42. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“That little cockroach—”
A string of vicious foreign words drowned the rest of the sentence as Katell entered the shared tent. The space was clean, comfortable enough for the three women and lit up by a dozen candles scattered over a low table and stools.
Tia stopped her angry tirade and whipped around. “What are you staring at?”
Pinaria, the friendlier female soldier, tutted beside her. “Tia, play nice. You were the new recruit too not long ago.”
Tia’s eyes narrowed. “She hasn’t proved herself yet.” She lifted her tunic over her head, exposing her back.
The smooth planes of her dark skin made her far too beautiful to be a soldier, and her gestures were too elegant, like those of a noble. She bent down to pick up a softer tunic for the night, and her curls glided over her shoulder, revealing a white pattern drawn along her ribs. It glittered in the candlelight like silver.
The Mark showed no red tint like those that belonged to Laran. Katell had no idea what kind of magic her fellow Black Helmets possessed except for Atticus, whose amber eyes gave him away. The other soldiers had called him ‘Eagle Eyes’ on occasion, but since she trained with Dorias only, she had yet to witness his Gift in action.
“So, what’s your story, new recruit?” Tia asked, patting down her straw bed with forceful slaps. “You’ve been here long enough now, so spill. Where are you from?”
“Tia!” Pinaria berated, but Tia didn’t bat an eyelid.
“My name is Katell.” She’d already told them, of course, but only Pinaria and Cinto bothered to use it. “And I’m from a place east of here. You wouldn’t know it.”
“From Roxolani?” Pinaria tugged at her wavy chestnut hair with a comb.
Katell shook her head, washing her hands in the basin. “Further east.”
Tia scrunched her nose. “Your olive skin and dark hair say you’re Achaean, maybe even Rasennan.”
Pinaria shot her another pointed glance.
“My father was Achaean,” Katell lied, in an effort to stop their interrogation. “And you?”
“Tia’s from Kemet, the southern province across the Great Sea, although her father was Rasennan,” Pinaria said, and another wave of insults shot out of Tia’s mouth. “She didn’t like him much. As for me, I’m a Rasennan citizen from Velch, a city by the coast. It’s north of Kisra, but not far enough from Laran.”
The scowl on her face was unexpected. “You don’t worship him?” Katell asked.
“I do. Of course, I do. But…” Pinaria hesitated. She was a short young woman with light blue eyes filled with a determination that reminded Katell of Alena. “All my life I was faithful to Turan until my city was attacked by mercenaries who destroyed her temples and killed her priestesses. When the new temple was built, it was dedicated to Laran instead, and my parents became fervent followers. Their devotion was so ardent that my father sacrificed his entire flock to the god of war in exchange for a Gift for his daughter.”
Her hand brushed along the dark red swirls of the Mark on her right calf, difficult to miss even in the candlelight. “I never asked for it, but my parents sacrificed everything for me. So, here I am.”
She lapsed into a thoughtful silence, her comb gliding through her chestnut locks. Katell sensed there was more to her story but didn’t prod. Tia, too, chose to remain silent.
After scrubbing her face in the water basin, Katell lay on her bed. “Who’s Turan?”
Pinaria glanced up. “What?”
“Who’s Turan? I’ve never heard that name before.”
“She’s the goddess of love and fertility, and Laran’s sister. Her religious following was never popular beyond Rasennan borders, and it quickly died after the attack.”
With a sad smile, Pinaria lay down and spread a thin blanket on top of her legs. “We should sleep. I have sentry duty in the early morning. Don’t wait for me tomorrow, Tia. I’ll join you outside the gates.”
Tia clicked her tongue. “Ditches, ditches! Every day they have us digging ditches! I tried to change Dalmatius’ mind, but he said his hands were tied. We have to dig them, too, apparently.”
“You’ll be glad we dug them if the Westerners ever find our camp. If you thought the Northerners were tough, wait until we face some Western barbarians.”
Tia made a dismissive gesture. “Bah, we can handle a few barbaric tribes. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”
An uneasy silence descended between them before Pinaria added in a hushed tone, “The Westerners are stronger. Believe me.”
Tia pinched her lips, then rolled over on her bed, turning her back to them.
Pinaria blew out the remaining two candles, plunging their tent into darkness.
Katell lay atop her blanket, enjoying the crisp night air after the day’s stifling heat, and thought back on Pinaria’s words.
Who exactly were the Westerners? And what crimes had they committed? The Rebel Queen was a hero, a legend. Her tribesmen had been honourable, and their victories over Rasenna had spread through the lands and across the Great Sea.
Or so her father had said.
And yet Damocles had lied.
All her life, he’d made her believe he was her real father. He’d taught her that the Freefolk kept to themselves and shouldn’t concern themselves with the Old Lands. And yet a god—Laran—had Gifted her with magic.
