41. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Panting with each step, Katell hauled the sack of rocks over her shoulder until she reached the end of the field.
“Ninety-nine. One more to go.”
She gritted her teeth and pivoted, facing the length of the field once more. Dorias watched in the distance, arms crossed.
The heavy rocks had been his idea since regular army weights had felt like feathers around her ankles and wrists. Breathing through her mouth in a steady rhythm, she reached the praefect in record time and dumped the bag at his feet.
“I made it.” Bending over, hands on her knees, she fought to catch her breath.
“Impressive.” His leather cuirass shone in the morning light, showing off his tanned, muscled arms and the geometric black lines on his shoulder depicting a patterned shield crossed with a spear. “How do you feel after so many laps?”
Katell wiped the sweat from her brow. “Fine.”
“Really? Your face says otherwise.” A hint of amusement seeped into his voice before he ran a hand over his jaw. “Let’s stop for today. Your stamina already surpasses every other soldier in the Sixth by far.”
They marched back to the legion’s camp, a barricaded rectangle nestled at the foot of a mountain. They passed the guards at the main entrance with a nod and headed to the training grounds. Next came weapons practice—sword and shield.
Although Katell wouldn’t admit it out loud, she found great pleasure in her daily exercises. In just a dozen days, she was managing her strength and feeling in control again.
As soon as they’d arrived at the Sixth’s camp, Dorias had brought her to the healers’ tent and forced a potion into her hand.
“To help you adjust to your new environment,” was all he’d said.
Hoping for a sleeping potion, Katell had taken it before bed. However, the recurring torment of arena nightmares had plagued her as usual; a jumbled whirl of bloodied weapons, famished beasts, and screaming faces.
But the next day, she’d been able to understand every order, gossip, and dirty joke that filled the camp. Dorias had given her a language potion for Rhaetic. A rare concoction made by Laran’s priestesses that allowed Katell to speak and understand the Rasennan language but not read or write it—not that her training required those skills. Although Dorias must have paid a large sum for the potion, he’d refused to say a word about it.
Once they reached the training area, Dorias jerked his chin at the stack of practice weapons. “Same as yesterday.”
Katell picked up a wooden sword and shield, each weighing twice as much as their real counterparts. She approached the training area, where her presence stood out among the male soldiers, earning her an abundance of lingering stares and furtive glances. Women weren’t allowed to join a legion unless they were Gifted. In that case, they often joined the Black Helmets under Dorias’ command.
Ironically, though the gods didn’t discriminate between men and women, the Rasennan army did.
Dorias nodded, and Katell faced a wooden training pole, which was planted in the ground and surpassed her in height by a few heads. The Rasennans believed that repetitive sword gestures helped increase a soldier’s skill with a blade through strength and precision.
And so, Katell repeated the same thrusts endlessly. Up, middle, down.
There was no variety within the legion and little individual initiative. Everything had already been thought out for the soldiers. Their rectangular shields were curved to protect the body, shoulder to knee, and their pointed blades, made for stabbing, created a perfect combination to neutralise the enemy. Tough individual training as well as group formations shaped the legions into the strongest and fastest army around the Great Sea—or so she’d been told.
“Move with the shield. Lift it higher.” Dorias’ steel gaze tracked her every thrust. Despite his duties as a praefect, he’d overseen every aspect of her training from the first day. He’d also insisted that she take the bronze dampeners off every morning for extended periods, which had gradually contributed to balancing her strength again.
Running and increasing her stamina had come first. While Rasennan soldiers spent hours marching in a cohesive unit, she was made to run in the rolling meadows until her lungs burned and her legs ached. After being trapped inside a cage for so long, nothing had ever felt more liberating.
Stripped of his armour, Dorias had joined her, teaching her how to focus on her breathing and calm her mind. He’d made her run and swim every day until thoughts of Sinope, Nik, and even Alena had faded to the back of her mind. Sword exercises had been more challenging, and she’d broken many a sword and wooden pole before she was able to strike with normal strength.
Katell’s sword met the pole with a sharp clang, sending a few splinters flying.
“Let’s try something new.” Dorias strode towards the duelling area, a broad circle coated in ashen sand sourced from the riverbank.
Katell brushed strands of hair out of her sweaty face. “Sword fighting?”
“A spar. Think you’re up for it?”
