62. CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Katell followed the outer palisade back towards the Sixth Legion’s camp, her breaths harsh against the bronze mask.
This is my path now.
The words repeated inside her head, again and again, and again.
She had made her choice.
She needed to leave the past behind.
Leave Alena.
Nausea churned in her gut, and she stopped in her tracks.
She had sent her away. Her own sister. She had sent Alena and Leukos away.
Anger sparked in her blood, burning her veins like poison.
No. She had let them get away.
Leukos, the Megarian rebel. The one Dorias was so eager to capture.
She punched one of the defensive wooden stakes planted in the ground. It exploded into a million splinters and did little to appease her rage.
She should have brought them to Dorias. Captured them to be interrogated for information.
Legate Ancharius would have been pleased.
Her blood ran cold at the thought of Tia and Larth getting their hands on Alena.
No.
Alena flashed in her mind. The devastation etched across her face. The tears streaming down her sun-kissed cheeks.
Katell grasped her head, shoving the image away.
No! She’d made the right choice. Laran had made her strong for a reason. The Westerners were the enemy, and she would keep her family safe.
Dorias was the right choice. At his side, she would never be weak again. Never be afraid.
Alena couldn’t understand. She hadn’t seen Leywani’s bruised face back at the Freefolk camp. She hadn’t gone through the horrors of the arena or been forced to kill Sinope.
Dorias understood.
Dorias had known how to help her.
He had given her Laran’s Tears—Laran’s Flame and power.
And yet, Alena was alive.
Alena was alive, and Katell had just let her go.
Kat, please! Come with us. We can start a new life away from the war and all this madness.
A sharp ache bloomed inside her chest, and with a strangled cry, she fell to her knees and ripped her helmet off.
Chest heaving, her mind whirled, torn between Dorias and Alena.
What was happening to her? Why was her mind so fractured?
A cohort on horseback approached at a gallop, lifting a giant cloud of dust in its wake. They pulled up short, and the commander, one of the legate’s closest men, dismounted. He was a war veteran with greying hair and not an ounce of kindness behind his light eyes.
In the distance, two more horses hurried after them.
“Where are the rebels?” the commander asked.
Still fighting for air, Katell cocked her head to one side, strands of hair sticking to her sweaty face. More soldiers dismounted, and she recognised some from the battle—men who had fought bravely at the gates.
“They’re gone,” she rasped between short breaths.
The commander towered over her. “You let them go?”
Her head snapped up, and she met his glare with her own. Magic roiled in her gut, calling for blood. She had saved their miserable lives, and they dared to question her?
“Answer him!” one of the soldiers barked.
In the next instant, Katell was on her feet, her hand wrapped around the soldier’s neck.
“How about I cut your insolent tongue out instead?” She snatched a dagger from her belt with her free hand and twirled, inching closer to his face.
The soldier paled. None of the others dared to come closer as her magic flared in warning. If they knew how much she itched to slit their throats and watch them choke on their blood, they’d all flee in terror.
“Katell!” Atticus jumped off his horse, Larth at his side. The other soldiers parted to let them through.
She glanced at her companions and welcomed them with a smirk. “I was just teaching them a lesson.”
She squeezed the soldier’s throat, and he turned a satisfying shade of red.
The commander’s hard gaze shifted to Atticus. “What’s wrong with her?”
Larth raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you know better than to mess with Gifted who’ve taken Laran’s Tears? They need time to cool down after battle and should be left alone, or they’ll rip your heads off—or, in this case, throat.” His lips twisted into a sharp smile, and the commander’s frown deepened.
Atticus’ huge figure stepped closer. “Let him go.”
Eyes narrowed, Katell sized him up. No doubt Dorias would be angry if she beat up his second-in-command.
Besides, she liked Atticus. He’d been a tremendous help throughout the battle. His Gift had allowed him to observe the hillfort from a bird’s view and spot the Megarians trying to escape down the south-east hillside. Dorias had been right, Atticus was better suited to be a second-in-command than a leader.
She ground her teeth and released the soldier. “Fine, but get them out of my sight.”
The soldier fell to his knees, sputtering. She stepped around him and headed back to the camp’s main gate, leaving Dorias’ helmet behind. Bloodlust swirled within her like trails of fire—the side effects of the Tears she hadn’t known about—and she struggled to subdue her aggressive impulses. She couldn’t go back to the camp like this, she was like a rabid dog ready to unleash her fury upon any who crossed her way.
Walking past the gates, she headed straight for the river that ran along the camp instead. Her body shook with intermittent tremors as she peeled off her chain mail, followed by the arm guards and greaves.
Jagged granite rocks bordered the river, and she weaved her way through them in her linen tunic, sucking in ragged breaths.
We stick together no matter what. That’s what you said to me.
Pebbles crunched beneath her sandals, and soon the cool water brushed the tips of her toes. The river was alive with the constant buzzing of insects, flitting over its surface. They scattered as she knelt in the water; her skin prickled from the abrupt cold.
