33. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
True to Dorias’ word, Katell became a free woman.
One of his soldiers brought her an official Rasennan scroll proving her new status, along with a simple straw-coloured tunic, dark breeches, a belt, and a new pair of sandals. Once she was ready, Dorias led her out of the building towards the main courtyard, and no one tried to stop them.
Outside, the circular amphitheatre loomed above them. Thick columns supported the weight of the upper stands, and high-vaulted windows let the light in. The arched corridors on the ground floor were flanked with stone statues of unknown heroes and gods welcoming the visitors. As much as Katell hated the Pit, it remained the most impressive building she’d ever set eyes upon.
An odd silence stretched around her. Midday was the perfect time for prisoners of war and disobedient slaves to be mauled by lions, according to Aurelius. It opened the crowd’s appetite for violence and blood before the main warrior events.
Yet the stands were empty.
At the base of the stone walls, horizontal slits provided the only light in the slaves’ quarters. They were so small, almost impossible to notice unless someone searched for them.
A knot formed in Katell’s stomach. How many slaves were still trapped below? How many of them would die before the next full moon?
A mix of grief and guilt charged over her, and she sucked in a deep breath, mustering the strength to walk away. To turn her back on the Pit and all the horrors she’d experienced.
She would never be locked up again. And neither would Nik.
They were both free now.
“We need to leave.” Dorias stood beside a white stallion, appearing majestic in his leather armour and red cloak. His horse had a thick mane and tail and was taller than those from the steppe.
Further back by the wooden gates, a handful of soldiers on horseback waited. With them, on a low wooden cart pulled by a mule, lay a body wrapped in a white sheet and surrounded by flowers.
Sinope.
Katell searched the courtyard, failing to spot dark blond hair.
Dorias approached, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “He’s not coming.”
Her heart stuttered. “What?”
“I offered him the same choice and he refused it.” Dorias’ gaze softened around the edges. “I’m sorry.”
Katell scanned his face, unable to make sense of his words. Then, she found her voice. “He said no?”
“Indeed, although in a more colourful manner. I believe he said he’d rather die than join the legion dogs and mentioned something about needing to stay and pay for his past crimes.”
Katell’s mind flashed back to their moment in the cells in the dead of night.
I’ve done things… terrible things in the past… and now I’m paying for them. So don’t you worry about me.
But the past didn’t matter anymore, not after everything they’d gone through.
She clicked her tongue and glanced back at the arena. “Why did he refuse?”
Dorias stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I can allow you a moment to go back inside to speak with him, but you won’t change his mind.” His gaze flicked to his men, awaiting orders, and then the wooden cart. “We need to hurry and bring the Amazon to the temple before nightfall for the burial rituals.”
Katell exhaled a sharp breath. She had half a mind to storm back to the slave quarters and drag Nik out herself, yet she knew he wouldn’t thank her for it. Biting her cheek, she reined in her rising anger. After everything—everything—why would he refuse?
“Do you wish to go back?” Dorias asked.
“I…” Katell hesitated, then shook her head. Sinope’s burial had already been pushed back while she recovered and she refused to delay any longer, even for Nik. “No. The Achaean made his choice. Let’s go.”
Dorias nodded and jerked his chin. A soldier approached, holding the reins of a grey mare.
“Can you ride?” Dorias asked. He led his stallion towards a stone ledge to hoist himself up.
Katell blinked at the horned leather saddle strapped on the mare’s back. She’d only seen Parthian tribesmen use padded saddles before, but nothing quite this sophisticated.
Feeling the Rasennan’s gaze on her, she took the reins with a tight smile. “Of course.” She jumped onto the mare, and with a low whistle, it took off, walking alongside the stallion.
“I’ve never seen her respond so eagerly before,” Dorias noted, his gaze sweeping over the horse. “She’s usually a nervous one.”
Katell leaned down, patting the mare’s neck. “She just needs the right touch.”
They left through the open gates, Dorias shouting orders to his soldiers before adding in a more private tone, “After yesterday’s events, Governor Quintus Fabius decided to close the arena and organise a funerary procession through the city. The people of Bruna wish to pay homage to your Amazon friend. She was a great warrior, and many supported her from the stands. We’ll ride through the city and stop at the temple past the walls. My men will prepare the burial ground.”
The streets of Bruna were paved with large flat stones, perfect for the passage of horses and wagons. Stone houses bordered the streets with painted fa?ades and carved alcoves holding statues of deities, candles, and other offerings. Upon closer inspection, most of the statues depicted a youth draped in a blood-red cape and holding a spear and shield.
Laran, the god of war. The one so many warriors in the arena had dedicated their lives to and who’d Gifted her.
Katell twisted in her saddle, contemplating the circular arena one last time. In her mind, she saw dirty-blond hair and light blue eyes.
You do what you need to do.
