63. CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
The legates ordered three days of rest and celebration in honour of Laran and their victory. Altars to the god of war popped up throughout the camps as soldiers gave thanks, some even sacrificing livestock to make a pact. The day after a victory was supposedly the most opportune moment, yet none of them received Gifts.
Dorias had cast an appraising gaze over the makeshift altars, a wry grin curling his lips. “It takes more than a skinny goat and a jug of wine to entice a god as powerful as Laran.”
On the last night, the Black Helmets, except for Thocero who was still tending to the wounded soldiers, had been invited to Legate Ancharius’ tent for a private feast. Despite Katell’s protests, Dorias had insisted she attend—and dress accordingly—since she was a guest of honour.
In their tent, Pinaria helped her wrap the folds of a cream-coloured dress around her body, pinning the thin straps at her shoulders.
“We should be in armour,” Katell said. “This is ridiculous.”
Pinaria shrugged. “Legate Ancharius and Legate Claudius from the Third Legion like to pretend they’re still in Kisra organising private feasts rather than in a muddy army camp. At least we’ll enjoy some music and eat good food.”
Gathering the folds of her gown in one hand, Katell settled down on her cot in front of Pinaria so she could work on her hair.
Katell helped her partition the thick hair into sections. “I can manage by myself. I’ve been braiding my hair my whole life.”
“Yes, but this way, it’ll be perfect.” Pinaria passed her a handheld bronze mirror. “You need to appear grand and fierce for the feast. There’ll be many officers tonight, and the legate will expect you to look your best.”
At the arena, Non-Human slaves had also pampered her before she was sent to fight. This time around, instead of facing Samnites, lions and tigers, she would dine with high-ranking Rasennans and be expected to make small talk and smile.
She scowled at the thought, but for Dorias’ sake, she would bear it. It was going to be a long night. “How long exactly are these feasts?”
Pinaria grinned. “Depends on the amount of wine. Honestly, they’re not so bad. The food itself makes up for all the talk of politics. Best you’ll ever taste. Now, hold still.”
Katell held the mirror up, deciding on a style with Pinaria and then watching her work. Her friend began on the left side of her head, plaiting the sectioned hair in a tight braid and weaving in more dark strands.
When the tension in her body eased away, and she let her thoughts wander, a silvery purple light lit up their tent without warning.
Pinaria’s hands tightened in her hair.
“Pinaria—”
“Don’t move,” her friend warned. A purple sheen trickled over Katell’s body, locking her in place. “I have some questions for you, and depending on your answers, this can go one of two ways.”
The hair on Katell’s neck stood on end. “What are you doing?”
“You let them go.”
Katell froze.
“I don’t know why you lied to everyone else, but I know those two Megarians didn’t best you and run away.” Pinaria’s voice was a low hiss in her ear. “You sent Arnza and me away to get help and then let them go, and I need to know why. Laran’s shield, Katell, are you working with them?”
Her pulse raced. “Pinaria—”
Blue eyes locked with hers in the mirror’s reflection, and the hurt etched across her friend’s face gave her pause.
Katell couldn’t lie. She owed her the truth. “I’m not a spy.”
“Then why did you let them go? I heard the dark-haired Megarian with ice magic is an enemy of Rasenna, and the Emperor has been after him for a long time. He was right there in front of us, and you let him slip through your fingers. Why?”
After a long silence, Katell relented with a sigh. “It’s not the warrior I was trying to save. It was my sister.”
“Your sister?” Pinaria’s eyes bulged. “The one you were searching for in Bruna? That was her? The girl with the wolves?”
“Yes.”
If one person among the Black Helmets could understand Katell’s reasons for letting them go, it was Pinaria. She’d also lost a sister.
“I never expected to see her on the battlefield.” Katell held her gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “I never expected that the Megarian whose care I left her in was, in reality, a rebel. When Dalmatius didn’t find her in Bruna, I truly believed she was dead.”
Pinaria’s face softened. “That’s why you let them go.”
“Yes. Call me weak, but I refuse to capture my sister and let her be tortured for information.”
A tense silence hung between them. Although it was a dangerous gamble, it also felt good confessing to her friend. Pinaria studied her, and after a moment, the purple light faded, leaving only the warm glow of their candles. Pinaria’s nimble fingers returned to Katell’s hair. Neither of them spoke until the braid was finished and secured with a small leather tie.
“What do you think?”
Katell peered closer into the mirror, speechless. Her rich brown strands were braided with delicate precision on either side of Katell’s head, like a crown. The rest of her hair cascaded down her back in thick waves that glowed in the candlelight.
