Chapter 8 #2
Moments later, Romilda arrived, her usual smirk in place, boots crunching over frost. “I hope you all have strong loins, soldiers,” she said, tone dry and amused. “We’ve got six jumps ahead of us, and I don’t intend to waste time resting just because one of you can’t keep up.”
Dorias stepped forward, drawing a scroll from his belt and handing it to her. The imperial seal caught the morning light.
“Your itinerary and written permission,” he said. “We didn’t have time to alert the outposts in advance, but this will get you access and rest where needed.”
Katell frowned. Romilda could shift entire cohorts across battlefields in the blink of an eye using her shadows. She had expected to reach the final outpost within the hour, then continue on horseback—but it seemed jumping over long distances wasn’t so simple.
“Are you sure you can do this?” she asked.
Romilda arched an eyebrow, unbothered. “Well, if you’d rather ride to Achaea, be my guest.” Her smirk widened. “But you’d probably freeze to death before you even made it past Suebi territory.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and strode towards the shadowed edge of the watchtower, where the wooden beams met the barricade’s line of sharpened stakes.
Arnza stifled a snort until Pinaria jabbed him in the ribs. With a shared glance, the two grabbed their bags and followed Romilda, giving Katell and Dorias a moment of privacy.
Dorias stepped closer, handing her the saddlebag.
“If you need help, send word, and I’ll do what I can to send the other Black Helmets.
Be careful of the Twelfth. Legate Tarchun seeks glory like his brother, Tyrrhenus, and can be a hothead.
Don’t rise to his provocations. Ignore him.
Stay focused.” He paused, his gaze locking with hers. “You can do this. I believe in you.”
Katell swung both bags over her shoulders, her throat tight. She tried to keep her composure, to focus on the mission and path ahead, but a knot twisted in her chest all the same. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be a long time before she saw him again.
As if sensing her hesitation, Dorias leaned closer and murmured, “We will meet again in Kisra, my love. I promise.”
His warm breath caressed her cheek, and though their lips were only inches apart, she didn’t close the distance. Not with soldiers watching.
Instead, Dorias let his hand trail down her arm before giving it a subtle squeeze. “Go forth and bring us victory in Tiryns.”
Katell met his gaze one last time, then turned away. She caught up with the others near the base of the watchtower, where dawn light stretched long across the frost-bitten earth, casting half the barricade in darkness.
Romilda studied them all. “Ready?”
She raised one hand and pressed her palm to the wall of shadow. At once, a violet shimmer bled outwards, blooming in delicate whorls. The darkness rippled, distorting with an eerie fluidity.
Arnza muttered something under his breath as Pinaria leaned closer to him. Katell tightened her grip on her bags.
Romilda smirked and flicked her fingers towards the opening. “Go on, then.”
Katell stepped forward first. Darkness enveloped her, a sudden stillness and silence that felt like death. Her body clenched inwards, a violent shudder running through her as if her bones were being drawn too tight beneath her skin.
Then, cold wind struck her face. The familiar sound of rustling leaves and flowing water rushed back in. She stood beside a different watchtower, nearly identical to the last, its wooden beams dark with moisture. Below, a broad, deep river glided past, its glassy surface reflecting the cloudy sky.
Pinaria appeared beside her, looking slightly pale. “The Rhenus River.”
Arnza stumbled through next, bent double with a groan. “That was vile,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his stomach. “I feel like my guts were pulled out, rinsed in cold water, then stuffed back in.”
Pinaria grimaced. “Gods, Arnza.”
Katell let out a short laugh. “Don’t get sick on me now. We still have five more jumps left.”
Romilda stepped through last, not a single blonde hair out of place, looking as composed as ever.
Without missing a beat, she strode along the outpost’s outer edge towards the second watchtower—an exact twin of the first. Her gaze swept the barricade overhead, sharp and vigilant, but the ramparts were empty.
“Where’s she going?” Katell asked, adjusting the straps of her bags.
“She can’t use the same shadow twice,” Pinaria replied, already breathless beneath the weight of her gear. “We’d better move before someone sees us and demands answers.”
They trudged after Romilda, boots sinking into the frozen mud, breaths fogging in the cold.
Romilda didn’t slow. She pressed her palm against the wall where the shadows pooled thickest. “Let’s go,” she said, lips curling into a sharp, knowing smile.
Again, Katell stepped through first, clenching her teeth as darkness collapsed around her.