Damocles hadn’t prepared her to face the consequences of her Gift. Instead, he’d fed her lies.
And perhaps his scrolls had lied, too.
“Up, middle, down!” Dorias scrutinised Katell’s strikes against the wooden pole.
She hoisted her shield up, and her arm muscles ached in protest after a relentless morning of swimming, running the outskirts of the camp, and then training beneath the hot sun.
“Praefect Dalmatius, urgent message!”
A soldier appeared, scroll in hand, which Dorias plucked from him. A deep line etched above the praefect’s brow as he glanced over the parchment.
“Where is the legate now?” His tone betrayed a sense of urgency.
“He’s waiting for you in his tent, sir.”
Dismissed with a sharp nod, the messenger left in a hurry, several more scrolls in hand.
Dorias slipped his black-plumed helmet on. “Keep working on your precision. Atticus will come soon for light sparring. No magic.”
Before Katell could protest, he strode out of the training grounds, tension rolling off him in waves.
She blew out a deep breath. None of the Black Helmets had ever trained with her before. It was too dangerous, especially without the dampeners. What if she lost control and killed Atticus by accident?
Her grip tightened, and she struck the practice wooden pole with more force than usual, cursing under her breath.
By the time another Black Helmet showed up, she was covered in sweat and desperate to escape the mind-numbing drill. A spar sounded like a great idea to burn through her frustration and clear her mind.
An odd silence descended upon the other recruits.
Glancing over her shoulder, Katell wasn’t met with the bulky second-in-command, but a dark-haired youth dressed in a deep red tunic, leather cuirass, and a determined glint in his eye.
Katell raised an eyebrow. “Arnza.”
His gaze flicked to the wooden post and he gave a low whistle. “Laran’s shield, you’ve really worn it down. Good thing Dalmatius is keeping you on the practice sword. You could do some serious damage.”
A few recruits sniggered around them, and Arnza’s smirk widened. Katell let the boy’s taunts slide off her skin. His pride had yet to be shattered by more experienced warriors. She’d seen it dozens of times among the Freefolk. Until someone put Arnza in his place, he would remain an insufferable pup, thinking he owned the world and could do as he pleased.
The Samnites had been the same. Boasting and jeering at her for the crowd, yet they always lost.
Arnza strode over to the pile of practice weapons and picked up a standard wooden shield and sword. “Let’s do this, new recruit. I haven’t got all day.”
Jaw clenched, Katell picked up her weapons. “Where’s Atticus?”
“Still digging.” He lunged, his blade aimed for her neck, but in the nick of time, she used her shield to deflect his attack.
Arnza retreated to the sparring circle covered in sand. “Lesson one—don’t let your guard down. Enemies will attack when you’re least expecting it.”
Recruits and soldiers alike guffawed, and Katell rolled her eyes.
“I’m not doing this, Arnza.” She mirrored his steps, keeping her distance. “Dalmatius said nothing about sparring with you. I’ll wait for Atticus.”
He shrugged. “You’re no fun at all.”
Without warning, he whirled back around, slicing his sword through the air. Despite her quick reflexes, Katell wasn’t fast enough, and the blade whacked her ribs. In the next instant, his shield crashed into her, knocking her off her feet.
“Lesson two.” The Rasennan youth stood above her, a grin stretching across half his face. “Don’t always count on our leader to save you.”
Raucous laughter filled the air and Katell dropped her shield to the side. Digging her nails into her palms, she swallowed back her temper.
“I’ve been wondering why our Undefeated praefect would waste so much of his precious time on the new recruit, and I must say, after this pitiful display, I simply have no idea.”
Katell rose to her feet, rough sand coating her clothes and skin.
Arnza kept his blade at her throat. “I suppose his interest must be in your other assets.” His gaze raked over her figure. “Tia will be so disappointed to hear that our great leader has found another woman to warm his bed.”
His words provoked her anger, and a surge of magic thrummed through her veins. “Remove yourself from the circle and go fetch Atticus at once.”
“Are you giving me orders?” His voice echoed loud and clear as though he were performing on a stage. “Do you not realise that I have you at my mercy, new recruit? Now, for lesson three—”
Katell grabbed his blade and ripped it out of his grip. “Think again.” She twirled the practice sword in her hand and tapped his head with the wooden tip. “Up.” Then tapped his chest. “Middle.” And finally, his thigh. “Down.”
Their audience roared with glee at the sudden reversal, and Arnza’s face flamed a vibrant red. He tossed his wooden shield aside and swiped a steel blade from the weapon stand.
“If you can handle yourself, new recruit, why didn’t you say so earlier?”