“You know,” Pinaria said with a coy smile, “if you weren’t always hiding your figure behind your armour and threatening anyone who approached you, you’d have a lot more men at your feet. You’re just as beautiful as Tia.”
Katell raised an eyebrow. “I don’t threaten everyone.”
“Hmm, that’s not what I heard.” The folds of Pinaria’s soft blue dress rustled as she came to sit beside her. Neither of them spoke, and the mood grew solemn. At last, she took Katell’s hand in her own and squeezed. “Your secret is safe with me, Kat. Although I can’t help but wonder, didn’t you want to go with your sister?”
The question tied Katell’s stomach into knots. “No, why?”
Pinaria gave her a broken smile. “Because if my sister ever appeared again before me, neither god nor man could ever stop me from following her.”
The clawing ache in Katell’s heart intensified.
“I swore an oath to the Black Helmets.” She pulled away, rising sharply to her feet. She’d made her decision, and there was no turning back. “I let my sister go, but I won’t betray Dalmatius’ trust any further. I’ve found my place in the world, and my sister needs to find hers.”
Pinaria’s lips tightened, but then she nodded and started fixing her own hair.
The legate’s pavilion tent was the largest Katell had ever seen, at least twice the size of the elders’ tent in Camp Bessi. The central area was abuzz with guests dressed in lavish attire, who mingled in small groups, enjoying the feast.
An impressive array of food covered banquet tables, and young soldiers moved about the crowd with pitchers of wine and water filling any empty cups. As soon as the Black Helmets entered, conversations lulled, and all eyes turned on them. With a nod from Dorias, the group scattered, Pinaria and Arnza making a beeline for the food.
“Nervous?” Dorias stayed by Katell’s side. Dressed in full officer armour, he put all others to shame. His crimson cloak and polished leather cuirass accentuated his muscular physique. His stance exuded the strength and confidence of the Undefeated, and his gaze held a healthy gleam.
Katell shrugged, and he signalled to a soldier who was quick to hand them two goblets.
She took the pale wine and swiftly gulped it down. It tasted like summer and sweet berries.
Dorias raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I’m not fond of gatherings,” she confessed, scanning the crowd. The feasts at Camp Bessi had required lots of small talk, dancing, and singing—and, unlike Alena, she possessed none of those skills. “And I feel exposed in this dress.”
Dorias leaned closer, his lips almost pressed against her ear. “Don’t be. You look like a goddess.”
Heat flooded her body in one sweep, curling in her stomach. She glanced at him and caught the promise of something dark and delicious in his steel gaze. An enticing shiver rippled through her, awakening an anticipation within her she couldn’t ignore.
She bit her lip, not breaking eye contact, and a smirk teased his mouth.
“Dalmatius!”
They broke apart, each taking a step back.
Legate Ancharius, dressed in an elaborate red and white toga trimmed with gold, called Dorias from across the tent. A handful of officers surrounded him, vying for his attention. Dorias excused himself, and Katell went to join the others at the banquet table.
Arnza guzzled wine until Atticus cut him off, while Pinaria made Katell sample every Rasennan delicacy and argued with Larth about their regional origins. Katell drew the line at snails and fiddled with the folds of her dress, trying to hide the slit that teased her bare thigh.
Next to her, merchants from the caravans that followed the Third Legion chatted in a boisterous manner. They’d supplied the food, the wine, and the musicians playing the lyre and woodwind instruments in the far corner. They’d also brought a gaggle of scantily clad courtesans who fluttered through the crowd, engaging in drinks and mirth with the men. Some even sat on their laps.
Amid the lively feast, three women across the tent stood as still as statues across the tent. They wore identical dark red flowing dresses and had veils that covered their hair.
“Who are they?” Katell asked.
Pinaria followed her line of sight. “Priestesses of Laran. They held a sacrifice before the feast began, then blessed the three legates.”
All three priestesses directed their attention towards Katell, and their vacant expressions sent a disconcerting chill through her.
A rowdy group of soldiers approached the table, sidling up to Pinaria and her, but one glare from Larth had them scuttling away.
Pinaria clicked her tongue. “Larth! Stop scaring them all away.”
The Rasennan huffed a laugh. “Not a chance. Dalmatius asked me to keep everyone in line.”