The unsettling sensation of having her insides rearranged returned.
She stumbled into daylight on the other side, gasping.
An identical Rasennan watchtower loomed above.
Her legs shook, and a cold sweat broke out along her spine.
Pinaria emerged next, pale and tight-lipped, followed by Arnza, who groaned and bent at the waist.
“Tell me this doesn’t get worse every time,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.
No one answered. They were all too disoriented, and wordlessly, they pushed on through the frost-hardened mud towards the next shadow, their silence more telling than any complaint.
The third jump hit harder.
When Katell emerged into the sunlight again, her knees buckled and she nearly collapsed. The air was noticeably warmer, but it did little to soothe the nausea curling in her gut. How far south were they now?
A squad of soldiers spotted them, weapons half-drawn before Romilda thrust the permission scroll into their hands, her tone curt. The men relented, allowing them space to rest beneath the outpost’s sloping wall.
By the fourth jump, it was sheer will that kept Katell upright.
She stumbled out onto a stone rampart, squinting into harsh daylight. The pounding in her skull was a steady drumbeat behind her eyes, and for a breathless moment, the world tilted sideways. She bent double, hands on her knees, lungs dragging in air.
“Stop right there!”
A sharp, commanding voice cut through the haze, and a blade flashed inches from her face.
Katell recoiled on instinct, nearly slamming into Pinaria behind her.
Arnza wasn’t so lucky. He veered off to the side and vomited against the rampart’s brick wall with a miserable groan.
It was clear now—they’d reached a larger settlement, its ramparts guarded by alert city soldiers.
“We’re with the Sixth Legion,” Katell announced in a faint voice to the two guards blocking their path.
Their eyes widened in surprise. “With Dalmatius? The Undefeated?”
The reverence in their voices drew a faint, tired smile from Katell. Romilda stepped forward, producing the scroll and explaining their mission.
One guard studied Dorias’ seal, blinking several times before carefully unfolding the parchment. “Take this to the praefect,” he ordered the other. “I’ll stay here and keep watch.”
The second guard nodded and hurried down a wooden stairway, clutching the scroll.
Romilda lowered herself against the rampart, pulling a waterskin from her belt and taking small, measured sips. Across from her, Arnza was still wiping himself clean, grimacing, while Pinaria gazed out over the bustling city spread beneath them.
“Where exactly are we?” she asked.
Katell followed her line of sight. At the city’s centre, a massive circular stone amphitheatre rose above every other building, casting long shadows in the afternoon light.
Her stomach dropped.
“The Noric city of Bruna,” the guard answered.
A tense silence settled over the group. Katell wasn’t sure if Romilda knew her history, but Pinaria and Arnza certainly did, and their glances told her they hadn’t forgotten.
The air felt heavier, the weight of memory pressing against her ribs as she stared down at the city she had once sworn never to return to.
Did Dorias know Bruna was on their route? Had he deliberately chosen it, or was it just an unfortunate coincidence?
“Are you familiar with Bruna?” the guard asked, glancing between them. He looked barely older than twenty, all nervous energy and wide-eyed admiration.
“Not really,” Katell replied just as Arnza blurted, “What happened to the arena?”
Upon closer inspection, the amphitheatre’s sandstone appeared scorched in places, and a whole section of the wall was missing. Jagged edges bit into the sky, surrounded by a tangle of wooden scaffolding and the distant movement of tiny figures—probably stone masons.
The guard lit up, seizing the opportunity to explain. “A fire broke out during the slave rebellion,” he said with enthusiasm. “Part of the arena came down in the chaos. It was madness—flames, shouting, people pouring into the streets.”
Katell wheeled around to face him. “The slave rebellion?”
Had all the prisoners taken up arms and fought their way out? Or had the city’s slaves come to rescue those imprisoned? It seemed impossible.
“Yes,” the guard replied, his eyes flickering every time Romilda lifted the waterskin to her lips, catching her gaze.
“It started when an Achaean rebel infiltrated the arena and released all the slaves and prisoners. The slaves in the city followed, and then we had a full uprising on our hands. Fucking rebel scum.”
Katell held her composure, though her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
“Achaean rebels?” Arnza asked. “In Bruna?”
The guard leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “Took us all by surprise. Apparently, a rebel in disguise toured the arena searching for her sister.”
Katell’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Alena.
Alena had come to the arena looking for her.