Several more arrows hit my body, though they bounce off my skin and clothes and clatter uselessly to the ground, leaving nothing behind except for ugly welts. Unlike the two others I carry. They protrude out of me almost comically.

Outside the palace the world is unnervingly silent, save for a few skirmishes and a couple of soldiers hauling away a chest of something or other. But the teeming scores of soldiers are following me out. It’s all I can do to cast my magic behind me, pushing them and their weapons back, back, back, even as the wordless spell drains my quickly depleting reserves of power.

Off to my left, I can see the shadowy silhouette of the abandoned temple. The priests maintaining it left once we moved in, and no one else besides the odd palace servant has used it since. Sarmatian gods don’t dwell in temples, and I have no use for Roman ones.

I stagger to it, moving as fast as I dare and leaving a trail of blood in my wake. I need to heal my wounds, particularly my abdominal injury, but I cannot focus on more than keeping my magic up at my back, where it protects me and Ferox. Even now, I sense the soldiers battering against it, their shouts and footfalls far too close.

It feels like an agonizing eternity before I reach the temple steps. As soon as I’m inside, I hastily ward the threshold against intruders, the magical strings of my casting somewhat sloppy. My hand shakes, and my pain is distracting me. I add another layer to the ward, this one to block weapons from entering the space—it was a ward we forgot to place on the room of Tamara and Katiari, and Zosines and the other traitors found a way around it.

I spell it just in time too. The first of the soldiers slams into the ward not a moment later. I jerk back at the sound, and my body sways a little. Ferox presses against my side, clearly trying to help me stabilize my balance.

“Thank you,” I say softly, delving my fingers into his fur. One of my hands is still clutching my midsection. “Mend the wound, heal the flesh,” I whisper.

Thick, syrupy magic spreads out beneath my palm, sinking into my skin. I hiss as it tugs on my injury, but already the pain is lessening as the wound repairs itself. I still have two arrows protruding from my torso, but for now, I let them be.

“Illuminate.” The light I cast is faded, watery. My magic is faltering.

I half stride, half stumble toward the back of the temple, where the innermost sanctum is. Where the entrance to the ley line will be.

When I see it, my relief makes my knees weak. It’s barely visible under the light of my magic, but I can just make out the strange distortion in the air where the ley line entrance bends the light.

Far on the other side of the temple, I hear the bangs of weapons and fists against my ward, then the haunting sound of it shattering.

I place my hand on Ferox. “We’ll step onto the ley line at the same time. Ready?”

The panther dips his head, which is the closest thing I’m going to get to assent. Behind us, soldiers clamor toward us. Seconds. We have seconds.

Taking a fortifying breath, Ferox and I cross onto the ley line.

Immediately, the noise quiets, and our surroundings—what little I can make of them in the darkness—smear. Nonmagical humans cannot traverse these roads, at least not without aid. Which means that for now, Ferox and I are safe.

I cannot, however, say that about anyone else who remained devoted to Memnon. To me. They are still locked in battle, getting butchered by an enemy they didn’t see coming.

I need to get to Memnon. Need to save him from whatever fate Eislyn has devised. Need to avenge our people.

My gaze flicks to the walls of the ley line. It’s shaped much like a tunnel, though you wouldn’t know it at the moment. The darkness hides everything except for the faint smudges of starlight far beyond.

With my free hand, I reach around and pull out the arrow from my back, grinding my teeth together and swallowing a scream as I pry the head of it from my flesh, its edges ripping through more muscle. I toss the bloody projectile to the rippling tunnel walls.

“I offer you my blood, violently spilled by an enemy,” I gasp out as the open wound at my back begins to bleed in earnest, “in exchange for the safe passage of me and my familiar to the Khuno River palace.”

What little I can see of the walls ripples, then smooths.

Fuck. It didn’t work.

Without the help of the ley line itself, I won’t be able to find my way to this destination. Instead, Ferox and I will wander along it, hopelessly lost until I either find a way out, or we perish.

Adjusting my hold on Ferox, I reach for the other arrow and dig my fingers into the skin around it. A scream rips from my throat as I pull the second arrowhead out and throw it at the wall. “I offer you my blood, violently spilled by an enemy,” I repeat, “in exchange for the safe passage of me and my familiar to the Khuno River palace.”

This time, the walls hardly even ripple.

“I offer you a memory,” I say to the fae magic, my desperation growing. “In exchange for the safe passage of me and my familiar to the Khuno River palace.”

The walls of the ley line ripple around me, further obscuring the scenery outside.

I take a few steps forward, bringing Ferox with me, but then the walls around me smooth, denying me passage once more.

I cry out. “For gods’ sakes, what do you want? Tears?” I ask. With my free hand, I gesture to my cheeks. “You can have them.”

The ley line’s strange, foreign magic brushes against my face, taking the offered tears.

Still, the wall doesn’t open. I want to scream.

“You already have my blood and my tears. What more do you want?” I ask the darkness. My magic is failing, my blood is streaming down my back, and my body is faint with exhaustion. There’s not much left of me to give.

Why had I not learned to navigate these magical roads without selling little pieces of myself? My ignorance is costing me.

A thought comes to me, one that has me pressing a quivering hand to my stomach. I swallow. There is one more thing⁠—

“Fine, I’ll tell you a secret: I think I might be pregnant.”

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CHAPTER 759 AD, SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTHWESTERN AMAZON BASIN

ROXILANA

We’re spit out onto wet soil, mud oozing beneath my boots.

It worked. My body sags with relief. It worked.

I stand, glancing at my surroundings. The sun is setting here, and though the jungle around me makes many sounds, there’s a peaceful, quiet element to this place that’s jarring compared to the shrieking violence of Bosporus.

Ferox’s growl is all the warning I get.

I’m about to turn when a blade is shoved clean through my back. It happens so fast I don’t have time to do more than choke on my own surprise as I glance down at my abdomen, where the bloody tip of a sword juts out.

Roughly, it’s withdrawn, and with its exit, I collapse to my knees, a cascade of blood pouring from the wound. It’s—it’s right where⁠—

“You cannot know how long I’ve wished to do that.” Eislyn’s beautiful, lilting voice is laced with malice.

With a snarl, Ferox lunges for the fairy. But before he can make it anywhere near her neck, Eislyn brings the hilt of her weapon down on his head. There’s a sickening crunch, and I choke out a scream as my familiar collapses in a heap at my side. The ward that had protected him only minutes ago must’ve disintegrated.

The fae woman walks around to my front, tapping the bloody sword against her side as she appraises me. “I had hoped you’d survive the attack long enough to come here.”

She tilts her head, appraising me. I imagine she’s debating whether to stab me again, though I’m too distracted to much notice. My mate is missing, my familiar is unconscious, and blood is pouring out of my abdomen at an alarming rate.