over his fur, blinking back tears as I stack my mistakes up in my mind.
“She let me live,” I say, more to myself than Memnon.
That’s the strangest part of all of this. Eislyn, who had attempted twice to kill me in the deep past and who had all but confirmed she sent demons after me and my coven sisters, decided not to kill me when I lay here unconscious. I don’t believe she did so out of the goodness of her heart.
I would kill you now if I wouldn’t so relish a better death for you, she’d said.
I cannot fathom what horrors she’s plotting for me.
“What happened?” Memnon asks.
My gaze returns to my soul mate’s. “So much,” I say softly.
I take his hand and place it against my temple.
Again, the glow in his eyes flickers. “I think it would be best if you read my mind.” Then he could see Eislyn’s face.
Hear her words. Maybe then he could get a true taste of the monster who lurked at his family’s side for so long.
Above me, Memnon swallows, and I know how much he disagrees with prying into my mind.
But he must have the same thoughts I do when it comes to Eislyn because he eventually nods and settles me into his lap so he can press both hands to my temples.
My beautiful, stormy husband stares down at me, a lock of his dark hair slipping over an eye. Reaching up I tuck it behind his ear, my fingers lingering on his skin.
“Ziwatunutapsa vak mi’tavkasavak ozkos izakgap,” I say.
I bare my memories for you to see.
He flexes his fingers against my skin and gives a terse nod. At the edges of my vision I see the threads of his magic slither through the air, then slip between my lips and up my nostrils. His magic sinks into my flesh.
Above me Memnon pauses, then frowns.
More of his power pulses from his palms and enters through my lips and nose.
Moments go by, and Memnon’s frown deepens.
Finally, his hands slide away from me. “I couldn’t see much.”
My brows draw together. “What do you mean?”
“I saw a few brief glimpses of Eislyn and heard some of the words you exchanged with her, but nothing more.”
My brows come together. I don’t think I willfully blocked any memories from him, but I didn’t see the flash of images either that often accompanies his probes into my mind.
“That’s not the only thing,” Memnon says softly. “Touch the back of your head again, little witch.”
I stare at him for a few seconds, unsure where he’s going with this.
Finally, I reach behind me and softly prod my skull, wincing a little as I feel the blood and the lingering tenderness.
“It took a considerable amount of my power to heal your wound even that much—as well as Nero’s.”
My breath catches, and I search his features. “That’s not the worst of it,” Memnon adds. He rubs a hand over his heart, as though it aches. “Est amage, there is something wrong with our bond.”