She’d been itching for one for days, yet she hesitated without the bronze bands on her wrists. “Perhaps I should put the dampeners back on.”
“No.” Dorias’ voice was calm, yet firm. “You can do this. We’ve been practising for days now, and your control has improved without fail. You’re ready for the next step.”
He unbuckled his belt, dropping his sword to the side before choosing a wooden blade and shield. He wore his leather cuirass but no helmet.
Katell faced him in her usual tunic and breeches, biting her lip in anticipation.
“Remember your breathing. Focus your mind.” Dorias lifted the heavy sword, and in one swift movement, he charged at her.
Katell dug her heels in the sand and blocked his blade with her shield. She pushed him back none-too-gently and aimed for his side. The praefect knocked her sword with his shield and attacked in a series of thrusts that forced her to retreat behind her shield.
In the next beat, Dorias stepped in, and the point of his blade stabbed her under the arm. She flinched, whirling out of his reach and stepping out of the circle.
His jaw ticked. “You’ve been relying too much on your strength and have forgotten about skill.”
Katell nodded, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. She could do it. She’d always been a skilled fighter, with or without her strength. The oblong shield, however, was throwing her off.
“Again.”
Dorias took his stance, gaze locked on her every move. He was a force to be reckoned with, his muscular frame exuding strength and precision. Katell could only imagine what it might be like to face him in the arena.
Other recruits and soldiers halted their training and gathered to watch them, their crimson tunics a wave of blood against the sandy ground.
Katell’s hand tightened around the grip of her shield, and she brought the edge up to her shoulder as instructed.
The praefect gave a sharp nod. “Come at me.”
She lunged, but he was hard to catch off guard. His shield met hers in a resounding clash, and he pivoted, his wooden sword slapping the back of her thigh.
“Not good enough.”
Katell clenched her jaw and circled him, searching for an opening. He feinted to the left, shield at the ready, and she jumped to the right. He countered her thrust, but with a twist of her wrist, she brought her blade down, striking his unprotected side.
“Better.”
They continued to spar, appreciating each other’s skill and technique until Dorias accelerated the pace and drove her hard. She stabbed from the side, copying a Samnite attack, but he spun out of reach. His shield smacked her from behind, sending her sprawling into the sand on her hands and knees.
The other soldiers jeered, and her temper flared at every degrading Rhaetic comment thrown her way.
Spitting out sand, she picked herself up and gripped her shield. Her magic had already healed her cuts and bruises, but fatigue pulled at her senses. Dorias gave her no respite, stabbing and slashing without stopping.
She’d thought herself unbeatable, yet before the battle-hardened praefect, her strikes appeared weak and her footwork was clumsy. He was making a fool out of her, and soon the mounting frustration boiling within her erupted into a fierce rage.
She wasn’t a toy to be played with. Her string of victories within Bruna’s arena proved that. She’d survived every Samnite and warrior the arena master had thrown her way, and a Rasennan officer was no different.
A dark hunger for blood and violence stirred within her, and following another vicious blow to her leg, she unleashed it.
Dorias charged again, but Katell held her ground. Their shields collided with a loud crack, and in the next heartbeat, she bent her knee and struck his leg with the flat of her blade.
He flinched.
She didn’t stop. Not until blood was spilled and her opponent was down.
She relished the fight and took control of it, pushing, striking, attacking, and thrusting until she wrenched his shield to one side and kicked him in the gut. Dorias flew backwards with a grunt, hitting the sand and rolling over a few times.
A hushed silence fell upon the ring of onlookers. Katell’s mind flashed back to Scylas crashing into the wooden fence, and her stomach dropped.
“Praefect Dalmatius!” Soldiers rushed to Dorias’ side.
“I’m fine,” he answered, his voice gruff.
The constricting grip around Katell’s chest eased up, and setting down her shield, she took deep, laboured breaths.
Dorias braced himself up on one arm, spitting blood on the ground. “I’m fine,” he repeated, holding up a hand to stop the others. “Get back to training, all of you.”
Shooting nervous glances her way, the soldiers returned to their posts, instructors barking orders once more.
Dorias looked up with an inscrutable expression, prompting her to narrow her eyes in suspicion. He’d insisted she keep the dampeners off and then had provoked her on purpose. What game was he playing at?
“Was that fear I saw on your face?” He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “Did you fear for my life?”