She released a long breath and forced herself to let Nik go. His fate was out of her hands.
They rode past the marketplace, which bustled with wooden stands and overloaded carts filled with grain, spices, and fruit. Men and women in colourful robes and gaudy jewellery bartered with merchants, while slaves and Non-Humans alike trailed behind them. Few stopped to observe the soldiers and fewer still glanced at the body in the cart.
They rounded a corner, and the cacophony of Bruna’s inner city faded. The paved streets gave way to muddy roads, and elegant stone houses shifted to cramped, wooden huts. Up ahead, gathered on either sides of their path, crowds of people waited in silence.
A woman dressed in a frayed tunic, clutching a small girl in her arms, threw a single flower on the road before the horses. Another woman followed, then another, and another. Soon, the muddy path was streaked with coloured petals.
“Your friend, Sinope, touched many people through her fights and courage in the arena,” Dorias said, his horse walking side by side with her mare. “This is the case in many amphitheatres across the Empire. Brave and talented fighters can become heroes in the eyes of common folk, and when they die, they are honoured as such. Your friend wasn’t only a great fighter, she was also an Amazon. And in the people’s minds, that makes her legendary.”
More and more women came forward, throwing flowers on the road. Katell had been unaware of the extent to which the people of Bruna hailed Sinope as a hero, though in hindsight, it made perfect sense. The Amazon was the arena’s favourite warrior by far, the cheers and applause always loudest for her. She’d gained the crowd’s admiration for her beauty and their respect for her skills.
Katell’s heart clenched, and she dropped her gaze to her hands on the reins. She couldn’t bear to face the people’s grief when she was the one responsible for the Amazon’s death.
At least she’d make sure that Sinope received the proper funerary rites.
“We’re almost at the gates.”
Dorias pushed ahead, reaching the front of the column to give out orders. A wooden palisade built atop stone foundations stood before them. Giant wooden gates were thrown open, allowing the width of three wagons side by side to travel in or out. On either side, city guards kept watch, questioning traders and travellers who passed through.
They saluted Dorias, wide-eyed, as the praefect pulled a scroll from his belt. One guard read its contents while the others continued watching, muttering amongst themselves. Among the hard Rhaetic sounds, she caught them repeating Dorias’ official name—Dalmatius.
In the end, they were allowed to pass and followed the throng of travellers leaving the city. On the other side of the gate, two giant stone statues flanked the entrance, one depicting Laran as a young man wearing a Rasennan helmet and holding a spear. The other was of a man with a stern expression dressed in a muscled breastplate, sword on his hip, sceptre in one hand, and a crown on his brow.
“Is that the Emperor?” Katell asked. The statue was just as majestic and imposing as Laran’s.
The soldiers ahead took a narrow dirt path bordering the city walls.
Dorias bowed his head in respect at the statue in passing. “Yes. Emperor Caius Tarquinius. There are statues of him in every city of the Empire so that he may always be with his people.”
That, or he liked seeing himself being depicted as a god. But Katell knew better than to voice the thought out loud to a Rasennan officer.
The path leading to the necropolis was well-kept and lined with small altars built against the walls. Green pastures dotted with tiny star-shaped white flowers lay ahead, filled with square funerary monuments and upright slabs of stone commemorating the dead. The stelae came in all shapes and sizes, some sculpted or painted with images of the dead, while others were engraved with Rhaetic inscriptions.
Katell found herself transfixed by the sight. The Freefolk burned their dead on a pyre and family members kept the ashes in an urn. She’d never imagined that Rasennans or Achaeans could build such grand monuments for their dead.
“Surprised?” Dorias asked, his gaze set on her.
She didn’t answer, simply taking in the view. The marble and limestone glittered in the sunlight, and the surrounding silence created a solemn atmosphere.
The dead were loved and not forgotten.
An off-white colonnade stood against a square mud-brick building on the far side. A patch of dry grassland sprawled before it, crowded with stone slabs, many in poor condition.
The group halted at the bottom of the building’s stepped entrance. Women dressed in dark Achaean chitons appeared at the doors.
“This is the Achaean necropolis.” Dorias dismounted and then helped her down. “It’s reserved for the small population of Achaeans living in Bruna.”
Amazons weren’t Achaeans, but they worshipped one of their gods, and any alternative to Rasennan ground was better for Sinope’s resting place.
Katell climbed the brick steps, taking in the tall limestone columns with blue spiral designs painted on top. “Is this an Achaean temple?”
“No.” Dorias’ voice hardened. “The Achaean Twelve are enemies of the Empire. This building is used only for funeral rites.”
The soldiers carried Sinope’s body to the top of the steps, laying her down at the women’s feet. No words were exchanged between them. The Achaean women merely nodded in silent greeting.
Dorias remained by the steps. “No men are permitted inside. We’ll wait for you here.”
