9. CHAPTER NINE
The sweet smell of roasted rabbit rose from the campfire. The sisters had settled within an outcrop of rocks bordered by a handful of wilting birch trees jutting from the steppe. The solid grey boulders provided the perfect protection from stragglers and predators for the night.
Alena nestled against one of the weathered stones as Katell sank her teeth into a loaf of bread with a smile on her lips. The first one in two days.
Two days since they’d escaped Camp Bessi.
Two days since they’d circled back to Camp Lukim and taken Katell’s mare in the dead of the night.
Sneaking into the stables whilst avoiding the guards had been a risk but a necessary one for their journey. The stallion couldn’t carry them both.
The mare had answered Katell’s low whistle with a whinny and followed them out into the darkness.
Katell had good instincts with horses. She could tame the wildest of beasts, while Alena was a poor rider. The bay stallion had proven to be quite a handful since leaving Camp Bessi, but once her sister had taken over the reins, her soft touch and kind words had soothed the beast.
A small clay pot filled with beans and onion soup simmered over the fire. Alena poured it into two wooden bowls while Katell sliced the rabbit meat.
They ate in silence.
The weight of the camp blaming them for the elders’ deaths and Scylas’ cold words brought Alena to tears each night. They hadn’t spoken of their escape from Camp Bessi yet. Katell had remained quieter than usual, her gaze often distant and veiled in memory.
Alena’s heart ached for her, but every time she opened her mouth to broach the subject, the words remained stuck in her throat.
Katell hadn’t cried at all—not since the morning after Leywani’s wedding years ago. Tears of rage had streamed down her sister’s cheeks as her friend had said her goodbyes before the elders’ pavilion: her face bruised and swollen. Had their father not held Katell back, Alena was sure her sister would have killed Leywani’s new husband.
Their father had always known how to deal with Katell’s rash temper.
The emptiness he left behind felt like a giant void in Alena’s chest that could never be filled again. Everywhere she looked, she expected to see broad shoulders and a shock of golden-wheat hair.
Taking a deep breath, she quelled the lump rising in her throat. Beside her, Katell had gone still, her meal forgotten as she stared into the flames.
“Kat.” Alena knew better than to ask but she had to try. “Are you all right?”
Her sister forced a smile to her lips. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Do you want to talk about him? Scylas?”
Katell tensed. Dark strands of hair fell from her braid, casting shadows across her face. “I’m fine, Alena. We don’t need to talk about… him.”
Pushing her sister to open up was never a good idea, so Alena grabbed a shawl from her satchel instead and wrapped it around herself. The cold night air nipped through her layers of clothes.
Katell threw a handful of dry twigs into the fire that sizzled and cracked. “I was thinking once we cross the Deep River, we should head for Megara.”
“Megara?” Alena hadn’t given much thought about their next destination, but she trusted her sister to make the right decision.
“Yes. It was Father’s home, after all, and we both speak the language. It makes sense to go there.”
Their father’s final words echoed in Alena’s mind. His final confession.
She’d spent two days pondering how to break the news to Katell. Her stomach churned at the thought of crushing her sister’s heart, but she couldn’t harbour his secret any longer.
“I need to show you something.” Alena reached for the wrapped torc inside her satchel. “It’s something Father gave me before he lost consciousness.”
Spotting the ornate necklace that sparkled in the firelight, Katell’s eyes widened. “It belonged to Father?”
“No. To our mother.” Alena handed it over. “It’s called a torc. When I tried to exchange it for the Marked healer’s help, she told me it came from the Western tribes.”
Her sister turned the stiff neck ring over in her hands, observing the rounded ends, shaped like a horse’s head. Alena had admired them many times already. The details around the horses’ ears, eyes, and muzzles were remarkable and beyond any Freefolk artisan’s skills.
Katell’s gaze met hers. “The Western tribes? Not Megara?”
Alena guessed what she was thinking. Their father had spoken many times of the Old Lands, but rarely of the tribes. She sawed her lip between her teeth, staring at the shawl clutched in her hands.
“Alena? What did Father say?”
Releasing a deep breath, Alena answered, “Before Father lost consciousness, he revealed something to me. He made me find the necklace in the wooden chest and told me we had to go back.”
Katell froze then leaned closer. “Go back where?”
“I don’t know. But he said we needed to find them.” Her words dwindled to a whisper. “Our real parents. He said we needed to find our real parents.”
Her sister jerked to her feet, blood leaching from her face.
“Are you sure?” Emotion choked Katell’s voice, making her falter. “Our real parents? He said this—Father—Father said, ‘our real parents’?”
She clenched and unclenched her fists, waiting for an answer, her green eyes gleaming with frozen tears.
Alena nodded, her insides twisting. Unable to bear the hurt blooming across Katell’s face, a raw sob escaped her. Pressing a hand over her mouth, she cried. For the pain the truth had caused, for the loss of their father—the only parent she”d ever known—and for the loss of her home.
Warm arms enveloped Alena as her body shook with the onslaught of tears.
“What are we going to do?” She sobbed into Katell’s shoulder, her voice muffled. “Where are we going to go?”
“Our best chance is still west, across the Deep River.” Her sister kissed the top of her head then drew back to wipe her cheeks. “Don’t cry, little star. As long as we stick together, we’ll be fine.”
Taking comfort from her words, Alena closed her eyes and willed herself to be strong like her sister and to stop crying.
“I noticed a dagger in your bag.” Katell leaned over to fish the weapon out of the satchel. “It seems to be a ceremonial blade, but if we sharpen the edges, we can put it to good use. It might help us get some answers once we reach Megara.”
Alena wiped her wet cheeks with her shawl. “Answers? You mean about our real parents or about you?”
