Chapter 13 #2
Arnza, still crouched near the shimmering barrier, glanced back with a crooked smirk. “If that prick with ice magic is in there, this mission just became much more interesting.”
“The Megarian prince, you mean?” Ennius asked. “We believe he’s been holed up in the palace all winter.”
Leukos.
Katell and Pinaria exchanged a look. If Leukos was in Tiryns, then—
“What about a Gifted woman with wolves?” Pinaria asked, voicing Katell’s unspoken question. “Red hair.”
Ennius shook his head. “Our spies only confirmed seeing a handful of men with the prince. No women.”
Katell’s heart lurched, sharp and traitorous.
That didn’t mean Alena wasn’t there—it only meant no one had seen her. Which could mean anything. Maybe she’d left. Maybe she was within those walls right now, no more than a stone’s throw away.
Or maybe Katell had abandoned her little sister, and Alena—her only family left—was gone.
The thought crept in like cold water. Katell’s stomach tightened. She’d told herself it had been the right choice at the time, that Alena would be safer without her. But what if she’d been wrong?
She forced the guilt back down and fixed her gaze on the shimmering barrier. She had to focus. There was a mission to carry out, and she couldn’t afford distractions.
A sharp yelp snapped her attention.
“Ow!” Arnza jerked his hand back, his fingers red where they’d grazed the barrier.
Katell studied its pearlescent shimmer, the air warping like heat above stone. “How wide is it?”
“Our spies report after nightfall, so it’s hard to say,” Ennius replied dryly. “Last estimate put it at three arm lengths thick.” He gestured vaguely towards the invisible wall. “If you want to test it, be my guest. I’m heading back to camp.”
“Wait.” Arnza scrambled to his feet, brow furrowed. “What if we cross it? You’re not staying?”
Ennius mounted with a grunt, the leather saddle creaking. He gave a faint, dismissive smile. “Tell you what—I’ll be back in three hours. You can tell me all about your progress then.”
Without waiting for an answer, Ennius galloped off, dust curling in his wake.
Arnza muttered a curse.
“Leave it.” Katell stepped closer to the barrier. “We don’t need him. Pinaria, try using your magic. See if you can open an archway.”
Pinaria swallowed, then lifted her hands. Silvery-purple light swelled in her palms, blooming into the shape of a shield. With a steadying breath, she pressed forward.
The barrier rippled under her touch, warping like glass over flame. Muscles straining, she stepped deeper. One step. Two. Then more. Her magic split the shimmering wall, not violently but with graceful force, like a river parting around stone.
Katell’s lips curved. Was this it?
But the light faltered.
Pinaria gasped. Her magic snapped out like a flame in the wind. She staggered back with a choked cry, knees buckling.
Arnza lunged, catching her as the barrier sealed shut behind her with a low, unsettling sigh.
“It won’t work,” Pinaria said, breathless. “I can make it halfway, maybe—but not the whole distance. It’s too strong.”
Katell’s fists clenched. There had to be a way.
Arnza approached, golden shield shimmering into view, its curved edge gleaming like a promise.
“Maybe this will help. It was made by one of the Twelve.”
Katell blinked. “Really?”
She’d known his shield was Achaean by its circular shape, but had never thought much beyond that.
“No, absolutely not!” Pinaria snapped, looking between them. “You heard what Tarchun and Ennius said. The barrier burns whoever tries to pass through. You can’t just dive in and hope for the best.”
Arnza shrugged. “Nestur was a Gifted Achaean hero. His shield is legendary for a reason. It might buy her the distance she needs.”
Katell stared at the shield, its gleam bright against the barrier’s pale shimmer.
Part of her knew it was reckless.
But the other part—the one that had survived slavers, the arena, Samnites, and the Westerners—refused to back down. She was Laran’s Chosen. She had the Tears. If anyone could make it through, it was her.
“All right,” she said, decision made. She peeled off her helmet and tossed aside. “Let’s try again.”
The morning breeze caught loose strands of her hair. She unclasped her cloak, letting it fall. Her fire-resistant breastplate would have to be enough.
Pinaria’s face tightened. “Did you not hear me? I can’t cover you the whole way. Once my magic fades, you’ll burn.”
Katell slid her arm through the shield’s straps. “Hold it as long as you can. My healing will take care of the—”
“You’re not invincible!” Pinaria’s voice cracked like a whip across the field, louder than Katell had ever heard.
Arnza’s eyes widened. Pinaria rarely raised her voice.
But this time, it wasn’t anger.
It was fear—for her.
Katell’s chest swelled. She hadn’t asked for this loyalty, but it was there, fierce and unyielding. The kind of bond she hadn’t dared hope for since she’d lost Sinope.
She pulled Pinaria into a tight embrace, the shield pressing awkwardly between them.
“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry. But I have to try. Dalmatius is counting on me. I can’t fail him again.”
