I don’t mean to glance up and meet the sorcerer’s stare head-on, but this close to him, with his hands tilting my face up to his, there’s nowhere else to look.
His whiskey-brown eyes are tender, affectionate. My heart skips a beat at the sight.
I have been inside you more times than there are stars to count.
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I force away the memory.
Memnon gives me a shadow of a smile. An instant later, however, it’s gone. “Close your eyes,” he commands.
I stare at him for a moment longer, feeling small and vulnerable with his hands cupping my face, the wall of his body looming over me, and his face so close.
Drawing a fortifying breath, I let my eyelids flutter shut.
Memnon’s thumbs stroke my cheeks in silent approval. “Now repeat after me: Ziwatunutapsa vak mi’tavkasavak ozkos izakgap.”
I bare my memories for you to see.
The words come easily to me, the sounds of this ancient language both harsh and lilting.
He continues. “Pes danvup kuppu sutvusa vak danus dukup mi’tupusa. Pes vakvu i’wpatkapsasava kusasuwasa dulipazan detupusa.”
All that I know, I share with you. I willingly give you the truth of my past.
I sense his magic rise, and as soon as I finish speaking, it rushes into me.
Reflexively, I grab Memnon’s wrists, ready to jerk his hands away at the first brush of his power in my head, but the sorcerer holds me fast.
Memory after memory flitters by so swiftly, I can hardly make sense of any of them, only that each one is touched by the sharp caress of Memnon’s power. On and on it goes, and it could be seconds, or it could be hours. I feel like I’m being turned inside out, like every dirty little truth has been inspected and—
With a curse, Memnon’s hands leave me. He stumbles back, breathing heavily, and when he takes me in, his eyes are haunted.
He searches my face, as though it will give him the answers he’s looking for. “How…？”
“Do you believe me now?”
He’s still searching my face, and while he does so, I allow myself to study his. I’m mesmerized by the black hair that curls at his nape, his pronounced cheekbones, those multifaceted eyes and sensuous lips.
“You’re right, Selene.”
I almost close my eyes when I hear him say my name. This is a small victory, but I’ll take it. And I can’t help but notice how intimate he makes my name sound. As though he knows things about me that no one else does—which, now that he’s rifled through my mind, is technically true.
“You remember nothing,” he continues. “Your memory itself…” Memnon frowns, a crease forming between his brows.
“My magic feeds off my memories,” I explain. “So there are lots of holes in it.”
He studies me. “I don’t understand our situation,” he says slowly. “Not yet at least. But neither, it appears, do you.” Memnon grimaces to himself. “So, for now, I’ll accept this horrible simulacrum of reality.”
Does that mean he really, truly, finally believes me?
The intensity in his gaze has cooled; all that’s left is a hollow sort of sadness.
“I had horses, I had warriors and armies, I had palaces and servants and admirers, but most important of all, I had you.” His voice breaks on that final word, like a wave crashing against the rocks.
“You had Roxilana,” I remind him softly.
Memnon works his jaw and looks away. “No, in the end, I apparently did not have even her.”
His chest rises and falls faster and faster, and I can sense the violent edge of his magic stirring awake.
“You need to leave,” I say quietly. Memnon got what he came for. It’s not my fault it wasn’t what he wanted.
The sorcerer’s magic fills the room, and mine mounts to meet his.
Memnon gives me one last baleful look, and then he strides past me and out of my room. The door swings closed behind him, and with that, Memnon the Cursed is finally gone.
CHAPTER 20
I’m on my stomach, my cheek resting against a soft bedsheet. There’s someone at my back, peppering kisses up my spine.
“Est amage,” Memnon breathes against my skin.
I tense at the sound of his voice.
Hadn’t he and I parted a few hours ago?
I glance around the room. This one has a low ceiling and close walls made from dark wood. Scattered oil lamps illuminate the intricate red-and-gold design on the blanket beneath me.
My fingers trace the pattern. I…I swear there’s something right there, on the edge of my mind.