Larth then winked at Katell, his golden skin gleaming in the candlelight. With hazel eyes and dark hair, he was ruggedly good-looking, but the darkness of his Gift when it manifested kept everyone away. All the Black Helmets exuded a dangerous aura to some degree, but Larth’s inner turmoil set him apart. The manic spark in his eye in the tumult of battle reminded Katell of a wild animal.
“Then take Arnza away, or he’ll get roaring drunk.” Pinaria glanced away and stilled, cursing under her breath. “Or better yet, go rescue Tia from his clutches before Dalmatius sees them.”
From a shadowy corner across the tent, a pair of vivid eyes peered at Katell. A Rasennan man dressed in a striking dark blue tebenna stitched with white and silver thread lounged on a couch, with one arm slung over Tia, who pressed into his side and fed him grapes.
Silver bracelets encrusted with jewels adorned the man’s wrists, leaving little doubt that he was anything but another high-ranking officer. He studied Katell with a predator’s unwavering attention, a smile playing on his lips.
Larth stiffened beside her, his gaze locked on Tia.
“That’s Legate Tarxi, commander of the First Legion.” Pinaria lowered her voice. “He’s one of the Empire’s strongest Gifted, perhaps even more than Dalmatius. He’s ruthless, though. Best to stay away.”
Downing the rest of his cup, Larth stormed out without a word. He bumped into Arnza, who spilled his drink onto a group of soldiers. The youngest Black Helmet whirled around in anger, but at the stormy expression on Larth’s face, he sighed and followed him out instead.
Katell peered back at the dimly lit corner. Tia’s eyelids fluttered, and she edged away, appearing somewhat disoriented. Tarxi snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, whispering in her ear. A wave of irritation hit Katell as she witnessed the legate’s behaviour. Despite her personal feelings for Tia, the woman was still her companion.
Katell had half a mind to snatch the Southern Beauty from the couch, but the bulky warrior dressed in furs and armed to the teeth behind Tarxi made her hesitate. Half of his long hair was shaved off, and a pattern of blue swirls snaked up his arms and neck.
“Who’s that?” The man was too pale to be Rasennan.
Pinaria’s face twisted. “His guard. A warrior from the Ice Kingdoms. He has another, a female warrior, too. They’re—” She trailed off, tugging Katell away from Tarxi’s gaze. “They’re under his control. That’s the legate’s Gift. As soon as someone looks into his eyes, he can influence your mind and render you a slave. I’ve seen it happen in battle. It’s terrifying.”
Katell frowned. “He’s controlling Tia?”
“Most likely.”
Her gaze snapped back to the couch, but Tarxi had already let Tia go. The Southern Beauty swiped a goblet of wine and headed out of the tent without a backward glance.
Pinaria shuddered, then sipped on more wine. “Praise Laran for Gifting us. They say Tarxi can’t have our minds turned to his will.”
It explained why he could control Tia. Her Gift came from an ancient Southern deity. Likewise, the two brothers, Larth and Thocero, had been Gifted by other Rasennan deities, although Katell remained unaware of which ones.
Tarxi lay back against the cushions, a smug smile on his lips. His clipped voice cut across the tent. “Dalmatius, my friend.” The word ‘friend’ rang out like a curse. “I don’t believe you have introduced our hero of the hour. Your new recruit. Katell, was it?”
Silence descended upon the feast. Tarxi shot to his feet and prowled closer, his body uncannily lean for a soldier. He strode across the room with purpose, interrupting Dorias’ conversation with Ancharius and an older man Katell presumed was Legate Claudius.
The two legates cast wary glances at Tarxi.
“Legate Tarxi.” Dorias’ jaw locked tight as he inclined his head slightly. He glanced at Katell, motioning for her to join them.
“There she is.” Tarxi’s gaze lingered over her body, making her skin crawl. She had half a mind to punch him, consequences be damned, but his darting eyes didn’t focus on her curves. They roamed over her body the same way her fellow trainees had searched for her Mark when she’d first arrived. “One of Laran’s, is she? Strange for him to Gift a warrior from the Western tribes.”
“The Western tribes?” Ancharius snapped. “Dalmatius, you never mentioned anything about—”
“I don’t hail from the tribes,” Katell cut in. “I’m from the east.”
“The east?” Tarxi’s blue eyes gleamed with challenge. “I have much travelled those territories myself. Pray tell, which part do you come from?”
“The Deep River.” She held his gaze, daring him to question her.
He didn’t back down. “The Deep River. How interesting that Laran bestowed such incredible Gifts on a woman who grew up in a land of fishermen.”
