5. CHAPTER FIVE
Camp Lukim’s tents appeared ahead, a cluster of tawny mushrooms standing tall against the blazing orange sky. As Katell cantered closer, the sour reek of the animal pens hit her. Just one more day and she would be home. Slowing to a trot, she guided her mare to the first line of tents and dismounted.
A councilman on watch greeted her. “Welcome back, daughter of Damocles. Was the hunt successful?”
“Very.” She gestured to the rabbits and squirrels dangling from her saddle. “The others will be here shortly. May I take my mare to the stables? She needs food and water.”
The councilman nodded and handed her a cup of goat’s milk. “You’re our guest for the night and welcome to use the stables as you wish.”
She thanked the man and left. Sipping the beverage, she led her mare through a forest of large, round tents covered in furs and skins. Women bustled around the central bonfire, laying down rugs and blankets in preparation for a feast.
Katell scowled. If the other hunters joined the festivities, the stragglers’ attack would be brought up and her sudden strength questioned.
Having entrusted her mare to a stable hand’s care, she made her way towards the visitors’ tents just as her fellow hunters came into view.
Scylas wasn’t among them. As their leader, he had to greet Camp Lukim’s Council first and share news of their hunt. He’d never betray her to the Council, but she didn’t trust the other hunters to keep their mouths shut. Especially after filling their bellies with cups of honey wine.
To avoid being spotted, she slinked away and ducked inside one of the visitor’s tents, eager to be alone. She dropped her travel pack and crossbow and went to work lighting a fire in the central pit. Grabbing a pail of water and a metal basin, she used the last piece of soap Alena had made for her to scrub off as much dirt and sweat as she could.
As she finished up, the aroma of roast pig wafted into her tent, making her stomach growl. As much as she wanted to join the feast, the other hunters’ cold stares would draw too much attention.
She couldn’t blame them for their fear. She was skilled with weapons and stronger than most women at camp, yet the ease with which she’d flung a straggler across the clearing was anything but natural.
Her attention landed on a wooden stool by the bed of furs. Its junctures were adorned with iron sheets, securing the legs to the seat. Despite its weight, she effortlessly tugged it closer and examined the metal hammered into its legs.
Taking a deep breath, she gripped the sturdiest leg and pulled.
It broke off with a creak and a snap. Fractured iron nails stuck out from the sides of the split leg, and a foul curse slipped past Katell’s lips. The iron sheet had bent in her hands like parchment.
She dropped the pieces as if they’d scalded her.
Curse the stars! Scylas was right. Perhaps she was Marked.
How else had she suddenly acquired such strength? Previously, she wouldn’t even have been able to lift the heavy stool, let alone break it. She still struggled to chop wood with her father’s axe or hoist stags and deer onto the horses.
But something had changed in the forest. Not only had she become stronger, but bloodlust had scorched through her veins.
Fighting was second nature to her. From an early age, Katell had protected Alena from the torment of boys and girls who visited from other camps during the lunar festival, but she’d never felt such a thirst for violence before. Against the stragglers, she’d basked in their defeat and delighted in their agony as she’d wrought death upon them.
The foreign feeling had consumed her, then disappeared just as suddenly as it had surfaced.
Was that magic?
If so, then why had the gods chosen her? And why only now, at the age of twenty?
The tent opened, and Scylas peeked inside. He sighed and crept in, pulling the woven flaps tight behind him. Beneath his wolf fur cloak, a fresh woollen robe stitched with red and silver hung over his riding trousers. Strands of damp blonde hair stuck to his forehead. He’d no doubt come straight to the visitors’ tents after washing up.
Katell climbed to her feet, acutely aware of the broken pieces of stool on the rugged floor, but Scylas strode past her towards the firepit.
He shrugged off his cloak, his back to her. Keeping her eyes on him, she nudged the broken stool beneath the bed of furs with her toe.
An awkward silence settled between them until Scylas faced her once more and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Despite my better judgement, I didn’t say a word.”
