32. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
When Katell opened her eyes, the morning sun greeted her through unfamiliar tall windows. For a few heartbeats, she expected to see Sinope’s concerned face hovering above her, but only deafening silence greeted her.
Her mind caught up with the fight and a heaviness settled in her chest, gnawing on her insides.
Sinope.
The unrelenting ache in her heart became unbearable, and her shoulders shook. A wave of grief surged within her, so violent, so sudden, it constricted her chest before clawing its way out of her throat. Her cries filled the room, and she pulled at her hair, curling in on herself, bloodied nails sinking into her scalp. The coarse straw mattress poked at her skin as she buried her face in it, soaking it with tears.
Sinope.
At least she was with her family now.
She had found peace at last. No one could hurt her anymore.
Heavy crying gave way to whimpering sobs, and slowly, slowly, the sharp ache dimmed to a dull throb.
Katell slid her hands over her face, wiping any trace of her tears. Crying never saved anyone. She’d learned that lesson years ago.
Camp Bessi’s elders hadn’t relented before Leywani’s pained sobs when they’d married her off to a cruel man, and Katell’s angry tears hadn’t changed a thing.
A cold numbness enveloped her, and she lay still on the musty bed, staring at the blue, cloudless sky, and listening to the growing bustle of the city outside.
She wasn’t underground anymore.
The thought brought her neither joy nor delight. Just the stark realisation that the world continued to move around her despite Sinope’s death.
And Katell would have to move on, too.
Eventually, she sat up, gripping the stone wall for support. Linen bandages spotted with blood bound her chest. When she unwrapped them, to her surprise, she found smooth, unblemished skin.
Her magic had mended the two knife wounds in her side, but it couldn’t heal the gaping ache in her heart.
The gold manacles were gone, replaced by the thin bronze bands, that dampened her magic without suppressing it completely. While she hated the stiff metal branding her wrists, the bands kept her strength under control. At the foot of the bed, a simple off-white linen tunic, along with a leather cord, awaited her. She slipped the garment over her head and tied it at her waist.
A flimsy curtain with Laran’s symbol hung over the doorway. She was no doubt in one of the arena’s outer buildings, yet none of the guards had come for her, though they must have heard her sobs.
Why wasn’t she in the healer’s room or back in her cell?
She longed to find Nik and tell him everything that had happened. Aurelius had refused to let him watch the fight. Had he heard about Sinope yet?
A set of heavy footsteps pulled her from her thoughts.
“You’re awake.” The Rasennan officer who’d come to her aid ducked inside, standing before her in full armour. With his broad shoulders and imposing stature, he looked almost regal. The glittering golden breastplate he’d worn in the arena was gone, replaced by a leather cuirass. His tunic, stitched with a black and purple pattern, was a shade darker than his crimson cloak. “How are you feeling?”
His gaze took in her discarded bandages, then slid over her body, assessing her wounds. If he noticed her tear-stained cheeks, he gave no indication of it.
She must have looked like a mess. Her hair was dishevelled, her arms were still covered in blood, and her tunic had indecently slipped up her thighs when she’d moved across the bed. But she couldn’t care less. “Who are you?”
Holding his black-plumed helmet under one arm, he drew nearer. Each stride carried an unmistakable sense of command that left no room for doubt.
“My official name is Marcus Tarquinius Dalmatius. I am a praefect in the Emperor’s army, Sixth Legion.”
His short-cropped dark hair and pleasant features were a far cry from the stragglers Katell had encountered in the Freefolk Lands. Those soldiers had appeared brutish and half-mad with hunger. The officer before her had refined yet angular features with strong eyebrows and a square, clean-shaven jaw. He seemed a few years older than her, and on his right shoulder, a black geometric pattern emerged from beneath his tunic, covering his defined biceps.
“Like you, I was a slave in an arena, fighting for my life every day,” he said. “The masters used me as entertainment until I was saved.”
Katell raised an eyebrow. “You were a slave?”
“My name, Dalmatius, means ‘from Dalmatia’. It’s where I was born, in Illyria. It was one of the most rebellious provinces of the Empire, with close ties to Achaea, and its people were often sold into slavery. I was only a young boy when slavers found me. A god of my people Gifted me, and I was sold to an arena near Kisra.”
Beneath his stifling air of authority, she glimpsed a shared pain, which sent a ripple of unease through her.