“That’s enough, Tarxi.” Legate Ancharius’ stern voice sliced through the feast. “We’re here to celebrate Black Helmet Katell leading us to swift victory, not to question Laran.”
Tarxi sketched a bow and held up his goblet for a toast. “To Katell, may she always remain by Dalmatius’ side and help us in our time of need. Praise Laran and praise Emperor Tarquinius.”
The other guests raised their drinks, echoing his words, and Katell took a small sip from hers. Smirking, Tarxi assessed her for a beat, then disappeared among the guests.
She ground her teeth before a strong hand gripped her elbow and led her away.
“Are you all right?” Dorias’ brow lowered.
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t understand why Emperor Tarquinius favours a snake like Tarxi.”
Angling his body to hide them from any curious onlookers, he brushed the back of his knuckles along her bare arm. “If he comes near you again, tell me immediately.”
She arched an eyebrow at his concern. “If he ever comes near me, I’ll handle it.”
He gave a low, dark chuckle that hummed through her. “As much as I’d love to watch you take him down, he’s still a legate. And the Emperor’s distant cousin. You’d be punished for it.”
A messenger interrupted, and he was pulled away. Katell searched for Pinaria and instead came face to face with the three priestesses.
“Katell, soldier of Laran,” the middle one greeted with a bow. “It is a pleasure. We rejoiced the day Praefect Dalmatius found you.”
Up close, the gold threads embroidered in the red cloth of their dresses and veils sparkled in the candlelight. They were dressed like royalty.
Katell struggled to think of an answer. “Yes, it was lucky the praefect found me when he did.”
The middle priestess inclined her head, her voice a raspy whisper. “Soon, you will leave for battle, but we will meet again in Laran’s temple. One day, the Emperor will send for you so that Laran may bestow upon you his might and glory. Praise Laran!”
The other two priestesses echoed her prayer. Before Katell could add a word, they glided away, their dresses sweeping along the rugged floor with a soft rustle.
A gnawing sensation grew in the pit of her stomach. Although Dorias had warned her that an encounter with the Emperor was inevitable, she hoped it wouldn’t be any time soon. She had no interest in going to Kisra. Her oath was to Dorias and the Black Helmets, and them alone.
The rest of the evening passed by in a blur. Soldiers who’d fought alongside her in battle swarmed her and Pinaria, wishing to drink to their victory and good health. She let them flatter and praise her, drinking cup after cup of wine until she gave a particularly loud snort at one of their crude jokes.
“I need some fresh air.” She pushed her cup to Pinaria with a smile and headed outside, past the guards and the rows of torches around the tent.
The vast, starry night sky swam above her head, and she sucked in a few steady breaths.
“There she is,” a voice spoke from the shadows, “Katell, our new hero. Katell the saviour, they called you. Flocking to your side like the sycophants they are.”
“Tia.”
The black-haired beauty emerged from the shadows, her eyes seething with disdain. “You think you have them all under your thumb. You think you’re one of us now, perhaps even our leader. But you’re a fool!”
She stumbled closer, her speech slurring.
“He was mine. Dalmatius was mine until you came along.”
Katell’s heart skipped a beat. Tia’s words seemed to confirm what she’d been too afraid to ask Dorias herself.
A hot, prickling sensation burned in her chest. Still, considering her companion’s state of inebriation, Katell found it hard to believe her claims.
“Iwas the one he trusted.” A flicker of hurt crossed Tia’s gaze before it hardened again. “You don’t even know the half of it, you stupid girl.”
“That’s enough,” a cool voice cut in. Dorias approached them with Atticus at his side.
Tia paled. “Praefect Dalmatius, I didn’t—”
“It’s all right, Tia. I realise he got inside your head.” He gripped her chin, peering into her dark eyes. “Tarxi’s words are poison, and you shouldn’t listen to them. Go sleep it off, you’ll feel better in the morning. Atticus, take her back to her tent.”
“No, I—”
Atticus grasped her by the waist, swiftly steering her towards a side path. Her protests faded the farther away they walked.
Dorias’ attention shifted to Katell. A charged silence enveloped them, punctuated by the distant hum of conversations from the feast.
“So, is it true?” Katell asked at last. “Were you ever hers?”
He ran his thumb across his bottom lip with a small shake of his head.
“There was one time,” he rasped. “Last winter, I was injured in battle, and she watched over me. It was a long and complicated campaign. The Black Helmets were split along the front lines.”
He glanced along the dark path, then stepped closer, lowering his voice. “One night, we were alone in my tent. It was cold, we drank to warm up, and… It only happened once. I thought I’d been clear with my intentions, that it was just for one night, but she wouldn’t move on.”
