Page 4 of Bedeviled

Only once I’m dry and warm do I lift my gaze to my surroundings.

I bite back a sob when I realize the ley line didn’t just drop me in what was once Sarmatia; it placed me at the top of a familiar kurgan.

I knew this man-made mountain quite well in my last life. I climbed this hill, the grave site of some long-dead warlord, many times in the ancient past, and I carried my grief up it with me.

Out of habit, my eyes search for the Sarmatian settlement that should be off in the distance, but it’s gone, swallowed up by time. Now only a few odd buildings speckle the distant landscape.

Everything else is flat, dormant grassland.

Gingerly, I make my way down the kurgan, my heart aching as my gaze sweeps over the steppe. The sky is gray, the grass is dead, the ground is spotted with snow. For all intents and purposes, it is a bleak landscape, but the sight of it all is so, so beloved.

My eyes, however, seek out one particular patch of land. I cannot be sure precisely where it is, time has changed so much, but intuition drags me toward a smaller kurgan. In the shadow of it lies a patch of grass, one that was once very dear to me.

I kneel and place my hand on the earth. In another life, I buried the remains of my child here.

It’s hard to fathom—the pain is old and faded, especially in light of everything else Roxilana ended up losing, but I still pay my respects to this dashed hope.

After a minute, I stand and leave the ancient grave behind, the grass crunching under my feet. My eyes keep scanning the horizon, looking in vain for people on horseback.

Est amage, where are you? Memnon calls down our bond.

I draw in a deep breath, smelling the crisp autumn air rolling in from far away.

Home, I say, my heart constricting.

Liar, he says fondly. I can hear the smile in his voice. You have not returned to our house, and your room at the coven is empty.

Have you been looking for me? I say with mock surprise. Stalking is a crime, you know.

He guffaws. That is the least of what I’ve done.

I remember Kane’s words: You and I both know the man is evil.

To Memnon I say, I’m not lying, but I’m not going to elaborate either. If you want to marry me, you’re going to have to hunt me down first.

It takes Memnon a second to catch on, but I feel that moment of surprise, followed swiftly by a complicated emotion, one that is both euphoric and heartfelt. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was moved by the gesture. Moved and excited.

Better run fast then, little witch, he says softly. I’m coming for you.

I do.

This time I have no horse, but that same sense of urgency rides me just as it did then, especially as I look out at the flat, unforgiving landscape and realize there’s nowhere to conceal myself.

“Hide me from sight,” I say in Sarmatian.

My magic unfurls out of me, twisting around my body and masking my presence.

I run until my lungs burn and my muscles feel heavy, my breath misting out in front of my face. I have no idea how much time has lapsed between when I arrived and now, and my surroundings hardly give me a clue either. The vast expanse of grassland gives the impression that I’m simply moving in place, the scenery unchanging.

Neither running nor cloaking yourself will help you now, little witch, Memnon says, cutting through the silence of my surroundings.

His voice drips with obvious relish—relish and the sort of confidence that has the back of my neck pricking.

Out of curiosity I glance over my shoulder. Only then do I notice the thread of indigo magic snaking away from me. With my eyes, I follow that line of magic back to its source. In the distance, Memnon strides across the plain, more of that indigo power curling around him.

I stumble to a stop at the sight.

Drop the enchantment, my love.