Setting down his helmet, the officer grabbed a stool and sat beside her. Up close, his steel eyes were mesmerising against his tanned, olive skin. “I know the pain of the arena. Believe me. Fighting day after day, having to follow the whims of your patron without a word, or put on a show to please the crowds. I remember it all too well. What you did yesterday for your friend showed more strength and courage than I have seen in many of my soldiers.”
“Then your army is weak.” Katell refused to let him ply her with words. He might have saved her and known more about being an arena slave than she’d expected, but he knew nothing of her pain.
He knew nothing about her.
Her sharp tone didn’t push him away. On the contrary, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. His leather armour groaned under the strain of his broad back.
“I do not train common soldiers, Katell.” The use of her name jolted her. Only Sinope and Nik had used it since she’d arrived at the arena. “The Emperor gave me a mission to recruit and train Gifted warriors. Particularly those Gifted by Laran.”
“Laran? No one could confirm the Mark was his.”
“The arena master and his people know nothing of Laran and his symbols. But judging by your inhuman strength, there’s no doubt about it. May I see it? Your Mark?”
His question gave her pause. He’d saved her from the arena, but he was still a Rasennan officer.
His calm gaze set on her. “I mean you no harm.”
For some reason, she believed him. He’d shown concern for her well-being in the arena, and not once had he treated her like a slave. She exhaled a breath, then twisted on the bed, brushing away her tangled braid.
He leaned closer, and a faint scent of smoke mixed with spice tickled her nose. “It’s Laran’s Mark, all right. The circular horse shape is different from his usual symbols, but that is often the case when he Gifts foreigners.”
Katell glanced over her shoulder with a frown. “Are you certain?”
“Laran may be the Rasennans’ patron god, but his power and influence have grown over the years as the Empire has stretched and encompassed more people and cultures. Some, like the Samnites you encountered, fools that they are, view him only as the god of war, but he is much more than that. He is a protector of the people, securing peace with our enemies and providing bountiful harvests. He rewards the new citizens of the Empire by Gifting them and looks favourably on those who seek to maintain the peace.”
His lips tugged at the corner. “I believe Laran chose you for a specific purpose and sent me here to find you. He wanted me to help you with your Gift and find the answers you’ve been searching for.”
Words failed her. A Rasennan god had taken an interest in her? The idea felt unfathomable.
Before she could voice her doubts, the officer raised his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, an orange flame appeared in his palm, dancing across his skin. Her breath hitched, and she leaned closer, the warmth of the fire heating her face. The flames grew bigger, covering his whole palm, until he closed his fist and snuffed them out.
“I’ve seen the way you fight. You use your strength without control, not knowing whether your attacks will stop your enemies or shatter them to pieces.” His piercing gaze dropped to the bands around her wrists, and his expression hardened. “Aurelius has kept you leashed in dampeners for too long, killing any sense of control you might have naturally gained over time, and now you have become a danger to yourself and to others.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. In a few words, the Rasennan had revealed the fears that had plagued her for days.
He leaned back on his stool, scanning her face. “You have a choice, Katell. Come with me. Let me train you and help you regain control of your magic. Let me help you find your potential and become the skilled warrior Laran wishes you to be. Or take matters into your own hands and see how far you can go before the city guards arrest you for the attempted murder of Decimus Saturius. Or worse, before you harm innocent people.” His steel gaze fixed on her, letting her know how serious he was about his offer. “The choice is yours. You’re a free woman now. I made sure of it.”
She jerked back. “A free woman?”
It wasn’t possible. Aurelius and her patron would have never let her go unless he’d paid a considerable amount of gold. And if he had, then honour dictated that she follow the officer until her debt was repaid.
“I relieve you from any obligation towards me,” he added as if he sensed the thoughts weighing on her. “I wish for you to come of your own choice. None of the Gifted soldiers joined me against their wishes.”
Her stomach clenched at the word ‘soldier’. “You mean… join your legion?”
Despite the bite in her words, he shrugged. “Yes, as a new recruit. Every recruit requires a full summer of training before officially joining our ranks. After that, you can choose whether to remain with us or leave.”
It was a trap. The offer was too easy, too tempting to be true.
“You’d train me, help me control my magic, and then I could simply leave?”
“Yes.”
“What if I attack you right after leaving?”
“Then we’ll stop you.” His voice held no hesitation.
She arched an eyebrow. “You seem awfully confident in your skills.”
He gave an amused huff, allowing her to glimpse a more genuine expression for the first time. One that intrigued her. He ran his thumb across his bottom lip, shaking his head. “I won’t be bested by a girl who is afraid of her own Gift.”
