Chapter 4 #2
The soldier sneered. “Either way, she came to us for a good time, and we’re going to give it to her.” He gestured towards a lithe figure stumbling around a campfire with a cup in her hands, humming a tune only she could hear. “Take her back to the tent, boys!”
The figure giggled, a soft, throaty sound Katell had heard countless times.
Tia.
Blood trickled from Larth’s brow, carving a red line down his temple and catching in the stubble on his jaw. He looked wild in the firelight, his eyes locked on the soldier before him.
“You lay a single hand on her,” he growled, rage simmering in his gaze, “and I’ll make you regret it.”
When Larth wasn’t training or on duty, he hovered around Tia, a constant sentinel at her side. Whether it was love or obsession, Katell wasn’t sure, but his gaze never left her. Tia, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious.
The soldiers ignored him. One scooped Tia over his shoulder. She cursed immediately, pounding his back with her fists. The man only laughed.
Katell’s jaw clenched. She doubted Tia could channel her magic in her drunken state, and using their Gifts on fellow Rasennan soldiers would land them all in chains.
“Get Tia, but do not start a fight,” Katell ordered.
“On it.” Pinaria caught Arnza’s arm, and they sprinted for their comrade.
A flash of searing white light split the night, and in the next moment, Larth stood free, black swords in hand. The soldiers flinched back, and Katell moved fast, stepping between them.
“Larth, put the swords away.” If Dorias discovered he’d used his Gift against fellow Rasennan soldiers, they would all face serious consequences.
Larth’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “They touched her.”
“And they’ll answer for it,” Katell shot back, eyes sweeping the cowed soldiers, “but not like this. You know the rules.”
Larth hesitated. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, arms trembling with fury.
Then Arnza spoke. “She’s bleeding.”
Katell whirled around. “What?”
By the flickering firelight, Pinaria and Arnza inspected a fresh wound at Tia’s temple. Just as a rough hand lunged towards them, Pinaria shot out her palm, and a shimmering barrier of silvery-purple light flared between them, casting an ethereal glow that held the other soldiers at bay.
In the next instant, while they were distracted, Larth dismissed one sword with a flick of his wrist and lunged.
Katell’s heart lurched.
He seized the soldier who’d struck him by the collar, and with chilling precision, pressed the flat of his remaining blade against the man’s cheek. The soldier’s scream tore through the cold night as the stench of burning flesh rose around them.
“Next time,” Larth growled, “you fuckers will think twice before touching one of us again.”
“No!” Katell shoved Larth away. Her stomach churned at the sight of scorched skin. “What the fuck, Larth?”
Before he could answer, the watchtower’s door slammed open and a dozen soldiers spilled out, alerted by the scream.
Their cohort leader, marked by a red armband, surveyed the scene with cold calculation.
“Soldiers, on your feet,” he ordered.
Around the campfires, men roused from their stupor and jumped to their feet, arming themselves.
The oppressive darkness of the winter night seemed to press in from all sides, and Katell’s pulse quickened, sensing the rising threat.
She pulled Larth away and began a slow retreat towards Pinaria’s barrier.
The Eighth soldiers closed ranks, their breaths misting in the cold air.
“What happened here?” the leader asked, his sharp gaze shifting between them and the injured soldier, whimpering in the snow. “What are Black Helmets doing in our camp?”
Katell held up her hands in a placating gesture. “We don’t want trouble. Your men attacked ours, and we only defended ourselves. The matter is settled.”
The injured soldier’s groans echoed between them until two comrades hauled him up, revealing his burned face.
One recoiled in horror. “Laran’s shield, his face!”
“Take him to the infirmary, then notify Legate Tyrrhenus,” the leader said grimly.
Katell’s brow furrowed. If the legate got involved, it wouldn’t end well for any of them. For now, her priority was shielding Larth from the growing circle of furious soldiers, their faces hard and unforgiving. They wouldn’t let them slip away easily.
She jerked her head towards Pinaria’s shimmering barrier. “Take cover before they tear you apart.”
Larth raised his sword, gaze locked on the encroaching soldiers. “Hiding isn’t my style.”
“The matter isn’t settled until we say it’s settled,” the leader declared, signalling his men forward.
Katell’s blood roused as the soldiers closed in. Her muscles tensed; her senses sharpened. She only had a dagger, but she didn’t need more. With the Tears still burning in her veins, she could kill them all—cut down anyone who dared threaten her people—
“Kat…?” Arnza’s voice broke through, thin and uncertain behind Pinaria’s barrier.
She forced herself to breathe, shaking off the bloodlust creeping in. She wasn’t here to start a war. Dorias had trusted her to lead, not lose control.
“Stay put, Arnza,” she ordered without turning.
Larth edged closer, eyes alight with anticipation. “Though I’d prefer not to have our infamous praefect fighting my battles, now might be a good time to put that dagger to use.”
She didn’t look at him. “We’re not fighting.” Her voice cut through the rising tension. “We’re leaving. Right now. Anyone who stands in our way will be stopped.”
It was a lie. She didn’t know how they’d make it back without bloodshed—not with her hands twitching for it and her heart racing—but she had to try. She was the Black Helmets’ leader, and she had vowed to keep them safe.
A few soldiers scoffed, and Larth offered a wolfish grin, as if calling her bluff. “Lead the way.”
Katell squared her shoulders and stepped forward. “Fine. Let’s go. Arnza, grab Tia and stay close.”
She made it two steps before the cohort leader blocked her path. “Stay right where you are until our legate arrives.”
Katell had no intention of meeting their legate. She never had, and after he’d thrown Atticus in chains, she had no intention to.
The cohort leader narrowed his eyes, the silent threat clear in his posture.
Her fists curled at her sides, itching to break his nose.
No officer from the Sixth had ever challenged her like this.
Then again, maybe these idiots didn’t recognise her.
Without her black breastplate, she looked like any other soldier.
“I’m accompanying my men back to our camp,” she said coolly. “You’re welcome to join us and bring your grievances to Legate Dalmatius.”
“Bring my grievances?!” he barked, face hardening. “We’re not in Kisra to debate issues at the Senate. This is the Eighth Legion, and we resolve things—”
Katell’s patience snapped.
She moved before he could finish, slamming him aside with a single blow. He flew backwards, crashing into his own men. At least five went down with him, limbs tangled and faces stunned.
A shocked silence followed. Then a wave of whispers rolled through the crowd.
“That’s her. Viridia.”
“Laran’s Chosen…”
Within moments, the soldiers drew back, boots shuffling in the snow as a path opened between the fires.
Larth smirked, clearly savouring the shift in mood. “I could get used to this.”
Katell rolled her eyes and kept walking. “Let’s go.”
But they’d only taken a few steps before a deep voice boomed, “Vanth be damned, what’s going on here?”
Katell’s gut tightened.
The crowd parted to her left, and through the haze of firelight and smoke, an imposing figure emerged—red-crested helmet gleaming, crimson cloak sweeping behind him.
Legate Tyrrhenus had arrived.