Katell shook her head at his audacity. “I could have killed you.”
He answered with a low chuckle that resonated between them. Soft and dark. “You wouldn’t be the first one to try.”
With a huff, she offered her hand and pulled him to his feet.
“Shall we continue?” She smirked, unable to resist taunting him. “I thought I was doing rather well.”
“Don’t get cocky,” he growled, brushing sand from his armour. “Put the weapons away, and let’s head back.”
When they left the training grounds, hushed voices followed. They navigated through the legion camp where each cohort occupied a designated location, and rows of rectangular tents stood in perfect alignment. Katell couldn’t help but admire how efficient Rasennan organisation was compared to the unruly Freefolk camps.
Katell’s tent was at the far end of the camp with the other Gifted. Officially called ‘cohort Tarquinia’, after Emperor Tarquinius, the Gifted soldiers were more commonly known as the ‘Black Helmets’ due to the black finish of the brass helmets they wore.
Yet another clever Rasennan trick to distinguish them in battle.
Katell ate and slept with the Black Helmets but spent most of the day training with Dorias. The praefect had his own larger tent closer to the centre of the camp, manned by two soldiers. The Black Helmets were never invited inside except for Atticus, Dorias’ second-in-command. Although rumours about Tia, a fellow female Black Helmet, sneaking into his tent at night circulated among the camp.
The two guards snapped to attention outside Dorias’ tent, saluting him. Katell expected to be dismissed for the day, but instead, the praefect summoned her inside.
The flaps at the rear of the tent were open, allowing natural light and a fresh breeze within. The tent was otherwise sparsely furnished with a bed in one corner, adorned with plush cushions and linens, several chests along the walls, and a large desk covered in parchment and scrolls.
Dorias splashed his face with scented water from a basin, then poured fresh water from a jug into a couple of goblets. “Good work today.”
Katell took the drink, blinking at his unexpected compliment.
“I know it doesn’t always feel like it, but you’ve made a lot of progress controlling your Gift.”
She nodded, sipping the cool water as he retreated to his desk. His thick brown hair, almost as dark as her own, had grown since they’d first met. It covered the tip of his ears, giving him a regal flair.
“I wanted to speak to you in private.” He picked up a small piece of parchment and glanced back at her. “I’ve received word from Bruna.”
Katell stilled.
“I’m sorry. There’s still no news of your sister, and unfortunately, this is the last message.” His delivery was swift, neither harsh nor soft. “Legate Ancharius ordered the trackers back to camp. We won’t be able to look for her any longer.”
Her heart sank. The goblet shook in her hand, and her knuckles turned white.
Alena.
There had only ever been a small chance of her sister making it to Bruna, and yet…
The last shred of hope she had of finding her sister crumpled like a leaf, leaving a hollow ache inside her chest that threatened to bring her to her knees.
Her distress must have shown on her face, as Dorias rounded his desk in quick strides, his features softening. “Katell—”
“Don’t.”
Their gazes clashed. The concern etched on his face felt strangely intimate, and she couldn’t bear it. No matter how much he’d helped her since her arrival, he wasn’t her friend. He wasn’t training her for selfless reasons. He wanted her to join him.
She wrestled her emotions under control. “I don’t want your pity. We’re not allies or friends. I’m only here to honour our deal.”
Her words made her sound like an ungrateful brat, but they were also a reminder to herself that she couldn’t trust him.
No matter how much time they spent together, he was a Rasennan officer. If Sinope knew how Katell spent every day training with him, the Amazon would be appalled.
Dorias went rigid, pulse ticking in his jaw. His silence was deafening, and her lungs tightened beneath the intensity of his stare. She had to leave before she lashed out even more—or worse, started crying.
She darted forward and thrust her empty cup against his stiff breastplate. He caught it along with her fingers and pulled her closer.
Her breath hitched as their eyes locked. The storm in his gaze darkened. “You’re right. We’re not friends.” His voice grew hard and forbidding. “But as long as you’re in this camp, I’m your commander, and the Black Helmets are your allies, whether you like it or not.”
Her skin burned beneath his warm touch, and she snatched back her hand.
“Message well-received, sir. Until tomorrow.”
She hurried out of his tent with a glower, putting some much-needed distance between them.
