47. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Katell rinsed a cloth in the bronze basin and wiped the blood from Pinaria’s face.
Despite the efforts of Thocero, the Black Helmets’ Gifted healer, Pinaria hadn’t awoken yet. She’d lain unmoving on a small straw cot since the attack. Her once-olive skin now bore an unsettling grey hue, highlighting the dark rings under her eyes.
Arnza had remained at her side all night and morning, holding her hand. He watched in silence as Katell swept the young woman’s dark fringe to the side and set the cool cloth upon her brow.
The tent flaps swayed, and Dorias entered. He took off his helmet, a grave look on his face.
“How is she doing?” He examined Pinaria, lying unconscious on the bed, and clenched his jaw.
Katell went to him and pulled him aside, speaking in hushed tones. “Thocero just left to go check on the others. He treated the wounds to her head and chest, but he was worried about her magic. She overexerted herself during the fight, and… he said she might not make it.”
Dorias’ face darkened. “I’ve never seen her make a barrier that size before and hold it for so long. She saved us all at the north gate. Without her, the camp would have been overrun.” His gaze shifted to Arnza, a silent statue by Pinaria’s side. “How long has he been there?”
“He hasn’t left her side since we brought her in. He refused Thocero’s help.”
Dorias expelled a long breath. “Arnza.”
The youth didn’t respond right away but then turned his head towards his commander.
“You need rest.” The praefect stepped closer, laying a hand on Arnza’s shoulder. “Go back to your tent and have a healer check your wounds.”
“I’m not leaving her.” Arnza drew his lips into a tight line, his thumb tracing circles over the back of Pinaria’s hand.
Dorias’ frown deepened. “I didn’t ask. Go back to your tent and rest. She’ll still be here when you get back.”
Arnza met his commander’s unwavering stare and caved. With a sharp nod, he squeezed Pinaria’s hand one last time and strode out of the tent without another word.
His desperate cries for the female soldier during the attack still echoed in Katell’s ears. “He cares for her.”
“As we all do, but I can’t allow a soldier under my command to become incapacitated because of a neglected wound.” Dorias’ attentive gaze roamed over her. “The same goes for you.”
Katell touched her shoulder where the Westerner’s broad sword had stabbed her. Her skin was smooth once more. “I’m all right. My magic already took care of my wounds.”
He stepped closer, examining her bare skin. She’d discarded her chain mail and washed the grime from her hands and face, but flecks of dried blood still covered her tunic and arms. His steel gaze lingered, and her skin tingled with warmth.
“The bracelet?” he asked.
“I got rid of it. I won’t ever wear those cursed things again.”
The hint of a smirk stretched across his lips, accentuating his strong features. “Good.”
Her eyes traced the curve of his lips to the chiselled line of his stubbled jaw before she caught herself and snapped her gaze back to Pinaria.
His proximity was messing with her head, and she shifted away from him.
“Who were they?” She’d waited all morning to question him about the attack.
When she’d agreed to train with him and regain control of her magic, she’d never meant to join the Black Helmets in battle. And yet, the turn of events didn’t upset her as much as she’d expected. She had protected her friend. And staring down at Pinaria’s ashen face, the petite soldier who’d already suffered a Westerner attack in the past and still fought so bravely, made Katell want to crush every warrior that had ever hurt her.
But first, more than sleep or food, she needed answers.
“The Metalcasters Tribe—a relentless bunch that dwells across the Souconna River. We sent messengers when we first settled to warn them of the camp.” Dorias’ voice grew hard. “It seems they did not agree with our presence.”
Katell narrowed her eyes. “Why weren’t we warned of the attack? Cinto mentioned scouts camping in the mountains. The Westerners should never have been allowed to reach the gates without our knowledge.”
His features settled into a deep frown. “I agree. And so does Legate Ancharius. The scouts were killed in the night, and we were unprepared for their attack. We won’t make that mistake again.”
There was something dark and unforgiving in his voice, and Katell couldn’t blame him for it.
“I’m sorry you were caught in the middle of it.” He blew out a rough breath. “I helped the men at the south gate, and then headed straight back—”
“I know. I heard.”
Cinto had filled her in after they reached the healer’s tent. The Westerners had attacked both gates at once, splitting the Rasennan forces. It explained why Dorias had taken so long to join them. The south gate had only been a diversion, though; most of the warriors had gone north.
She paced the length of the tent. The attack hadn’t been Dorias’ fault, yet she couldn’t quell the anger churning inside her. “I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened if Pinaria hadn’t blocked them at the gate. If you hadn’t arrived on time. There were so many of them, and then Arnza and her…” She stilled, her thoughts ensnared by that terrible moment in the arena. “I don’t want to lose anyone else, Dorias. Not after—”
Sinope.
She clamped her mouth shut, her vulnerability laid bare. She still couldn’t bring herself to speak the Amazon’s name out loud.
