Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
KATELL
Katell paced the length of her cell, her mind racing.
The room was far nicer than any place she’d ever stayed—certainly better than the draughty tent back in the snow-covered legion camp. The mattress was soft, and the food was more than passable.
But comfort didn’t change the fact that she was a prisoner.
A gilded cage was still a cage.
What gnawed at her more than the lack of interrogation or threats was Alena’s absence. Over a day had passed without a glimpse of her sister, and the silence was suffocating.
The chain around her ankle scraped against the stone floor with each step. She eyed the burnished gold shackles on her wrists for the dozenth time, still hoping for some flaw, some crack—but there was none. Without a key, there was no escape.
Her magic was blocked.
At least her mind was her own again. She hadn’t realised how deeply the Tears had warped her until the withdrawal hit—shivering despite the heat, drenched in sweat, slipping in and out of consciousness. The haze had finally lifted, but the memory of that cold, helpless state lingered.
She would speak to Dorias. He needed to understand what the Tears truly were. Gifted or not, they were dangerous—far more than anyone admitted. She vowed never to take them again.
Katell dropped onto the bed, her foot tapping impatiently against the stone floor. Her polished black breastplate leaned against the wall, returned at dawn with the rest of her uniform. She had changed the moment the guard left.
She refused to be seen in that plain tunic again—stripped of rank, of power, of identity. Not after the Achaeans had witnessed her at her weakest. They needed a reminder of exactly who stood before them.
She was Praefect Viridia of the Sixth Legion. Commander of the Black Helmets.
Her thoughts turned to Dorias. What would he make of her current situation? Would he be disappointed in her? She had infiltrated Tiryns, but instead of reporting back to the Twelfth, she’d ended up in chains.
What would he expect her to do? Assassinate the queen herself?
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
I see history is repeating itself.
She remembered little of her first encounter with Nik and Leukos—her mind fractured and scattered by the Tears—but she recalled the brief, raw glimpse into the past Nik had shared.
There had always been a haunted look in his eyes, a shadow that lingered just beneath the surface, and now she understood why.
She didn’t pity him, but she felt a deeper sense of recognition of the pain that had shaped him into who he was.
He hadn’t come to visit her either. Not that it mattered.
He didn’t owe her anything; they weren’t exactly friends.
And yet, she found herself missing his presence more than she cared to admit.
Every day he had come, and though she would never say it out loud, she’d begun to expect him.
Each time the lock turned, her stomach twisted with anticipation, and when his dirty blond hair and lopsided grin appeared, her nerves fluttered.
His presence unsettled her, as if nothing had changed since Bruna. Somehow, the bond they’d forged in the depths of the arena still lingered.
And that scared her more than the chains, because her loyalty belonged to Dorias. He had been her anchor in a world that had torn her apart. He’d helped her piece herself back together, and she’d pledged herself to him. She would follow him into battle, no matter the cost.
So why did her heart still race when Nik was near?
Why did his teasing smile stir her in a way Dorias’ steady gaze never had?
Outside, the sun dipped low, casting golden and copper light through the narrow windows of her cell. The warm glow spilled across the stone walls, softening their edges.
Katell rose to light the oil lamps, her pulse quickening at the sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor. Perhaps Alena had finally come?
The door creaked open, and when Katell glanced over her shoulder, her breath caught.
Nik stepped inside, tall and imposing, his broad shoulders wrapped in dark blue fabric and fitted leather. The contrast made his sun-kissed hair seem brighter, his blue eyes more arresting than ever.
“Kat,” he greeted, his tone unusually grave as he scanned the small space for something—or someone. “Alena isn’t here yet?”
Katell frowned. “No. Why?”
“She asked me to meet her here.”
“I haven’t seen her in two days.” The flicker of concern that crossed his face gave her pause. “What’s going on?”
“She had… an accident,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “The healers took care of her. She was resting.”
Katell’s stomach tightened. “But she’s all right?”
“She’s all right.” His words were steady enough, but the unease in his voice betrayed him. His usual carefree air was gone, replaced by a tension that left her unnerved.
She turned away, retreating to the bed. The iron chain scraped against the stone floor, the harsh sound louder in the silence between them.