Once she’d washed up, the long walk back to the Black Helmets’ quarters gave Katell time to cool down. Among the sea of goatskin tents, she was lucky to share one with only two other Gifted women. Up to eight male soldiers shared a tent, although between training and guard duty, digging trenches, and hunting, it was rare to see all of them together outside of mealtimes.
“Look who finally showed up for dinner.”
She took a seat around the campfire, ignoring Arnza’s taunts. He was the youngest Black Helmet, about Alena’s age, and brimming with confidence despite his youth. Beside her, Cinto, an Eluvite with short ash-brown hair, passed her a bowl and spoon. He’d been the most welcoming of the group along with Pinaria, one of the female soldiers.
Katell nodded in gratitude, digging into her supper.
Puls, they called it—wheat porridge that occasionally included meat. She’d been fed the same tasteless slop since her arrival. Meals were provided for a few coins out of the wages she received from Dorias. The meat varied from chicken to mutton, and many soldiers traded spices to add extra taste.
“So, what did our great leader make you do this time?” Arnza smirked over the fire. “Is the new recruit still figuring out how to use a sword? ‘Up, middle, down! Up, middle, down!’”
“Give it a rest,” Cinto snapped.
Arnza’s amused expression dropped. “No one asked you,Eluvite scum.”
The insult hung in the air, and an awkward silence fell over the group.
Katell shook her head and ate another spoonful. No matter where she went, the arena or the army, Rasennans and Westerners would always hate each other.
“Arnza.” Atticus’ deep voice cut through the tension. Dorias’ second-in-command was a wall of muscle with fierce amber eyes. “Remember what Dalmatius told us—homelands matter not on the battlefield. We’re all Black Helmets and we fight together.”
“Must you always cause trouble like a child?” A sultry voice came up from behind. Tia appeared and sat on the log beside Cinto, her lithe body drowning under the standard woollen army cloak. She was a dark-skinned woman with cat-like eyes and shapely lips, and known among the soldiers as the Southern Beauty.
“Rasennan, Achaean, Westerner—where we came from matters not.” She flipped her long curls over her shoulder, and the scent of jasmine floated in the air. Despite all their daily training and tasks, she always smelled clean. “What matters are our Gifts and our loyalty to Dalmatius. We’re all here because we owe him our lives.”
Arnza’s smirk was quick to return. “Do you always defend your lovers so ardently, Tia, or do you make an exception for our leader?”
She shot him a glare but neither denied nor confirmed the rumours.
Across the fire, Arnza shared a knowing glance with the two Rasennan brothers, Larth and Thocero. “Can’t blame us for being curious. Besides, perhaps you can do the same service for the rest of us. We all have needs here, and from what I’ve heard, you had lots of practice servicing men back in Kisra. Isn’t that right?”
A stunned silence followed his words before Cinto muttered, “Shit.”
At once, the group exploded.
With an outraged cry, Tia sprang to her feet, tendrils of shadows writhing and coiling around her form. The white of her eyes vanished into inky black voids, and the air thickened with magic—something dark and primal—raising the hairs on Katell’s skin.
An ethereal, shimmering white light encircled Larth’s outstretched hands, and twin black blades appeared. “Come on, princess, there’s no need for violence. You can’t let an idiot like Arnza get under your skin like that.”
Tia canted her head, her black gaze locked on Arnza’s grinning face. “I won’t kill them. I just want to mess around inside his head until he screams.”
Her words caused an even bigger commotion. Atticus lunged between them, shouting orders, while Thocero scrambled away, cursing.
“Tia.” Cinto took slow, deliberate steps, holding his hands out in a placating manner. “Stand down. If you use your Gift on him, you’ll get flogged.”
After several tense beats, a palpable shift rippled through the air and the stifling magic ceased. With a sharp breath, the Southerner blinked, her gaze reverting back to normal.
“He’s not worth it,” Cinto added in a low voice.
Tia gave a tight nod, then stormed off to the women’s tent without another word.
Arnza guffawed with laughter until Atticus shut him up with a glare. “She could turn your mind into puls without lifting a finger, you fool!”
Arnza fell silent, and Larth dropped down beside him, shaking his head. Katell finished her bowl, observing the odd mix of Gifted warriors settling back down around the campfire.
Dorias had clearly lost his mind. If the Black Helmets couldn’t even sit together for a meal, how did the praefect expect all eight of them to fight as one?