They hadn’t spoken of the Mark since Camp Bessi, but it was time to face the truth. Katell was Marked by the gods and not only possessed unnatural strength but seemed to have gained a healing ability as well.
Alena wasn’t sure whether her sister had even noticed yet.
In a more measured tone, she asked, “Will you show me your Mark?”
She’d caught glimpses of it during their travels, but never up close since Katell had worn her hair half-loose to cover it.
Setting the dagger aside, Katell twisted in her seat and lifted her deep brown curls from her shoulders. “It appeared at the end of the hunt. Scylas found it when we reached Camp Lukim.”
Alena shifted closer, tracing her fingers over the iridescent pattern etched on the nape of her sister’s neck. “It’s beautiful.”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s black or maybe dark red, it’s difficult to tell. The shape is circular and appears to be an animal.” She squinted her eyes. “A horse, perhaps? The style is different from any Megarian drawing I’ve ever seen.”
Katell dropped her hair, her lips set in a tight line. “Do you believe Father made a pact with a god without telling us? Or our real parents did? Were they noble and I’ve been Marked by a patron god? I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Alena clasped her sister’s hands. “I don’t know, but we’ll find the answers. Together.”
Katell dropped her gaze to their entwined hands. “I can feel magic coursing through me now. It’s terrifying. I’m so strong, I’m scared to break anything I touch.”
“What about the healing magic?”
“What do you mean?”
Alena was right in her assumption that Katell had yet to realise this new ability. She pointed to her sister’s arm. “It was covered in blisters when I found you in the elders’ tent. Now look at it. It’s completely healed.”
Katell shrugged. “I doused it with water.”
Alena rolled her eyes. It was typical of her sister not to understand the first thing about the art of healing; she’d never paid attention to any of their father’s lectures. “By the Moon, water doesn’t heal burns, Kat! Your Mark did.”
They fell silent, inspecting the smooth olive skin, a shade darker than Alena’s. Although Katell didn’t speak, her eyes revealed the turmoil brewing inside her head. Her sister had never shown interest in gods or magic. Like most Freefolk, she’d always believed that the Marked ones were cursed.
Now she was one of them, and their father wasn’t alive anymore to give them answers.
“It’s not a curse,” Alena said in an effort to lift her spirits. “It’s a gift. Father always called them Gifted, not Marked. In his stories, they were always heroes.”
“Yes, but Father—Damocles—lied,” her sister shot back.
Katell got up to check on the horses tied to the low branch of a gnarly tree. Dark shadows cast sharp angles on her face, accentuating her underlying anger. She wasn’t ready to hear any comforting words.
“You should sleep, little star.” Katell slung the crossbow over her shoulders. “We have a long journey ahead. I’ll take first watch.”
Alena lay down and silently thanked the Moon that Katell was by her side. Amid the constant shadows that veiled her thoughts day and night, her sister shone like a lone guiding light.
The only family she had left.
“Let’s spar.”
Alena was stirred from her resting place beneath an oak tree as her sister unsheathed her sword.
“Now?” she asked, sitting up. “But we just took our boots off and—”
“We can train barefoot.”
Alena’s stomach turned to lead, but she got to her feet. Katell extended their father’s short sword, presenting the pommel first, and she took it with caution.
“Grip it firmly as I taught you and remember your footing,” Katell said.
Soft grass weaved between Alena’s toes. It was the greenest grass she’d ever seen, but she focused on the sword between her hands instead.
“Ready?” Katell brandished the long wooden stick she’d found in the forest two days ago and had fashioned into a blade for training purposes. She stood tall, her dark hair woven in an elaborate braid that crested her head and ran down her back.
As usual, her sister looked like a warrior queen while Alena felt inadequate and weak.
During their travels, Katell had suggested Alena resume her sword training, and they’d practised together every day since. But no matter how much Alena trained, when it came to sparring with her sister, her skills fell short. Which invariably caused Katell to either roll her eyes or snap at her.
Alena’s mouth ran dry. “I’d rather copy your movements as we did before.”
“You can’t copy me for moons on end, Alena. You need to learn how to act and react in a fight as well. Remember, once we cross the Deep River—”
“—we’ll be facing all kinds of danger and will need to be ready,” Alena finished in a flat tone.
Katell raised an eyebrow in response, and Alena took her stance with a sigh. Her sister had a point. If Alena was going to survive the journey to Megara, she needed to learn how to defend herself, and fast. Besides, during the odd times she’d trained with her father, she’d actually enjoyed it.
She took a steadying breath and rushed forward, trying to catch her sister off guard. She thrust, aiming for the neck as she’d been taught, but Katell swatted her blade away. Alena pulled back, swinging to one side and then the other.
They sparred back and forth. Alena did her best to follow her sister’s pace but struggled with her balance. After a painful hit to her leg, her knee folded and sank into the soft ground.
Katell exhaled sharply. “Get up, Alena. Start again.”
She pushed up from the ground, biting her lip. Her leg throbbed in pain, but she refused to appear weak again before her sister. Instead, she raised her sword, her auburn strands stuck to her sweaty skin. Above them, a cerulean sky stretched as far as the eye could see, devoid of a single cloud.
“Let’s practice some more strikes.” Katell studied Alena’s stance with a critical eye, and Alena tried not to scowl. “You need to aim for the weakest points of the body—neck, ribs, gut, legs. Anything that will make your opponent bleed quickly.”
Alena swallowed hard, picturing her blade slicing through muscle and bone. “Father told us warriors of the Old Lands fight with huge shields that protect their bodies. He always said to aim for the neck and legs.”
“Once we cross the Deep River, it’s not Achaean warriors or Rasennan soldiers that I fear.” Katell glanced at the dirt trail leading west, and her brow furrowed. “It’s the slavers.”