Dorias’ heavy steps approached, and then his warmth seeped into her back. “You can’t protect them all, Katell. It’s admirable that you want to protect your friends, but you can’t do it alone. That’s why the Black Helmets fight together. To bring peace to our lands and our borders so that we may always keep the ones we love safe.”
He had a point. Her magic made her strong, but there was only so much one mortal could do when faced with an army.
She whirled around, and their gazes locked.
“If you joined us, the legate could grant you Rasennan citizenship and lands. You would have a home again, a safe place for you and your sister. Together, we could make our borders safe again against attacks like the one you witnessed last night. Many soldiers joined the Sixth because their homes were attacked by enemy tribesmen. The Black Helmets are no different. Arnza is the sole survivor after an Eluvite uprising, Pinaria lost her family during the Western raids. Even I…”
A glimpse of raw emotion flickered across his angular face, and his throat bobbed. She reached for his hand. “I heard about your family.”
The weight of his grief clouded his gaze and, for a moment, he let her see his truth. Behind the tough fa?ade of the Undefeated lay a man who had suffered unimaginable loss and who now fought to stop the same tragedy from befalling others.
No matter Katell’s thoughts on the Empire, Dorias’ cause was a worthy one.
“We’ve all suffered our share of loss and grief.” His warm, callused hand opened beneath hers. “Leading the Black Helmets gave me a sense of purpose again, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep them safe. If you join us, I’ll keep you safe, too.”
She believed him. He’d proven himself the previous night, arriving in time to burn the Westerners in an impressive display of magic that had felt both dangerous and alluring all at once. But not only that. From the start, he’d seen her as a person, not a soldier or a slave, but as his equal, always allowing her to have a voice in each decision. He’d not only helped her claim back her life after the arena, but he’d also made her feel valued—like she mattered to him.
Bit by bit, he was chipping away at the walls she’d built around herself in the aftermath of the arena. And in that moment, she realised she didn’t want him to stop.
He waited for an answer, his slate-grey eyes searching her face.
“Dorias—”
The tent flaps rustled, and sunlight streamed in around Tia’s dark outline.
Dropping his hand, Katell put some distance between them.
“You asked for me?” Tia surveyed them before she spotted Pinaria’s unconscious form on the cot, and her eyebrows drew together. She remained silent, shifting her attention at last to Dorias.
He regarded her coolly, as though unconcerned by the compromising position she’d stumbled upon. “I need you with the prisoners. Larth and Cinto are there already. I’ll join you soon to start the interrogation.”
Tia nodded and threw Katell a scathing look before disappearing again.
Katell wasn’t sure what to make of the other girl’s attitude. Were the rumours true, then? Dorias had never mentioned Tia to her, and it wasn’t any of her business. Yet, for some reason, she was itching to find out.
She cleared her throat, picking up on Dorias’ words. “Prisoners? I didn’t realise any had survived.”
“We captured a handful of Westerners. Tia’s Gift is useful in such cases.”
“Can I go with you?”
His eyes widened slightly at her question.
“I want to hear their answers. Understand why they attacked.”
Retrieving his helmet beside the cot, Dorias stole a final glance at Pinaria. “You haven’t made a decision yet regarding the legion. Until you do, you can’t be involved. Legate Ancharius would already be displeased if he heard you knew about the prisoners.”
He slipped on his plumed helmet, meaning to leave, but she held him back. “Dorias, please. I need answers. I need to know more about the Western tribes. All my life, I was only told one side of the story, and now I don’t know what to believe.”
He remained silent, his heavy gaze betraying nothing.
“Let me see for myself who these men really are,” she insisted, “and then I’ll give you my answer.”
He gave his head a small shake. “I promised you until the end of summer. There’s no need—”
Her grasp on his arm tightened. “After last night, I’m involved in this conflict whether I want to be or not. Let me see what these men have to say for themselves. If you want me to join you, then help me understand.”
His jaw tightened, but after a moment, he jerked his chin. “Very well. Let’s go.”
They left in silence, the sun concealed by a veil of cloudsand the distant thumping of mallets resonating across the camp as soldiers worked to fix the wooden palisade. Dorias moved briskly among the rows of tents, heading towards the outskirts, close to the stables.
Two soldiers stood guard outside a tent.
“Praefect Dalmatius.”
They saluted him, shooting Katell a curious glance before letting them pass.
Dorias held the flap open, and Katell ducked inside.
Inside, the air was stifling and heavy with magic which pressed down on her lungs. Scattered candles cast flickering shadows on the walls. Cinto stood statue-still, his arms crossed. Larth was perched next to him, a restless energy about him as he shifted his weight back and forth. They kept watch over the Westerner sitting on the packed earth with his torso and arms tied to a wooden post. Long, fair hair clung to his face, sticking to the sweat and blood that marred his skin.
Tia knelt before him, and Katell’s skin prickled in warning. Sinuous, smoky tendrils of dark magic clung to the Southern girl’s frame and swirled around her bare arms and face. When she peeked over her shoulder at them, her eyes filled with black, writhing shadows. Dorias nodded, and Tia faced the prisoner again. After a moment, his head snapped up, and his gaze became focused.