“Thank you.”
He scratched the back of his head, avoiding her gaze. “But the men were talking in the stables. They want to report you to the Council first thing tomorrow morning.”
Her breath hitched. “What? By the Moon, which one of those cowards wants to sell me out?”
Not waiting for an answer, she rushed to take up her sword, but Scylas crossed the tent in two long strides and held her back.
“Kat, don’t. You’ll only make matters worse.”
“Then what do you suggest I do?” Her heartbeat quickened as she imagined the worst. “If the others sell me out, if the Council believe me to be Marked—or worse, if the elders find out—they’ll come for me. And then they’ll come for Alena…”
Words failed her, and Scylas drew her to him.
“I won’t let that happen,” he whispered in her hair. “We’ll find a way, I promise.”
His familiar scent enveloped her, soothing her fears, and she curled into his chest. Soon, guilt gnawed at the back of her mind. She had to tell Scylas the truth about her strength. If she was Marked and the camp found out, he’d be in trouble just for helping her.
But instead of pushing him away, she found herself clutching the collar of his robe. If there was one person she’d never been able to walk away from, it was Scylas. He’d been her first kiss, stolen beside the bonfire while drinking wine to celebrate his fifteenth birthday. He’d been her first lover, in the shade of an oak by the creek on a warm summer day, and he was her companion every time they stayed at neighbouring camps during hunting trips.
For years he’d shielded her from the elders’ plans of arranged marriages, kindling her hope that he’d one day make her his wife.
Scylas’ sharp intake of breath snapped her out of her thoughts.
“What? What is it?”
He brushed back her long braid. “Your neck. It’s Marked.”
The word curdled in her stomach like spoiled milk. As she pulled away, she glimpsed a flicker of panic in his eyes.
“Are you sure?”
He stepped around her, his callused fingertips tracing the spot. “Yes. It’s a circular symbol. Dark red… almost black.”
The ground gave way beneath her feet, and she stumbled to the straw bed. She sat, clinging to the furs with trembling hands, her mind spinning in disbelief. Being Marked was a fate worse than being married off by the elders. Worse than being caught with Scylas or being found with child.
Roaring laughter from the feast broke through the suffocating silence. Camp Lukim rejoiced at the hunters’ return while her life lay in ruins at her feet.
“It can’t be.” She dropped her head into her hands. “It can’t! Why would the gods Mark me? It makes no sense. I’ve lived here all my life and never prayed to any of them. I don’t even know them!”
“People can be Marked as babies and only find out when their magic awakens.” Scylas knelt before her, covering her knees with his hands. “Kat, you weren’t born in the village. Your father came to Camp Bessi seventeen years ago with you and your sister. Did he ever tell you where you came from?”
She shook her head. “My father was from Megara and travelled here after his village burned down. That’s all he ever told me.”
“He must have been a noble, then. Or he’s not your real father.”
Katell’s eyes narrowed. How could he mention the rumours about her family at such a time? “Don’t,” she warned. “They are my family.”
His gaze tightened on her face. “There’s little resemblance among the three of you; you can’t deny it. Your father is blond, your hair is a deep brown, and your sister has the most conspicuous hair colour the camp has ever seen.”
She couldn’t deny that. While fair hair was uncommon among the dark-haired Freefolk, Alena’s striking auburn tresses had always stirred deeper unease.
“Alena and I both have green eyes.”
Scylas tilted her chin up, his gaze pinning hers. “Yours are like the healing moss we gather from the birch trees. Two deep forest pools. Your sister’s are the colour of fresh spring. They are nothing alike.”
Heat flared up her neck and bloomed across her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “What do you mean by my father being a noble?”
“Does he pray to the gods? Have you ever seen him?”
“No, never!” She clenched her fists and shot to her feet, pacing around the small space. “How can you even suggest that?”
“Because there are only two ways that would cause a person to be Marked. Either they made a pact with a god through prayer and sacrifice, or they’re a member of a noble family whose patron god blessed them when they were born. If your father didn’t make a pact with the gods, then he must come from a noble family.”
