Chapter 49
We do find out soon enough.
We’ve barely made it outside, the fallen fae guards still scattered about us, when we see smoke and an orange haze discoloring the sky above the Flora Palace.
That’s not the only thing the night air carries our way. The distant sounds of screams and the clashing of metal echo even out here, miles from the palace.
“She’s already crossed over,” Memnon says darkly, violence in his gaze, but a small, cruel smile tugs at the corner of his lips. I can tell he’s already savoring the battle ahead, the one that’s been brewing for two millennia.
His hair is beginning to stir, but he keeps a tight, tight leash on his emotions.
“What do you know of this fairy’s plans?” the Bargainer asks from where he stands near us and Nero.
“Eislyn was to have me come here, burn the scroll that contains her banishment, alter the minds of the guards to fit her purposes, and reunite with her in the palace, where I was to kill or manipulate the minds of her enemies until the coup was successful.”
Memnon’s face turns grave. “She has an army,” he continues. “I don’t know how many individuals strong it is, but she was mobilizing them throughout the night, and I know that at least some have shown up.”
More than just some, if the smoke in the air is any indication.
“She seems to have been preparing a sudden, surprise attack for a long time—even longer than my continued existence,” Memnon says. “But I think her hastiness will cost her numbers and strategy.”
The Bargainer nods. “Can you get close to her?”
Memnon nods. “She will expect me to come to her.”
“Could you manipulate her mind?” the fairy continues.
“My power worked on all the fae I’ve encountered,” Memnon says, “so…yes, I think I could.”
A smile spreads across his face at the prospect, and the sight is downright villainous. That is the look that makes soldiers quake and guards abandon their posts. The warlord is peering through.
My mind, however, is stuck on the fact that Memnon doesn’t seem to know he’s been given lilac wine. Eislyn must’ve never told him.
Goddess, he and I are going to have one hell of a chat about tonight once this all is over.
Memnon’s eyes move to mine, and I’m pulled back into the present moment.
Even without hearing his thoughts down our connection, I know what my husband is thinking. It’s the Bargainer, however, who voices it.
“Sugar,” he says, “you’re going to have to linger back a ways. If Eislyn sees you before Memnon can get close, she will know she’s been played.”
I exhale. I want vengeance as much as Memnon does, but the Bargainer is right.
Reluctantly, I nod.
Memnon turns and grasps me by the back of the neck. “My queen, this is how we used to do things—I made the decisions and you agreed to them.” He gives his head a slow shake. “Not anymore. What is your will?”
My throat closes as I stare up at him.
The sorcerer is handing me an absurd amount of power. Not just because he’s giving me the last and final say on how we handle the situation, but also because he is bound to my word. What I say will be imposed on him. And he’s allowing that because he trusts me.
“I like the plan,” I say.
Memnon stares at me for an extra moment, then nods. He reels me in for a kiss, one that has me threading my fingers through his thick, dark hair.
The kiss ends, and I peer up at him. “Stay safe, and finish this.”
His smoky amber eyes twinkle. “I’m not leaving your side just yet, my queen.” He brings his face in close, and a hairsbreadth from my lips he murmurs, “One more ride into battle. Can you do that for me, little witch?”
I smile. I may have to fall back before we reach the palace, but otherwise—
“You get me a horse, and you and I will have our final ride.” Goddess knows Nero won’t let me ride him again.
My soul mate’s eyes twinkle. “Good.”
The Bargainer clears his throat. “Cute as you all are, I think it’s time for me to get the hell out of here. I’ll meet you all at the palace.”
The fairy lifts into the air then.
“What about not being seen?” I call out after him.
“Sugar,” he says, gazing down at me, “you and I both know the situation is past that now.” He gives me a parting wink, then continues to rise, until his form seems to fold itself into the night sky above us, a night sky I’m fairly certain he helped usher in.
“Come, Selene,” Memnon says, “let’s find you a steed fit for a queen.”
I give him a peculiar look, one he ignores as he leads me and Nero off the path and around the side of the mountain.
Maybe I’m an unimaginative soul, but this feels like an odd place for a bunch of horses to be hanging out.
It turns out, it isn’t.
Memnon walks around the mountain until we’re just out of sight of the entryway. There, tethered to several trees, is a group of horses wearing fae bridles and saddles.
I draw my brows together as my eyes sweep over them all.
“Some of the fae I encountered were mounted,” Memnon explains.