“Biturix, they got you too, brother.” For some uncanny reason, no doubt linked to magic, he spoke in Rhaetic. “We must find a way to escape and warn the others about the Rasennan dogs.”
“What do you mean, brother?” Tia answered. “Who is there left to warn?”
“Tia’s Gift can affect people’s minds and create illusions.” Dorias leaned closer, his tone hushed. “The Westerner believes he’s speaking to his brother, and Tia has made him switch to Rhaetic without him noticing.”
The prisoner frowned. “Volcos, of course! He and his men are awaiting news from us to better plan their attack. They suspected the Rasennan dogs would invade this summer, and once they hear from us, the other tribes will have no choice but to rally to him.”
“But Volcos has been baiting the Empire.” Tia fixed the prisoner with her dark gaze, still acting as his brother. “His men have conducted so many raids into Rasennan territory over the years that he’s driven the legions right to us. The tribes have put us all in danger by violating the peace treaty.”
“To hell with the treaty! Who are the Rasennans to stop us?” the Westerner spat, fighting against the ropes. “Do you not remember what our ancestors were capable of? Do you not remember how they descended into Kisra when it was barely a kingdom and levelled it to the ground? Our gods have spoken, brother. The druids all agree. Our time has come again, and Volcos will lead us to victory. We won’t stop until every village is burnt, every Rasennan is dead, and their women and children enslaved. Andrasta was too soft. She thought we could live in peace, but what we want is blood. Revenge. And we won’t stop until there’s nothing left of the Empire.”
Katell’s lips parted in shock. These men hadn’t come to defend their lands. They had come for war. The pure hatred lacing the prisoner’s words couldn’t abate after a single attack. They were ready to burn down Rasenna to settle their differences and kill anyone who stood in their way.
Faced with such ruthless foes, it was no wonder Dorias and the Black Helmets were resolute in protecting Rasenna’s borders.
“Ask him about the Green Mountains Tribe,” the praefect told Tia. “Our spies tell us warriors are gathering—”
“You surprise me, brother,” the prisoner cut him off, unaware of their presence. “Do you not recall our raid from Kyrnos to the Rasennan coastline? Do you not remember the thrill of victory when we burned that whore’s temples and killed those Rasennan dogs?”
Dorias froze.
“Our spies could not have planned it better. The men left for their legion camps as we knew they would, leaving their women behind, ripe for the picking—”
A flash of steel cut him off, and the prisoner gurgled, crimson blood gushing from his slit throat until he slumped forward. Eyes ablaze, Dorias stood over the lifeless body, one hand gripping his knife, his knuckles white.
A shuddering silence swept through the tent. Tia’s eyes reverted to normal, and she stared at the dripping blade in Dorias’ hand in shock, then at the dead prisoner. Fresh blood soaked the ground, brushing against her knees. Cinto watched, his mouth pinched, while Larth gave a wolfish grin.
Heart pounding in her throat, Katell sheathed her dagger. She’d been ready to stab the Westerner through the chest for Pinaria, for Dorias, and for everyone else who had suffered at his hands, but the praefect had beaten her to it.
“Larth,” Dorias growled. At once, the Rasennan soldier was at his side, a wild glint in his hazel eyes. “Take him away. Cinto, go fetch the next prisoner.”
Cinto nodded and left.
Larth went to Tia, the shadows on his face accentuating the scar running through his brow. “Out of the way, princess.”
He brushed her shoulder with his fingertips, and she startled, then staggered back into a corner of the tent. With a low chuckle, he grabbed the dead Westerner under the arms and dragged the body out of the tent.
Dorias stood in the puddle of blood, his posture rigid.
When Katell approached, his head snapped to the side. “You need to leave.”
He was right. She wasn’t a Black Helmet. She wasn’t supposed to be involved with the prisoners. And yet, leaving was the last thing on her mind.
“No. I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore.”
His steel gaze met hers, measuring the weight of her words.
“She hasn’t sworn the oath,” Tia argued, a frown marring her face.
“She will,” Dorias said.
“Dalmatius—”
His gaze flared, and she fell silent.
The oath. Katell wasn’t sure what it entailed, but if the Westerners were planning an attack, then she had to stay. The Black Helmets would need help to stop their enemies.
Dorias would need her.
The tent flaps rustled again, and Cinto and Larth dragged in a new prisoner—an older man with fair hair split into two braids. Larth tied him up, and the prisoner spat at Cinto’s feet, shouting profanities at the Eluvite. When he spotted the blood-soaked earth, he paused and gave Dorias a sharp look.
“Your legion is weak,” he snarled in broken Rhaetic. “Our gods are strong. We will take your women and kill the men as we did in Velch.”
Katell snapped forward, but Dorias blocked her with his arm. “Not yet.”
The Westerner let out a vicious laugh. Dorias nodded, and Tia knelt once more, magic weaving in the air.
Soon, the prisoner’s peals of laughter morphed into screams.
Katell stepped back into the shadows, her new companions at her side, and watched.