She tried to make sense of his words amongst the chaos in her head. She suddenly wished she’d taken more interest in her father’s stories about Gifted heroes and the Achaean gods like her sister. “How do you know all this?”
“To prepare me for my future role as councilman, my father shared some secrets about the Old Lands with me.” He picked up her discarded cloak and wrapped it around her, his hands lingering on her arms. “Come closer to the fire. You’re shivering.”
He led her to the pit, his golden-brown eyes warm. Any other man would have denounced her as soon as he’d learned she was Marked, but not him.
She didn’t deserve such fierce loyalty. If the truth ever came out, he risked losing everything. She wouldn’t let him sacrifice his life for her.
She pushed him away, shaking her head. “It’s too late for me, Scylas. You have to leave. You can’t be seen with me anymore. As soon as we return home, I’ll go see my father, and we’ll convince the elders that no pact was made.”
Scylas frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. “That’s not a good idea, Kat.”
“It’s the only way. If they think my father was praying to the gods, we’ll both be killed. Who will protect Alena then?”
“I’ll speak with the Council. They’ll understand.” He closed the gap between them, cradling her face in his hands. “And if they don’t protect you, then I will.” His warm breath fanned across her face. “Marry me.”
“W-what?”
“Marry me,” he repeated, his tone so calm and familiar that her heart ached to hear it.
How many times had she longed for this moment?
“I’ll ask my father to retire from his seat on the Council and pass it on to me. As a councilman, I can protect you. But only if you become my wife and let me handle things.”
Her pulse raced, and she stared into his face. He’d always made it clear that he would never marry her without his family’s blessing, and yet—
“Your father will never allow it, never mind your grandfather!”
Elder Ignatius despised her the most.
“Grandfather has a soft spot for me; he’ll understand. I’ll make sure of it, especially when your life is on the line.”
Before she could say another word, his warm lips covered hers. He circled her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into his warmth, returning the kiss. For a small moment, all her worries faded to the back of her mind, and she focused only on the feeling of his body pressed against hers.
Beside the bed, the metal basin rattled in warning, and the thundering sound of galloping horses echoed through the camp.
They broke apart. The feast outside fell into a hush broken only by a few muted voices.
“Are we under attack?” Katell lunged for her crossbow and quiver of bolts.
Scylas drew a long dagger from his belt. “It’s too quiet for an attack.”
Grabbing his wolf fur cloak, he disappeared through the tent’s flaps, and she followed suit, belting her sword.
Outside, the camp was eerily quiet. The last slanting rays of the sun had turned a violent red, bathing the surrounding hills in a bloody hue. A group of riders had interrupted the feast, and although Katell couldn’t hear their words, from the solemn expressions around the campfire, she knew something was wrong.
Strapping the crossbow over her thin wool cloak, she pushed through the families gathered around the bonfire. Dark stares from her fellow hunters shadowed her every movement.
The riders’ faces came into view, and her blood ran cold. Messengers from Camp Bessi.
“What’s going on?” she asked the closest, recognising him as her neighbour’s youngest son. “What’s happened?”
Eyes bulging, the boy didn’t say a word.
She stilled. Had the rumours of the stragglers’ attack somehow already reached Camp Bessi?
A tall, bulky man from Camp Lukim stepped forward. “Elder Ubii, I believe this is the girl you are looking for.”
Katell jolted at the sight of the elder bundled in a black fur coat atop a grey stallion. He had once helped her father secure a seat on the Council, but in his old age, he rarely ever left camp. His body sagged in the saddle, legs bent and stiff.
If Elder Ignatius had sent him, then the news must be grave indeed.
“Katell, daughter of Damocles,” he began. Her chest tightened at the soft tone of his voice. “I was asked to travel to Camp Lukim and wait for your return. I’m afraid I come bearing terrible news from home. Your father passed away the day before last. May his ancestors watch over him for all eternity.”