“So you took their horses and hid them all?” I say skeptically.
“My queen, do you not remember?” he says in Sarmatian, turning back to me, that damn twinkle still in his eyes, the very one that makes my stomach flip. “Where we come from, horses are currency.”
My heart beats fast. Where we come from. The past, Sarmatia. Whatever his definition is of our origin, we are together in it, just as we are this moment and all the moments that stretch out from this one.
Memnon’s expression turns molten. “Always, est amage. Pes udugab vesamasusa.”
I am yours forever.
“Xu pes vaksamapus,” I respond.
And I am yours.
I turn my attention back to the horses, who watch us calmly. Not even Nero’s presence seems to make them skittish.
Under a few bobbing fairy lights, they all appear unnaturally white. I thought I had seen pale horses before, but not like this. They are the white of freshly fallen snow, with shadows that limn them in hues of violet and lavender.
Memnon runs a hand down the neck of one. “Have you ever seen such striking creatures?” he says.
I shake my head. “Never.” They’re truly Otherworldly.
“Let’s hope they ride as beautifully as they present. The gods know many squander a steed’s ability for their features.” A mistake that the warring, horse-riding Sarmatians did not take for granted.
“Which will you ride?” Memnon asks as I approach the beasts.
“I don’t know,” I say. “You choose for me.”
He moves between the horses swiftly, assessing them. I can feel the seconds bleeding away, each one moving Eislyn closer to that throne.
“This one,” he announces, bringing forth a steed that, to me, looks no different from the others.
He strokes a hand down its neck and whispers against its face. “Take care. You will hold the most precious life in your saddle.”
The sorcerer brings the horse to me. It’s muscle memory, mounting the fae steed. The saddle and stirrups are different from the Sarmatian trappings my mind is used to, but my body seems to adjust just fine to them.
Memnon’s eyes heat as they linger on me.
“What?” I say softly.
He gives his head a shake. “Just remembering—and committing this moment to memory.”
With that Memnon hands me the steed’s reins, then goes to free another horse. In a single fluid movement, he swings himself into the saddle.
He sighs happily, a grin spreading across his face. “It has been millennia since I’ve ridden a horse. I don’t know how I could have gone so long without this.”
For most Sarmatians, riding horses was like breathing—necessary for life.
“Survive the night, est xsaya,” I say, “and you can get all the horses your heart desires.”
His eyes fall heavily on me and the intensity in them has my breath catching. “Not even the gods could tear me from your side, little witch—though I do appreciate the promise of horses,” he says. “But now you must swear to me that you, too, will survive the night.”
I grow serious. “I swear it.”
He gives a nod. “Good.”
Memnon lifts his hand then and releases his power. His blue magic works swiftly, releasing each remaining horse from its tether. The group of them continue drifting slowly away from us, clearly not too eager to run free.
Memnon turns his horse around. “Are you ready, est amage?”
I feel strange eagerness rise at the prospect of battle. Maybe I’m not as far removed from Roxilana as I think I am.
“Yes, est xsaya.”
He flashes me that wolfish, conquering grin, then nudges his horse into movement.
Though it’s been millennia since Memnon has mounted a steed, the two move as one. I stare in awe at my husband. Though he wears modern clothes and speaks a modern language, his wildness has been returned to him. My heart soars at the sight of it.
Before I can even coax my horse forward, it trots, then canters, then finally gallops after Memnon’s.
I don’t need to call Nero to my side. He, too, seems to remember how we once were together because I see my panther begin to lope next to me, keeping pace with my horse.
The group of us weave between the trees, the forest lightly illuminated by more of those softly floating fairy lights.
Memnon falls back, just a little, so I can catch up.
When I look over at him, the wind is blowing through his hair and he wears a fierce grin. Our eyes meet, and he gives a wild laugh. “Tell me what is better than this, little witch?” he calls out.
You, I think to him. You, a thousand times over.
“Yes.” He seems to savor the word. “But us and horses? The gods have given me my afterlife early.”
It’s decided. Once this is all over, I’m insisting Memnon gets a horse or twenty. I don’t care if that means we become those people who make their interests their entire personality. The smile on my soul mate’s face is worth it.
The two of us ride abreast, our steeds moving like running water through the woods. In the shadows of the forest, Nero keeps up. Every so often light glints off his eyes, alerting me that he’s still there.
For a few minutes, life is perfection. I have Memnon and Nero on either side of me and the wind is in my hair, and that is enough.