She waited, statue-still, until the water washed away all the blood from her. Slowly, the anger pulsing through her blood abated, yet the tremors intensified in her hands.
At least her thoughts were her own again. Except she didn’t know if she could face them.
Flashes of dead Westerners crossed her mind. How many of them had she killed? She couldn’t say.
Although she knew she shouldn’t care about enemy lives, the sheer magnitude of death she’d been responsible for haunted her.
Grabbing fistfuls of dark sand, she scrubbed at the dirt on her arms and legs until her skin felt raw. Cleaning did nothing to soothe her mind. Desperate to escape her tumultuous thoughts, she waded into deeper waters and plunged.
Submerged in the cool waters, the world hushed to a tranquil stillness, a mosaic of muted hues. At least until Sinope’s ghost appeared in her mind, followed by Damocles, and Alena’s tear-streaked face.
I won’t leave you again. You’re my sister!
The image made her heart seize, and she kicked the bottom of the river bed. Breaking the surface of the water, she took a desperate breath, tears blurring her vision.
What had she done?
She stumbled back to the riverbank and sank to her knees. Guilt gripped her like a hungry lion that had locked its jaws around her throat and refused to let go.
Please… don’t do this.
Alena.
She clutched a boulder, letting her head rest on its smooth surface as the first sob racked her body. Warring emotions spilled out of her, breaking free of her barriers, and hot tears flowed down her face. Her shoulders shook with each guttural wail wrenched from her throat, leaving her gasping for breath.
She released all her pain, the bubbling waters of the river muffling her raw sobs and enveloping her in solitude. Her body wouldn’t stop shaking.
She closed her eyes, listening to the river’s calming music, and bit by bit, her cries subsided. Drawing in ragged breaths, she sank against the boulder, empty and numb.
The blinding sun warmed her cheeks and dried her wet hair and tunic. Its shimmering light danced across the river’s surface like liquid gold.
Once she returned to the legion’s camp, she would have to accept the consequences of her actions and live with them. Alena couldn’t follow her where she was headed. She was safer with Leukos.
And Nikander.
She’d never expected to see the blond warrior again. Yet, as soon as his blurred figure had crossed the hillside, she’d recognised him.
Had he escaped the arena? Or been released?
It didn’t matter anymore. Whatever they’d shared back in the arena didn’t matter anymore, he was with the enemy now. She needed to cast them all from her mind and return to Dorias to celebrate their victory over the Westerners.
And she would go. Soon, but not yet.
Daylight began to fade, and her skin erupted into goosebumps. Hours had come and gone and still, no one had approached. Only Dorias could have kept everyone away from the river, granting her a moment of peace, for which she was grateful.
The sounds of hooves cantering across the plain reached her ears. The rider dismounted with a grunt, and a moment later, a burgundy cloak fell across her shoulders, still warm.
Dorias’ leather cuirass creaked as he took a seat beside her. Although bandages still covered his legs, his skin had returned to a healthier olive hue. Thocero must have used his healing Gift again since the attack.
Katell pulled the cloak tighter around her bare arms. “You should be resting.”
“I came to find you.” Discernible concern filled his features. “I remember how hard it was after my first time taking the Tears.”
Not trusting her voice, she didn’t say a word, gazing at the river instead.
“I remember the violent rage that consumed me, followed by plunging despair.” His voice was unusually soft. “It isn’t easy using Laran’s Tears. It takes a toll on your body and mind, but it’s a small price to pay to gain power and victory.”
It didn’t feel like a victory. They might have brought down the hillfort, but many had got away.
Dorias tilted his head. “Atticus tells me you did well. More than well. Your magic and skills brought a great victory to Rasenna today, Katell. You saved the lives of dozens of soldiers.”
“The Megarians got away,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Shehad let them get away.
“Yes, but we have the hillfort, where the legions can hunker down over winter. The real battle against Volcos will come next spring.”
His heavy gaze burned the side of her face, but she couldn’t meet it. Not like this, huddled by a rock with tear tracks on her cheeks. Even after Sinope’s death, she’d stood strong and proud and had never shown him weakness.
What must he think of her now?
With a gentle touch, he raised a hand and guided her face back to him. His unwavering steel gaze drank her in.
“I owe you my life, Katell.” His deep voice took on a hushed, almost reverent tone. “You brought us victory. My only regret is that I could not help you.”
“No,” she said, finding her voice again. “I was glad to lead the attack in your stead, knowing you were safe in your tent. Had you been fighting as well, I would have been worried the whole time.”
His brow lifted. “Is that so?” He cupped her cheek, running his thumb across her lips.
His touch inflamed her senses, filling the void inside of her. She wanted more. There was no mistaking the heat behind his gaze, and when she licked her lips, his eyes tracked the gesture.