His unyielding stare met hers, and the taut lines on his face hinted at his remorse. “Things have been strained ever since, but I promise you, she’s just a soldier, and I’m her commander, nothing more. I thought she’d come to accept that, but Tarxi got into her head.”
He fell silent as though waiting for her reaction. He’d shared more than Katell had expected, but she was glad for it. He cared enough about her to open up and attempt to lay her doubts to rest. Or perhaps all the wine was messing with her head.
Either way, she’d been right in assuming Tia was jealous.
She waved her hand. “It’s fine, you don’t need to explain yourself.”
“I do.”
“As long as it’s in the past—”
“It is,” he growled.
Warmth flooded her chest, and she grinned.
He cocked an eyebrow, no doubt noticing her flushed face. “Here, drink this.”
Katell pushed away the flask he offered. “No, I can’t drink anymore.”
“It’s water.”
She sniffed the liquid inside and took several sips.
“You’ll miss the wine once we head north to the war front.” He took a different path, leading away from the feast, and Katell followed, walking side by side in the night. “It’s too cold for vineyards and too far for trade. They prefer the foul taste of ale,” he added with a grimace.
“We’re heading north?”
“Yes, I received orders from the Emperor. We’re to help the other legions in the war against the Ice Kingdoms this winter.”
The news sobered her, and she stopped, her gaze facing the south-east. She couldn’t distinguish the forests or mountains in the darkness beyond, but Alena’s face appeared clear in her mind.
If Leukos had any sense, he would take her sister to Achaea, far away from the legions and the coming war. And if Katell was headed north next, then their paths were unlikely to ever cross again.
The thought left a hollow pit in her stomach.
“Katell?” Dorias ran his thumb across her cheek, drawing her attention back to him. “Come, there’s something I’d like to show you.”
With his palm on the small of her back, he led her to his tent. The entrance was lit with torches and guarded by two soldiers. The men shot her curious glances, but she ignored them and slipped inside with Dorias.
A dozen thick candles dripping with wax illuminated the vast space. Standing on a wooden frame close to the entrance was a Rasennan leather cuirass. The edges and shoulder straps were studded with bronze, and an intricate fiery pattern adorned the front.
“What do you think?” Dorias asked, at her back.
Katell couldn’t resist tracing her fingers along the smooth surface. Unlike most leather cuirasses, this one was black.
“It’s beautiful.”
“As soon as I found out you could wield Laran’s Flame, I ordered it for you.” Dorias’ warm breath tickled her ear. “The most Gifted craftsmen of Rasenna made it. The leather is resistant to fire, much like my own.”
“For me?” She couldn’t imagine the cost of such a unique piece. “No, Dorias, it’s too much.”
With a glint in his eye, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. “For you, it isn’t.”
His scent surrounded her, rough and intoxicating, and heat flared up her spine. She twisted in his arms, and her pulse raced beneath the weight of his steel gaze.
“Soon, Ancharius will be awarded a governorship in one of the provinces and I’ll take his place as legate.”
Although she tried to focus on his words, she couldn’t ignore his hands running up and down her dress, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“When that time comes, I’ll need someone to lead the Black Helmets and I want it to be you.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
A half-smile twitched on his lips. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll do it with honour.”
Longing to press her lips on his, she moved in, but he drew back just out of reach.
“If you’re to lead the Black Helmets, then we need to trust each other completely. You need to trust me with the truth.” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your past, your story, your fears—I wish to know them all.”
His hand slid to her chin, tilting her head back. Callused fingers slipped around her ribs, brushing along her bare skin. Heat erupted like fire from his touch, and something unreadable passed through his eyes.
“Tell me what I wish to know, and I’ll have you lead by my side. The hillfort was merely the beginning. With each victory, Laran will reward you, and I promise to give you everything you desire. Together, nothing will be able to stop us.”
Unable to resist any longer, she leaned in and captured his lips in a searing kiss.
He brought her flush against his armour, the leather creaking between them. His hand bunched the folds of her dress, and she sucked in a breath when he broke the kiss and his lips latched onto her neck instead.
She closed her eyes, pleasure sliding down her spine before she broke away. With a small smile, she pushed the dress off her shoulders. The fabric pooled around her feet. “I’ll tell you everything you want. In the morning.”
His gaze roamed her naked body before settling on her face. The burning look in his eyes robbed her of breath.
“In the morning,” he repeated, pulling her into a bruising kiss.