Page 204 of Bedeviled

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.

But at some point, the atmosphere changes. The screams and the clashing of steel—and even the booming sounds of gunshots—are so much closer.

Guns. Someone brought guns. I wonder how prepared the fae are for that.

Memnon seems to sense it too, for he slows, then halts his steed. “This is where we part, est amage.”

I can’t quite stop myself from frowning. A gnawing, feverish sadness is rising in me. I’ve only had mere minutes with Memnon since Eislyn’s control was lifted from him, and now I’m supposed to let him head right back to her? Through the thick wad of fighting that has broken out around the Flora palace?

“Come here,” Memnon says, his magic coaxing my horse to his.

“I hate this,” I whisper, searching his face.

“I was raised for this,” Memnon responds. “And, little witch, I find no worthier cause of fighting in one last, great battle, than to stop our ancient foe.”

Between us, I can sense his hunger for the battle.

“I still hate it,” I say obstinately.