Page 175 of Bedeviled

I glance over my shoulder, where I can still see the hazy orange tint of flames.

I face forward again, licking my lips.

A wave of noxious fear washes over me.

Est amage.

I startle at Memnon’s voice in my head. And then I nearly keel over with relief.

“Memnon?” I breathe.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

I feel his tight, pained smile across our connection.

A choked cry slips from my lips.

Not only is he alive, I can sense him again.

My queen, he whispers brokenly.

The wrongness in his voice halts all my vicious elation.

Memnon, where are you? I say down our bond. What happened? I saw your blade and the demons⁠—

Est amage, he interrupts, his voice still sounding strange, you remember our wedding rite? His words carry the metallic taste of his fear. Desperate, despondent fear.

It’s contagious.

Which one? I ask, my own voice hitching.

The one where I chased and you ran. I can sense Memnon’s hopelessness. Beneath that, I swear his power churns like a thunderstorm.

I remember, I say, my throat tightening as my stomach rolls with unease. This moment feels wrong. All wrong.

Empress, he says softly, I want you to pretend it is our wedding day all over again. And I want you to run.

My body is trembling long after Memnon finished speaking across our bond.

What’s going on? I asked.

Are you in trouble?

Do you need help?

Why do you want me to run?

Every answer was met with unsettling silence. He pulled away from the connection as much as he could, and I don’t know what it says about his state that even trying to distance himself as much as possible, his pain and fear come screaming through.

He feels wrong. All wrong.

I adjust my grip on the rug to press a hand to my sternum, an ache settling in.

“Ugh, love is for fucking losers,” I say, my voice breaking.

Nero gives me a look like it physically pains him to be trapped on a flying carpet with me.

Which is probably the Goddess’s honest truth.