His eyes gleamed with challenge, and he raised his arm. A brilliant light burst forth like a cloud of glistening jewels and a round shield shimmered into existence.
Katell blinked at his Gift, a shield made of solid gold and embossed with the image of a man with the lower body and legs of a horse. A centaur.
Arnza’s smile sharpened. “Let’s see how you fair against my Gift, Nestur’s shield.”
Katell didn’t recognise the name. No doubt another Rasennan god or hero.
“Arnza, don’t!” Pinaria’s voice emerged from the crowd. She pushed through the sea of soldiers and stopped outside the circle, gawking at the shield.
“Stay out of it, Pinaria.” Arnza took his stance, his gaze fixed on Katell over the rim of his golden Gift. “All right, new recruit. Let’s spar.”
The crowd eddied and flowed around them, their shouts drowning Pinaria’s protests.
As soon as Katell picked up her shield, Arnza charged. He thrust in quick succession, testing for any weak points in her defence. His skill and speed took her by surprise. She pushed back against him with a grunt, but the gold shield blocked every attempt. Magic rippled through it in warning.
Her magic thrummed in response beneath her skin, asking to be unleashed.
Arnza’s lips curled. “Give it up. You can’t win.”
He charged again, shattering her wooded shield in one fluid motion. She stumbled backwards, the sand cushioning her fall. Arnza raised his sword in triumph, circling the sparring ring.
The crowd’s boisterous cheers enveloped her, and suddenly, the sparring circle morphed into Bruna’s arena right before her eyes.
She was back in the sandy Pit, facing another Gifted opponent. Fighting for her life.
What was she doing on the ground?
She needed to get on her feet. Strike back. Kill her opponent and survive another day.
Her heart drummed wildly in her chest, drowning all other sounds. She threw the remnants of her shield aside, and Arnza’s smile grew.
“No one can beat me while I hold Nestur’s shield.”
Katell kicked up to her feet, her gaze focused on her opponent. The thick hilt of her practice sword splintered in her fist, fragments falling onto the sand.
Across the circle, Arnza’s mouth fell open, but it was too late for mercy.
She dashed forward, gathering strength in her arms, and her magic pulsed through the air.
Arnza braced himself behind his shield as Katell jumped high in the air. With a sharp cry, she struck the golden shield, her fist hitting the centaur’s chest.
Upon impact, an intense, searing white light burst forth with blinding brilliance, accompanied by a deafening boom of thunder. The wave of magic struck with such force that it not only knocked Arnza off his feet but also flattened every soldier, pole, and tent across the training area and beyond.
Katell found herself standing alone amid the devastation, her ears ringing. Arnza lay on his back, half-hidden beneath his golden shield, and groaned.
His gaze roamed over the destroyed training area in shock. Other soldiers gradually rose to their feet, their expressions reflecting a similar sense of awe.
“Vanth be damned,” Arnza said, eyes wide. “That was… amazing!”
He grinned at Katell, a real genuine grin, and she let out a huff. She lifted his shield to examine the damage, and he howled in pain. Stuck within the leather rods, his forearm seemed fractured.
Katell nodded at the shield. “You need to make it go away.”
“What?” Arnza asked, his face contorted into a grimace.
“Make the shield disappear.”
He paused. “You mean, send it back?”
“Yes, whatever it is you do.”
Despite the obvious pain he was experiencing, Arnza mustered a chuckle. “Didn’t anyone ever explain to you how Gifted weapons work? They’re stored in the realms of the gods, and we can call upon them as we like.”
Katell had never considered where the radiant Gifted weapons were kept, yet the idea of them being stored somewhere, even an otherworldly place, made sense. She’d have to ask Dorias more about it, but first, she needed to get Arnza to a healer.
The golden shield, sporting a new dent at its centre, shimmered out of existence, and Arnza’s forearm slumped at an odd angle.
He blanched. “Shit.”
Katell rubbed a hand over her face, the realisation that she’d lost control and almost killed Arnza sinking in. “Larth was right, you’re an idiot.”
“I knew Dalmatius was keeping your Gift secret for a reason.” He scrutinised her, his eyebrows arching in astonishment. “That was some strength you have there. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
A smile pulled at her lips when heavy footsteps approached, a black-plumed helmet towering above the crowd. Soldiers and recruits alike parted as Dorias strode forward, flanked by Atticus and two more soldiers with hands on the pommels of their swords.
The intense fury radiating off the praefect made Katell wince.
“Praefect Dalmatius.” Pinaria shot to her feet, brushing mud and sand off her face. “I tried to stop him, sir. I—”
Dorias held up his hand, and she fell silent.
His steel gaze locked on Arnza lying in the sandy Pit. “Atticus, escort Arnza to the infirmary. Make sure the healers treat his arm so he is fit for duty within a day. I want him on double digging shifts until the end of the month.”
