Chapter 38 #2
Dorias stopped a few feet away, his brow lifting at the sight of her sword. “You’d use your blade against me?” His tone was weighted, as if testing her resolve.
Katell’s trembling fingers clenched around the hilt, her knuckles white. She lifted the blade higher, forcing herself to focus on him amid the chaos threatening to consume her. “Answer me.”
Dorias sighed—a sharp, impatient exhale, stripped of anything resembling regret. His gaze, once warm and reassuring, now cut straight through her, devoid of affection. “You already know what’s going on.”
No.
No, this couldn’t be real.
Her mind clawed for an escape. She was dreaming, caught in some nightmare. An illusion.
But nothing came.
Only the suffocating weight of betrayal pressing into her until she could barely draw a breath.
Her heart shattered as reality sank in.
And then she was Tia—wide-eyed and afraid, and terribly, unmistakably guilty.
“Tia.” The name tumbled from Katell’s lips, distant and hollow, as if someone else had spoken it. “How many times?”
Tia’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“How many times did you use your Gift on me?” Katell demanded.
“Don’t answer that,” Dorias snapped.
Tia flinched, her shoulders curling inwards as if trying to disappear.
“How. Many. Times?!” The words tore from Katell, raw with frustration and despair. She took a step closer to Tia, sword still poised, chest heaving with ragged breaths.
“I don’t know!” The protest broke from Tia, splintering in her throat. Her whole body shook like a cornered animal. “A half dozen, maybe more. I—”
The admission struck Katell in the gut, knocking the air from her lungs. Bile surged in her throat. She forced it back, but couldn’t stop the tears that burned in her eyes.
“When?” she pressed. “When did you first use it?”
Tia’s gaze darted between her and Dorias, panic flashing across her face. At last, she whispered, “After the Westerners attacked our camp at the border. During the first interrogation you joined.”
Katell’s mind pulled her back to that day—the Westerners dragged into the dim, stifling tent by Cinto and Larth. She remembered the flickering torchlight, the shadows dancing across their faces, and the way Tia had woven her illusions to pry information from them.
“You thought I was using my Gift on the prisoners,” Tia continued, her voice barely audible. “But you were in the illusion, too. You heard what you needed to hear—to…”
Katell went rigid, her breath turning shallow. “To what?”
“To make the right decision.” Dorias’ tone was smooth, as though explaining a simple truth. “And join the Sixth. You were almost ready, but not quite. You just needed… a little push.”
The words landed with devastating clarity. Katell’s mind reeled, trying to piece together the truth hidden beneath layers of deceit.
“You manipulated me,” she whispered, her voice strangled.
“You never made Nik the offer to join us.” The pieces were falling into place, each revelation creating a fresh wound.
“ You never sent anyone to look for my sister in Bruna. And you…” The final betrayal cut the deepest, tearing through what little remained of her faith in him.
“You told the Emperor about the Freefolk.”
Dorias didn’t flinch. He held her gaze, his expression calm, as if weighing the need for further deception. When he spoke, his tone was unrepentant. “I did.”
Katell stumbled, a dull roaring filled her ears. Tears stung her eyes, blurring the face of the man she thought she knew. The man who had stood by her side, trained her, and protected her at all costs—gone.
No. Not gone.
He had never been real.
Her chest heaved as she fought to regain control. She refused to let him see her crumble, refused to give him the satisfaction of her pain.
“But you weren’t supposed to find out this way,” Dorias continued, his words laced with quiet condemnation. He took a step towards Tia, his presence towering like a storm cloud ready to break. “You weren’t supposed to break out of the illusion.”
Tia stood frozen, her gaze silently pleading for something Katell couldn’t decipher.
The makeshift arena seemed to hold its breath.
Soldiers flanked the perimeter, their weapons glinting ominously under the bright sun.
Behind them, the huddled Freefolk slaves watched in horrified silence, their faces pale and eyes wide, fear rooting them in place.
Every sound—the scrape of a blade, the crunch of sand beneath boots—rang louder against the oppressive stillness.
Dorias’ lips curled into a faint smirk, a mockery of his usual charm. “Oh, Furia,” he said, the nickname delivered with cruel irony, as though she were an errant child caught in a game she didn’t understand. “Whatever will I do with you now?”
The words hung in the air, and Tia stifled a sob, her shoulders trembling.
Furia. The affectionate name Dorias had chosen for her—personal, intimate.
Lovers didn’t give endearing names to those they spent a single night with. Whatever had happened between them was more than a fleeting entanglement—it was another thread in the web of lies Dorias had spun.
Another betrayal.
It explained Tia’s jealousy and the warning she’d given Katell after the legate’s banquet in the Western Lands. Dorias had played her, too. He’d used Tia to manipulate Katell, and now that she’d allowed Katell to escape his trap, she was expendable.
Romilda unsheathed a dagger from her belt. “She’s a liability.”
Blood drained from Tia’s face, and Katell’s breath hitched. “Tia,” she urged, heart racing, “use your Gift. Get out of here—now!”