Heat crawled up Katell’s neck, but she wasn’t sure whether it was anger… or something else. She considered his offer. Although she didn’t trust him, she had little choice. Her magic was out of control and training was exactly what she needed. If she could regain control over her strength, then she had a better chance of finding her way back to Alena.
Assuming her sister was still alive.
He stood, grasping the black feathered helmet in his large, tanned hands. “I’ll let you rest and think about my offer. Shall I ask the guards to take off the bands?”
She wanted nothing more than to take the damned things off and let her blistered skin heal, but the officer was right. Without control of her magic, she was a danger to others. “No, I’ll keep them.”
He nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”
As he turned on his heel, Katell called out, “Wait. What’s your name?”
She couldn’t keep calling him ‘the officer’, and his Rasennan name was much too complicated to remember.
Confusion pulled at his brow. “Marcus Tarquinius—”
“No, I mean your real name. You said you came from Illyria. What was your name before you joined the army?”
He paused, his slate-grey eyes meeting hers, and for a fleeting moment, she caught a glimpse of the man hiding behind the soldier’s fa?ade.
Once upon a time, something had happened to the slave warrior who’d become an army officer. There was a story behind those eyes.
“Dorias,” he replied.
“Can I call you by that name?”
He pondered her question. “If you wish. Few people know me by that name. At the camp, you must address me by rank.”
“All right then, Dorias.” She liked the way it rolled off her tongue. “I’ll come with you. I’ll join you and follow your training, but I have some requests.”
If her answer surprised him, he didn’t show it. “I’m listening.”
“First, I wish to search for my missing sister. If she’s alive, she’ll have come to Bruna to search for me. I wish to have two more days in the city.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” His tone brooked no room for argument. “With your current popularity in the city, if you step foot outside of the arena, you’ll be swarmed. And with the dampeners still on, you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself. I’ll have my men remain in Bruna and search for her—”
She opened her mouth to protest.
“—for ten days,” he insisted. “I suppose you don’t have anything of hers with you, so something with your smell will have to do for the hounds.”
Katell hesitated. Could she trust Dorias to find Alena? Her best chances of finding her sister were in Bruna, but he was right. It could be dangerous for her outside the arena.
She handed him a bloodied linen bandage. “Will this do?”
He surveyed the cloth before tucking it into a leather pouch. “I believe it will. What else?”
“I want Sinope to have a proper burial,” she said, her voice resolute. “I know nothing about Amazon burial customs, but I refuse that she be cut up and fed to the lions.”
He nodded in agreement. “My men have taken the Amazon’s body, and she’s being kept in a separate room. A burial in the city’s necropolis will appease her spirit and satisfy her goddess.”
Katell released a shaky breath. She’d been afraid Aurelius or Saturius had claimed the body for themselves, but hearing Dorias had protected Sinope put her mind at ease.
“Is that all?” he asked.
“No.”
With a bemused expression, he cocked an eyebrow and waited for her to speak.
Katell steeled her nerves, thinking over her words. Bargaining for Nik’s life might prove a challenge, but she owed him to at least try. “There is another Gifted warrior—”
“The one they call ‘the Achaean?” All traces of amusement vanished from Dorias’ face, and a subtle edge tinged his tone. “Gifted with unnatural speed?”
She nodded. “He could be an asset to the army.”
“He’s Achaean. An enemy of the Empire.”
“He’s skilled!”
His mouth flattened, conveying his clear disapproval of her request. “An honourable man would never fight for his enemy.”
“He might if the alternative is a life of slavery in the arena,” she snapped.
A long silence followed.
Katell bit her lip, regretting her outburst. Dorias’ unwavering gaze bore into her.
“Please,” she added.
At last, he inclined his head. “I’ll offer him the same choice. But then we must depart within the hour, whether he joins us or not. Do you agree?”
“Yes.” She fought back a smile. Nik would accept. He had to. “When will you speak with him?”
“Soon. We must travel to the necropolis for the Amazon’s burial before the end of the day.”
He headed out.
“One last thing.” Her voice drew him to a stop at the doorway. “I made a pact with Vanth before my fight with Sinope. I asked her to protect my sister in my stead, but I don’t know if my sacrifice was enough. What should I do?”
“Nothing,” came his brief answer. “You completed the sacrifice when you killed the Amazon.”
Katell winced at his words. “I don’t understand.”
“Vanth is a goddess of death. To make a pact, she requires either your death or the killing of someone close to you. You said the Amazon was your friend?”
Her heart dropped. “Yes.”
“Then the pact is sealed.”