Arnza opened his mouth, but Dorias’ steel eyes flashed, and the youth wisely remained silent. The two soldiers grabbed hold of his shoulders, carefully lifting him to his feet before Atticus led them away.
Dorias’ sharp gaze then flicked to Katell. “You, follow me.”
He turned on his heel and strode off, leaving no room for discussion. With one last glance in Pinaria’s direction, Katell followed.
The walk back to Dorias’ tent was brisk and tense. Once inside, the praefect tossed his helmet to his attendant, then dismissed everyone, even the guards, leaving them alone.
When he faced her, his gaze burned with an intimidating darkness. “I said ‘no magic’. You disobeyed me.”
The hairs on Katell’s neck rose. “I was supposed to spar with Atticus.”
“And Arnza will be properly punished for interfering.” His voice hardened. “But in the meantime, he baited you, and you fell for it. You let your emotions overcome you, and your magic took control.”
“He needed to be taught a lesson.”
“He’s the sixteen-year-old son of a noble family, who was Gifted Nestur’s legendary golden shield before he could even read!” Dorias snapped. “Of course, he needs to be taught a lesson, but not by you.” He paused, then exhaled a sharp breath. “You could have killed him.”
She winced at the disappointment in his voice. “I didn’t—I told him to stop. To fetch Atticus. I didn’t want to spar, but he forced my hand and then—”
And then he’d shifted into her opponent. Her next target to kill.
“I…”
His harsh tone eased. “You saw yourself inside the arena again.”
When she looked up, an unspoken understanding passed between them. Words couldn’t capture what Katell had experienced in the arena, but Dorias knew. Before joining the army, he’d also known the horrors of the fighting pits.
“It gets better,” he said.
She shook her head. “I can’t stop it. And the nightmares—”
He took a step closer, then stopped, his brow furrowed as though remembering the way she’d snapped at him the last time he’d shown concern.
In that moment, however, she would have welcomed it.
“It gets better, I promise you.”
She wanted to trust his word, but she couldn’t see how.
“Arnza had no business provoking you like that,” he continued, levelling his gaze on her. “But you also need to remember that the Black Helmets are your companions now. You fight together, and until you have full control of your Gift, we’ll refrain from using it in training.”
“It won’t happen again.” Shame curled in her gut, her attention dropping to the thick rug beneath her feet. She’d wanted nothing more than to prove herself to him and succeed in every task he threw her way, and yet when faced with Arnza, she’d failed. “I’ll continue to train and learn to control my strength, and I won’t use it again against my… companions.”
She hadn’t told him yet, but once she had control of her magic and wasn’t a danger to others anymore, she planned to leave. Head back to Bruna to search for Alena. She wouldn’t stop searching for her sister until she found her, whether alive or dead.
“Good.” He closed the space between them. “You gave the camp quite a scare with that blast.”
Trapped beneath his powerful stare, she swallowed, her heartbeat quickening. Up close, she couldn’t ignore the stark beauty of his slate-grey eyes against his tanned skin. Her gaze dropped to his full lips.
He lifted his hand. “May I?”
She froze. Was he going to touch her?
He was her commander. It was inappropriate. And yet, she was tempted to find out what his strong hands would feel like on her.
She nodded, and his fingers clutched her chin, tilting it upwards. Her breath hitched, and a flush of heat climbed up her neck. His lips twitched and then his focus shifted to her cheekbone, where he rubbed away some dirt with his thumb.
The warmth of his callused skin spread through her chest, leaving her at a loss for words.
“You gave me quite a fright.” His low voice wrapped around her like a soft caress, drawing her in. “Most men back down when confronted with Nestur’s shield, yet you stood your ground.”
His fingertips traced down her cheek, igniting a fiery trail in their wake. He was so close she could see the streaks of silver flecking his stormy gaze.
He studied her as if trying to decipher a riddle. “When confronted with danger, you stand tall and fight. No wonder Laran chose to Gift you.”
She was spared the need to respond when he dropped his hand and drew back to his desk. Drawing a sharp breath, she quelled the budding disappointment within her.
“But I’m afraid I have to punish you,” he said, “or the others will think I’m playing favourites.”
“What kind of punishment?”
“Nothing too bad.” His lips lifted into a cryptic smile before he peered down at the maps laid out on his desk. “I’ll add you to the digging roster, and our training together will be shortened for it. You’ll also be on sentry duty for the next month.”
He was letting her off easy, and they both knew it. “Yes, sir.”
“Dorias.” His voice, deep and soft, sent a thrill down her spine. “You don’t ever need to call me ‘sir’ when it’s just the two of us.”
Warmth rushed to the pit of her stomach. She liked the sound of that.
“Right. Dorias, then.”