Katell crossed the threshold, entering a high, vaulted hall with separate rooms along the sides. The women, having picked up the body, filed inside one of them. Katell followed, discovering a single wooden table where Sinope was laid down amongst dozens of candles.
The rest of the day slipped away in a haze of undressing the Amazon and washing and anointing her skin with scented oils. Sinope’s body had grown stiff, its colour pale and grey. The gaping wound in her stomach mirrored the hole in Katell’s heart, and she could only breathe again when the dark bruises disfiguring the Amazon’s face were finally hidden beneath an embroidered veil. Then they wrapped the body in immaculate white fabric, belted around the chest, leaving her arms bare.
“A chiton,” one of the women explained with a kind smile. “It is tradition. Women wear it from Megara to Ephesos. The Amazon would be pleased.”
She handed Katell the final touch. A wreath of flowers to adorn Sinope’s head. Throat tight, she placed it atop her friend’s golden hair and stroked her cheek in a final goodbye.
The women broke the stifling silence with chants, their high voices echoing around the confined space. Feeling like an intruder among unknown burial chants and prayers, Katell slipped back into the main hall.
She walked down the central aisle, peering at the painted scenery on the walls. The building was far more opulent inside than she could have imagined. At the far back stood a marble statue that almost reached the ceiling with an engraved stone table before it.
The sculpted marble depicted a bare-chested deity presiding atop a throne, his lower half elegantly draped in bright blue folds. The sharp trident in his hand and the thunderous frown marring his bearded face gave Katell pause. His fierce, jewelled eyes seemed to stare right at her.
“The Sea God,” a soft voice said, and Katell jumped. An older woman stood behind her. Matching Katell’s height, she had walnut hair threaded with grey and elegantly braided into a bun.
“Megara’s patron god and one of the Achaean Twelve.” Unlike the other women, she donned a refined blue chiton that glided with effortless grace along the stone floor. “He is arguably the strongest god after the Father and a threat to Laran and the Empire.”
Katell peeked over her shoulder at the soldiers waiting outside. “If this is indeed a temple, why haven’t they torn it down yet?”
The woman smiled. Up close, her light-coloured eyes reminded Katell of a winter sky. “The Rasennans cannot harm what they know not.”
Confused, Katell glanced back to the statue until realisation dawned on her. “They can’t see it.”
The woman nodded. “It is one of the Gifts of the priestesses currently taking care of your friend.”
A strange energy thrummed in the air. Katell faced the woman again. Was she also a priestess? Her stormy gaze held wisdom that seemed beyond her years as though she’d seen the world’s secrets.
“Why aren’t you singing with the others?” The woman’s gaze shifted to the candle-lit room, but Katell couldn’t bring herself to answer.
“You’re hurting.” The woman’s face softened. “You’ve been driven to kill your only friend, and now you feel lost and angry.”
“Of course I’m angry.” She drew a ragged breath, her nails digging into her palms. “Wouldn’t you be if you had everything taken away and you were the reason for it?”
“You can lash out at the gods for Gifting you, and you can lash out at the world for making you a killer, but that won’t bring her back.”
The ball of emotion in Katell’s throat thickened, and she averted her gaze. How this priestess, this stranger, could understand her pain so well, she didn’t know.
“That man waiting for you outside is not your friend, and until you let go of your anger, you will not see it.”
“I know. I’m not an idiot,” Katell snapped. “He’s a Rasennan officer.”
She’d heard enough. She turned her back on the Sea God’s statue and retraced her steps down the aisle, hoping to be left in peace.
The air grew thick with magic, cloying her senses, and she faltered.
“If you continue like this, if you don’t learn to forgive yourself, your anger will consume you.” The woman’s voice rang out through her hall with startling clarity, echoing Sinope’s words. “You did what you had to do to survive, and you have done well by your friend. Sinope is with her loved ones, and the Huntress will be pleased. Now, go forth and be brave, Katell.”
The Achaean priestesses burst out of the side room in a single file, chanting prayers and catching Katell off guard. When she glanced back to the woman in the blue chiton, she was gone.
Releasing a heavy breath, Katell joined the procession of women headed outside.
Sinope’s burial was a quiet affair. Dorias arranged for a funerary stele to be sculpted for the grave in the coming days, then it was time to depart.
“Once you have control over your Gift, you’ll be free to return and visit your friend,” he told her, and although he’d kept his word so far, Katell doubted she would ever travel to Bruna again.
They retraced their steps back to the city gates and veered onto the main road. The legion’s camp was still days away on horseback, according to Dorias, but he intended to start their training on the road.
When they reached the first line of trees that bordered the road, blocking the city, Katell refused to glance back at Bruna. The foul-smelling city that had broken her in more ways than one.
Instead, she looked ahead at Dorias’ broad back and his crimson cloak floating in the wind.
She only hoped she hadn’t traded one master for another.