“But…” My brows draw together. I asked him point-blank if he’d murdered those witches while he was under a truth spell.
“I didn’t kill those witches,” he concedes. “That was another. But I did move their bodies before they could be destroyed. I found that I could expose the deeds of those who were guilty while implicating you for their crimes.”
There it is, his confession, said before a room of hundreds of my peers. It terrifies me that he’s unfazed by that—especially because I’m sensing that his indifference doesn’t come from ignorance of our modern ways. I think it may truly come from having enough power to make problems go away.
I can’t seem to catch my breath. “What have you done?” I whisper.
“So many things I couldn’t possibly recount them all to you here.” He scrutinizes his dagger. “A warlord is more than just a sword arm, est amage. There is so much strategy involved.”
My magic rises, pressing against my skin.
“We can’t come back from this, you know.” Even as I say it, I ache. Ache for something that might’ve been deep and real but now I’ll never get.
What monster does something like this to the one they love?
But the answer has always sat there, right in front of me.
Memnon’s wife, Roxilana, went to incredible lengths to hide Memnon from the world. Perhaps she saw this side of him before I ever did.
“We can’t come back from this?” His eyes spark with his power, and his grip on the woman in his arms tightens. “Est amage, I did not endure in that cold, bleak sarcophagus for two millennia to lose you all over again.”
The witch in his arms whimpers. There’s a growing number of tear tracks down her cheeks, ruining makeup she probably put on with excitement. Tonight was supposed to be fun, not some sort of nightmare.
“Let the woman go, Memnon,” I say again. My magic continues to gather, mounting beneath my skin and sliding through my veins. “This is between the two of us.”
Memnon’s gaze drops to the witch. More blood drips down her neck. She shifts, and I see her magic thickening beneath her palms, the emerald wisps of it dissolving inches from her. I don’t know what enchantment he’s placed on her, but it’s neutralizing her powers.
“How badly do you want her freedom?” he says. “What would you be willing to do for it?”
I’m caught off guard by the question. I feel all the eyes in the room on me. This bargain isn’t just for the witch in Memnon’s arms. It’s for Sybil and all the others here who are trapped under the sorcerer’s magic.
“What do you want?” I say, my power churning inside me.
“You know what I want.”
I suddenly remember his words from a week ago.
You are under a curse, mate. One made by your own hand. Of course we will remove it.
He wants me to remember our past. What would this revenge even be for if I couldn’t recall the crime that earned it?
My magic spikes in alarm, a little slipping out through my palms.
I look from him to the witch and back. I know this is where I’m supposed to capitulate, but I can’t. Not on this point, and not to this fucker.
So I choose violence instead.
“Explode,” I whisper.
My magic blasts out of me, and as it leaves, I get a dizzy head rush, my power eating through who knows how many memories. Only at the last minute do I think to hone it like a blade.
It slams into Memnon’s shins, knocking him backward. The witch in his arms screams as his dagger drags across her skin, slicing into her shoulder. But the cut is shallow and imprecise.
The moment the witch is free of Memnon, she scrambles away. The woman only makes it a few yards, however, before she gets tangled in the same spell that’s locked the limbs of the rest of the room.
I hear her frustrated cry, and the guests near her reach for the woman, murmuring to her in terror-laced whispers.
Memnon regains his footing, then gives a sinister low chuckle, “Naughty wi—”
“Explode.” I launch another spell at him.
This one hits him square in the chest, blowing him off his feet.
More magic gathers in my hand. “Explode.” I fire off. “Explode. Explode.” I’m forming and throwing the spells as quickly as I can. They hit him in quick succession, detonating against his body and knocking him back. One of them misses, shattering the window behind him.
I stalk forward, a vicious hunger rising in me. For revenge, for blood.
“Slice.” The spell slashes through his fancy suit and his skin, making it bloom red.