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers, so soft and warm. For a moment, she didn’t react, but then he cupped the back of her head and she parted her lips, deepening the kiss.
Her mind went blissfully blank, and a moan escaped her. His hard body felt so good against hers, but she needed more and pressed herself against him. His hand roamed over her hip, then lower, tracing the edge of her tunic that rode up her thighs. Desire shot through her core, and she melted against him. His rough palm gripped the back of her bare thigh, making her skin sizzle. When he tugged her over his lap, her foot scraped his bandaged leg, and he hissed.
Katell went still, then tried to pull away, but his grip tightened around her waist.
“Dorias, stop. You’re not healed yet.”
“I’m fine.” His lips latched onto her neck, leaving a trail of kisses, and she resisted the urge to let her head fall back in pure ecstasy.
“Dorias.” She pulled away again, and this time, he let her go.
He was breathing hard, his molten gaze raking over her dishevelled tunic before looking away. He rubbed his jaw as if trying to regain control, then relented with a sigh.
Pushing up to his feet with a grunt, he adjusted his cloak around her shoulders and held out his hand.
“Come. Everyone is waiting for you.”
The camp was alive with celebration, the atmosphere resounding with shouts and laughter.
Dozens of campfires were alight around the tents, roasting meat and boiling wheat and vegetables. It was more food than their usual rations, and soldiers out of armour lounged about, laughing and drinking from wooden cups filled with watered wine.
Katell rode behind Dorias, atop his stallion, down the central path leading to the legate’s tent. Soldiers scrambled to their feet or came out of their tents to meet them, and the previous chatter quieted to a whispered frenzy.
Her eyes darted over all the staring faces, and she shifted closer to Dorias’ broad back as if to hide behind his larger frame. She should have slipped her chain mail back on, no matter how much it was covered in blood. Wearing only her tunic and the praefect’s cloak made her feel vulnerable.
A couple of soldiers brought a closed fist to their chests in salute, and she blinked at them.
“You brought us victory.” Dorias peered over his shoulder, his expression full of hard lines, exuding an air of authority. “Sit up tall, Katell. The soldiers owe you their lives.”
Dozens saluted her, and dozens more rushed to the path, following behind them. Katell’s heart thumped so loudly that she was sure Dorias could hear it.
When they reached the legate’s tent at the centre of the camp, the whole legion seemed to have grouped behind them. Atticus and the other Black Helmets stood to one side of the path, with the cohort commanders across from them. Legate Ancharius strode out of his tent, looking regal in a shiny leather cuirass and gold-trimmed tunic.
Silence fell across the camp.
Katell dismounted, and the legate came to greet her, clapping a hand on her shoulder with a tight smile.
“Well done, Black Helmet.”
With the weight of the stares upon her, she bowed her head. Ancharius raised an eyebrow and shot Dorias a look before turning away.
From atop his stallion, Dorias’ gaze danced with amusement. “We’ll have to work on your salute, Black Helmet Katell.”
He squared his shoulders and faced the gathered soldiers. “Soldiers of Laran!”
His deep voice boomed far and wide throughout the camp. As one, the soldiers answered with their fists striking their chests.
“Last night the enemy attacked us in our sleep. They sent ghosts and illusions to scare us. They used cheap tricks, like the cowards they are, to break our spirits and make us weak.”
A few soldiers grimaced at his words, likely remembering the terrifying fog and ghosts.
“But did we break? Did we let them take our camp? No! We fought back and we showed them Rasenna’s power. We showed them what it means to attack the legions. The Green Mountains warriors will forever rue the day they faced the might of Rasenna. Their army is broken, their chief is dead, and their Megarian allies have fled with their tails between their legs!”
The soldiers roared in response, punching the air.
Dorias held up his hand, and the camp went quiet again.
“Today, there was one who showed us the true power of Laran. There was one who paved the way to our victory.”
Dozens of faces turned Katell’s way, and she tried not to fidget under all the attention.
“Katell brought Brennus and the Westerners to their knees, and she will lead us to victory again!”
The crowd erupted into cheers. “Katell! Katell! Katell!”
Dorias dismounted his horse without flinching, then took her hand, lifting it high in the air. The soldiers’ clamours grew louder, and she stared at the amassed crowd, revelling in their chants. It was like the arena all over again, except this time she’d chosen her battle and fought with honour.
With the Sixth Legion, she’d found a place where her Gift and the violence it entailed, was not only embraced, but honoured.
Laran’s Flame erupted from Dorias’ palm and swirled around their entwined hands. As easily as it had come to her during battle, Katell grew the flame into a blazing fire that enveloped both their bodies.
“Rasenna victorious!” Dorias shouted, and the soldiers echoed his shout, over and over.
The intensity behind the praefect’s gaze equalled the furnace surrounding them. Heat and desire rushed through Katell, and her lips broke into a smile.
Looking back at the soldiers clamouring her name, she cast all thoughts of Alena aside.
She had made the right choice.