Her heart rammed into her throat, and everything but the elder faded into the background. The pounding in her ears grew stronger, and she bit her cheek hard, refusing to cry in front of everyone. Heads bowed in respect, and a warm hand gripped her shoulder in support.
“There is more.” Elder Ubii pressed his lips together, as if uncertain about his next words. “Your sister, in her quest to save your father, has committed a terrible crime.”
Katell’s blood turned to ice. The last words they exchanged rang in her mind.
Save Father. Do whatever you must, but save him.
I promise.
“She broke the Sacred Law and struck a bargain with a Marked one,” the elder continued, and gasps stippled the gathered crowd.
“Alena?” Katell repeated. “Alena broke the law?”
Elder Ubii nodded. “She was betrayed by a friend, and Councilman Demetrius caught her in the woods near the Marked healer’s shack. They brought her back to camp, and the elders are currently deciding her fate—exile or death.”
“Death?” Scylas’ voice was sharp, holding all the authority of a born leader. “The girl is seventeen. She was desperate to save her dying father. You must be mistaken.”
“She broke the Sacred Law.” Elder Ubii shook his head, his tone unflinching. “She will be lucky if the other elders choose to banish her.”
“Seventeen and condemned to death?” One of the councilmen from Camp Lukim scoffed. “Demetrius would never stand for it. Has Camp Bessi’s Council grown so weak that they’d leave such decisions in the hands of the elders? By the Moon, I bet Elder Ignatius had a hand in this.”
Elder Ubii’s face deepened to a vivid red as another rider gave a sharp rebuke. The situation quickly escalated into an argument, but Katell couldn’t tear her eyes away from the elder atop his horse.
Death? Her sweet sister risked death?
Her legs swayed, but Scylas was quick to steady her.
“I need a horse,” she whispered, her mind reeling. “I need to go back.”
Taking advantage of the distraction, Scylas guided her away from the crowd, his strong arm wrapped around her waist. She clutched onto him, her crossbow digging into her back.
Faces and tents blurred past, and soon they reached the stables on the outskirts of the camp.
Katell rushed towards the startled horses and let out a sharp whistle. Her mare whinnied in return.
Scylas pulled her back. “She hasn’t rested enough. Take my horse instead.”
“Yours needs rest too.”
Searching among the other horses, she found a dark bay stallion already bridled and pawing the ground. She whistled to him, and he settled down, allowing her to stroke his long neck.
Scylas’ jaw tightened. “A stallion? It’s too dangerous. He could throw you off. Camp Lukim’s horses aren’t known for—”
“I’ll be fine.”
She was running out of time. The stallion would make it to Camp Bessi faster than her mare ever could. She led the horse out, and Scylas helped her climb atop his back. When she settled onto the padded blankets, her sore thighs protested, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
Scylas handed her the reins. “I’ll tell them you’re resting in your tent, so they don’t come after you. Be careful, Kat. Grandfather has no love for lawbreakers, but I refuse to believe he’d condemn your sister. Seek your father’s friends for help, and I’ll come as soon as I can.”
She nodded, adjusting the crossbow and quiver around her shoulders.
Large hands grasped hers, and the grave look on Scylas’ face gave her pause.
“Keep your cloak on at all times. If the elders see your Mark, you’ll be in even more trouble.”
With her unnatural strength, even if she saved Alena, they would both have to leave Camp Bessi. Leave the Freefolk forever.
Her stomach dropped. She would have to leave Scylas.
As if coming to the same realisation, he clung to her. Their eyes locked, and she silently begged the moon and the stars not to let this be their last moment together.
“If I don’t find you at camp, I’ll wait for you by the oak tree.” He squeezed her hand one last time. “I promise.”
Before she could answer, he slapped the stallion’s rump, sending it speeding off across the steppe, heading west towards the bleeding sun and the crooked creek that would lead her home.
As the horse raced over the grasslands, one thought filled her mind: saving Alena.