Tia shook her head. Across from her, Romilda’s thin blade caught the sunlight with a deadly gleam.
“Tia!” Katell angled her body to shield the younger woman as best she could.
“I can’t,” Tia whimpered from behind. “I told them how to counter my magic. It doesn’t work on them anymore!”
Katell’s stomach twisted. Of course. Dorias, ever scheming, had used Tia’s trust against her and stripped her of her only weapon.
Tarxi crossed his arms over his chest, laughing to himself. Around them, the soldiers shifted, their focus sharpening as if sensing the moment’s inevitable violence.
Dorias ran his thumb across the light scruff on his chin, expression detached, as though calculating the worth of pawns on a board. His steel gaze flicked to Romilda, and he gave a small, sharp nod. “Do it.”
Panic surged through Katell. “Tia, run!”
Tia didn’t hesitate. She bolted, her feet kicking up clouds of sand. Her eyes flicked over her shoulder, wide with terror, but she kept moving, weaving between the wooden stakes that bore the gruesome bodies of dead slaves. Wheezing, with desperate strides, she pushed towards the barracks.
But Romilda was faster.
Stepping into Dorias’ shadow, she disappeared using her Gift and emerged from the stakes’ shadows right behind Tia. With ruthless efficiency, the legate’s hand shot out, seizing Tia’s hair and wrenching her off balance.
“No!” Katell screamed, lunging towards them.
Romilda yanked the girl’s head back, exposing her neck. Tia’s cry echoed across the arena, her eyes wide with terror.
“Traitor,” Romilda hissed, plunging her blade deep between Tia’s throat and shoulder.
Crimson blossomed against her skin, spreading in a vivid arc down her tunic, and a strangled scream escaped Tia’s lips.
“Tia!” Katell cried, but Romilda was already withdrawing the blade, its edges slick with blood. Without a second glance, she shoved Tia’s limp body aside, letting her crumple to the ground.
Katell lurched forward, catching her before she hit the sand. Beside her, Romilda retreated, disappearing into the shadows between the wooden stakes like a ghost.
“Tia,” Katell whispered, lowering her gently. Blood streamed from the gash, soaking the sand beneath them a deep, accusing red.
Katell pressed her hands to the open wound, fingers slipping on the slick warmth.
Tia’s breaths came in wet, choking gasps, her frail body fighting against the inevitable. Her dark eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain, and met Katell’s. With a shuddering effort, Tia lifted a hand, her smooth fingers clutching Katell.
“I’m here,” Katell murmured, trying to offer some small measure of comfort. She smoothed the dark hair out of the girl’s face. “I’m right here.”
But Tia’s grip tightened, stopping Katell mid-breath. The fear in her tear-filled gaze softened, giving way to an emotion that struck Katell more deeply than any blade ever could: regret. Sorrow.
Her lips moved, forming words Katell couldn’t hear, but understood nonetheless. I’m sorry.
Tia had been many things to her—a rival, a comrade in arms—but now she was only a girl staring down death.
Her fingers slipped free, falling limp, and Katell’s heart wrenched. The light drained from Tia’s eyes, leaving only a hollow, unseeing stare.
The silence that followed was broken by a single muffled sob.
Katell didn’t dare glance up, but she knew that voice.
Pinaria.
The raw, involuntary cry had been hers. Somewhere in the sea of terrified Freefolk faces, she was there, likely held back by Arnza before she could reveal their presence to Dorias.
A storm of fury and grief raged in Katell’s chest, threatening to tear her apart. She wanted to scream, to lash out at the world that had chewed Tia up and spat her out. But all she could do was cling to the Southern Beauty’s frail body.
“That’s a shame,” Tarxi said in a loud, obnoxious voice. “She had a useful Gift, that one. I heard quite a few rumours about her other skills as well. Not that Dalmatius ever let me get near her—”
“Shut your mouth,” Dorias growled.
Romilda, still toying with the dagger that had ended Tia’s life, gave a short laugh. “She got what was coming to her. Little traitor should’ve known better than to cross the Empire.”
The sharp sting of rage overpowered the ache of Katell’s grief. If Tia hadn’t slipped her those subtle clues in the illusion, Katell might never have broken free. She would’ve continued to be a pawn, trapped under their thumb, blind to the lies surrounding her.
And yet, here they were, dismissing Tia even in death as though she’d been nothing more than a discarded tool—a liability to be disposed of.
Scylas. The Freefolk. Tia. All the lies.
The bloodied sand beneath Katell’s knees blurred. Fury ignited in her chest, clawing upwards, tightening around her throat. It surged through her veins, a storm coiling, ready to explode.
Katell grabbed the hilt of her sword discarded in the sand, the familiar weight grounding her resolve.
“You’re going to regret that,” she hissed, her voice deadly calm.
The arena crackled with tension. Soldiers braced themselves while Freefolk slaves watched with wide, horrified eyes. Somewhere in the crowd, Pinaria’s stifled sob reached her ears again, a haunting reminder of the stakes.
Katell glared at Dorias, then raised her free hand in signal. “Pinaria, now!”