She gestured to the stool and side table, where a platter of food waited. “Well, make yourself at home,” she said with a wry smile. “As you can see, I have a real feast—water, some stale bread, and lentils.”
Nik barely spared the food a glance. His attention fixed on her with a focus that prickled beneath her skin.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you about Sinope.”
Katell went still, her smile vanishing.
“I heard all about the fight,” Nik continued, his tone almost gentle, “but not what happened afterwards.” He hesitated. “Did you bury her?”
For a moment, Katell just stared at him, the memories crashing back with brutal clarity. Images flooded her mind—the sacred temple, the silent priestesses, Sinope’s body wrapped in a shroud, a crown of flowers resting on her brow.
“Yes,” she murmured. “We took her to the Achaean necropolis outside the city.”
The words hung between them, laden with unspoken grief neither of them could fully articulate.
Nik cleared his throat. “That’s good. She’s among her own now.”
“I saw her again,” Katell said in a clipped tone, crossing her arms. “Back at the hillfort. The Westerners brought back the dead one night, and—”
Nik shook his head. “It wasn’t her, Kat. They were only visions. Echoes of the dead.”
Katell wanted to argue, to tell him how real that night had been, how seeing Sinope again had felt like her heart being torn apart. But the words lodged in her throat. She wasn’t ready to bare that part of herself. Not yet.
Instead, she said quietly, “I saw my father, too.”
She wasn’t sure why she told him. She hadn’t spoken of it to anyone—not even Dorias. But saying it aloud felt necessary, as if the act itself might help her make sense of it all.
“He said he’d been keeping us safe in the Freefolk Lands,” she went on, staring at the floor. “That it was on our mother’s orders. I wanted to believe he was lying, but…”
Nik’s gaze softened with understanding. “But Alena told you about the Rebel Queen.”
“Yes.” The revelation had shaken her more than she cared to admit. Alena would never lie about something so significant—but still, the truth had left her reeling.
“The Rebel Queen was an enemy of Rasenna,” she muttered, almost as if trying to convince herself. “And yet I joined the Sixth, and now—”
“Now you don’t know what to think.”
Katell shot to her feet. “Stop putting words into my mouth,” she snapped.
But instead of backing away, Nik stepped closer. The scent of pine and fresh citrus rose from him like warmth off sunbaked stone. Her pulse quickened, and she hated the way his nearness made her feel exposed.
“You’re allowed to question what you took as the truth, Kat,” he said. “And to change your mind. We all make mistakes. What matters is what you do next.”
His words settled over her like a soothing balm, easing the tension in her shoulders.
She raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep her emotions in check. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Make up for your past?”
He shrugged. “Something like that.”
Katell shook her head, her tone softening despite herself. “You have nothing to make up for, Nik. You were just a child.”
He hesitated, and in that pause she caught it—the flicker of vulnerability breaking through his expression. “The Achaeans aren’t all as understanding as you.”
He inched closer, narrowing the distance between them until she had to tilt her chin to meet his gaze. She swallowed hard, trying to steady the flutter rising in her chest, but it refused to be silenced.
For one tantalising moment, his warm breath fanned across her face, and his eyes dropped to her lips, lingering there as if already tasting them in his mind.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Her voice wavered despite her best effort to sound firm.
That familiar, infuriating smile tugged at his mouth—playful, but edged with something far more dangerous. “Like what?”
“You know what,” she hissed.
“Like I want to kiss you?” His gaze captured hers, and the tension between them stretched taut as a bowstring, quivering on the verge of release. “Because it’s the truth. Since you left, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you… Every. Damn. Day.”
Her heart stuttered and squeezed. A fierce, undeniable spark kindled deep inside.
Nik leaned in, the sudden closeness making it impossible to think, to breathe. She should have pushed him away, should have drawn a line between them—but her body betrayed her, rooted in place, every nerve alive with tingling heat.
“There’s something real between us,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that slid down her spine.
“There has been since the day I met you in the arena. And it scares you as much as it scares me.” His eyes darkened, the teasing edge replaced by something heavier.
“So go ahead, run back to him. Go back to the Black Helmets. But I’ll be right here, sweetheart—waiting for the day you stop lying to yourself about us. ”