When she pulled back, she brushed her thumb over the furrow in Pinaria’s brow, as if she could smooth out every worry.
“Trust me,” Katell said, offering a small, uncertain smile. “Please?”
Pinaria’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Her mouth pressed into a hard line, but after a breath, she lowered her gaze and gave a single, trembling nod.
It was a crazy idea, and Dorias would be furious when he found out she put herself in danger again, but she saw no other way. She reached behind her breastplate and retrieved her vial of Laran’s Tears. Her hand trembled slightly as she uncorked it. The Tears would amplify her healing Gift—and more.
She tapped out three. Then four. Her breath quickened.
Five… six. Too many. But not enough might mean failure. And failure wasn’t an option.
She tossed them into her mouth and took the waterskin Arnza offered her. The taste was dirt on her tongue, but within moments, her magic surged through her veins, an inferno roaring to life.
Every edge of the world sharpened—every sound, every movement. Her body thrummed with power, and beneath it, something darker began to rise.
Bloodlust coiled in her chest like a serpent waking from sleep. Her breath came fast and ragged, her fists clenching as her Gift reached towards that shadowed well inside her, the one that had overwhelmed her in the Eighth Legion’s camp.
The one that summoned the voices that promised power in exchange for surrender.
Not again.
Jaw tight, she locked it down. She had to move before it took the choice from her.
Turning to Pinaria, she gave a single, sharp nod. “Now.”
Pinaria’s silvery-purple magic flared to life, and the Maiden’s shimmering barrier rippled, bending inwards with the fluid grace of silk. A crack formed, followed by a narrow opening, just wide enough.
Katell took a deep, grounding breath, then stepped forward.
The golden shield trembled in her grip as she raised it to shoulder height, its edge gliding just beneath the shifting veil of Pinaria’s magic. The barrier loomed on all sides, luminous and alive, molten glass radiating heat and prickling against her exposed skin.
Only the thin ribbon of Pinaria’s silvery-purple light kept it at bay.
Katell advanced, matching her pace to Pinaria’s light, boots crunching brittle grass. Sweat trickled down her spine, and her heart thundered with each step. Only an arm’s length in.
By the Moon…
“Steady,” Arnza urged from the opening at Pinaria’s side. “You can do this. Just a few more paces.”
To her left, the purple light split with a brittle crack. A sliver of the barrier slipped through. It brushed along Katell’s shoulder and seared her.
Sharp pain flared, stealing her breath. The scent of scorched leather filled her nose.
She hissed, and the shield wobbled in her grip. But then Pinaria’s magic surged, smoothing over the crack.
“I can’t hold much longer!” Pinaria called, strained.
Katell’s burned flesh was already knitting itself back together, but her pulse pounded faster.
Another step. Then another.
“Keep going!” she shouted. “Just a few more—”
A second crack split the light to her right. Then a third, this one directly overhead.
“I can’t…” Pinaria’s voice broke behind her. “I can’t hold on!”
The tunnel fractured, light splintering in every direction like broken glass.
Katell’s heart plunged.
“Kat, run!” Arnza roared.
She didn’t hesitate. She dropped the shield in front of her like a battering ram and lunged forward just as the Grey-Eyed Maiden’s barrier crashed down, swallowing her in searing light.
Agony tore through her.
The barrier burned straight through her clothes and into her skin, carving pain across every nerve. Screams ripped out of her throat, and the stench of burning flesh filled her lungs.
Still, she pushed.
The weight of the magic pressed in from all sides, trying to smother her, to break her—but she shoved forward, step by step, through fire and torment, until—
The pressure vanished.
She stumbled through the last edge of the barrier and collapsed hard onto the grass, the golden shield clattering beside her with a dull thud.
Agony like she’d never known pinned her in place. Her body curled, every nerve afire. She couldn’t breathe—only gasp in shallow pulls of air as pain wracked her in waves. Her heart thundered, erratic, each beat ready to tear her chest apart.
She couldn’t see anything clearly, only the scorched, bleeding ruin of her arms. Flesh charred red-black, skin peeling away in ragged patches. The raw sight twisted her stomach, but she couldn’t look away.
Pinaria had been right. It was madness. Stupid, reckless, desperate. And now she was broken, lying in the open, exposed for any enemy patrol to find. She had to move, crawl into the trees like they’d planned, but her limbs refused to obey.
She was trapped in her own burned body.
Nestur’s shield dissolved from her arm in a flicker of golden light. In the distance, voices shouted. Pinaria and Arnza screamed her name, but the words were lost, muffled by the roaring in her ears and the screaming of her nerves.
Without warning, something blotted out the sun.
A figure knelt beside her, casting a long shadow over her, and she could do nothing but blink up through the haze of pain.
Dirty blond hair. Blue eyes. And a wicked smile on his lips.
“Well, if you were dying to see me again, sweetheart, you should have sent word,” Nik drawled. “I’d have gladly opened the gates for you.”