Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
KATELL
Asudden burst of silvery-purple light erupted from the crowd of huddled slaves, cascading upwards in a shimmering arc before falling back down like a celestial dome.
The magical barrier settled over the gathered Freefolk, its ethereal glow forming a protective shield around them.
Gasps rippled through the slaves, their fear giving way to astonished hope.
The soldiers staggered back, breaking their rigid formation and shielding their eyes from the blinding light.
Dorias’ expression darkened as he glared at the barrier.
From within the crowd, Pinaria strode forward, her hand raised, tendrils of magic shooting from her fingertips. Her face was pale, but determination burned in her features. Arnza stayed at her side, standing straight, every muscle taut.
Pinaria met Katell’s gaze and gave her a single, resolute nod. Relief crashed over Katell. Pinaria’s barrier would keep the Freefolk safe. Whatever Dorias had planned, his soldiers wouldn’t be able to lay a hand on them.
But it wasn’t enough.
Katell took in the palisade walls surrounding the camp, the narrow gate in the distance flanked by armed men, and the sea of underfed slaves huddled together. She needed a plan to get them out, but her mind was so fogged with anger she couldn’t think straight.
Dorias’ smooth voice cut through the air. “Whatever you have in mind, my love, it won’t work.”
Her chest ached at the familiar term of endearment. “Don’t call me that.”
Dorias stepped closer, his tone coaxing. “We can talk about this.”
“Talk?” Katell spat, pointing at Tia’s lifeless body sprawled in the sand. “You just killed Tia in cold blood, and now you want to talk?”
Dorias’ gaze flicked from Tia’s still form to the faint glow of Pinaria’s barrier, and finally to the sharp edge of Katell’s weapon.
Though his expression remained composed, his momentary silence betrayed his calculation.
He was already weighing the damage Katell might inflict if she acted on her anger.
“If you do as I say,” he said with quiet menace, “no one else has to get hurt.”
Her heart clenched at his words. The man who had given her a purpose, made her believe in the Sixth and feel alive again, had truly become her enemy.
Katell’s grip on her sword trembled. Her mind swirled with memories, each now tainted with the realisation of how much he’d manipulated her.
“You played me.” The words tumbled out, her emotions slipping past her control. “This whole time, you acted like you cared—like the legion mattered, like we were fighting for something bigger, for peace—”
“You are Laran’s Chosen,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You were always meant to join us. I just… helped you see it.”
Katell’s breath hitched, fury spilling from her in waves. “Then why are the Freefolk here?!” She brandished her blade, its tip trembling. “I trusted you with my secrets, my fears, everything—and you betrayed me. You said you’d protect me. Always. But it was all a lie—”
A sob rose unbidden in her throat.
Dorias’ jaw tightened, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. He stepped closer and swiftly knocked her sword aside with one hand.
“It wasn’t a lie.” His fierce stare bore into hers, yet beneath it shimmered something raw. “It was real. I meant every word, every promise, every kiss—”
She shook her head, hating the way his words pulled at her, how a part of her wanted to believe him even now.
“—every night I spent in your bed—”
“Shut up!”
She lunged forward, her blade aimed at his heart. At once, golden light exploded around him, his shimmering armour materialising just in time to stop the blow. The clang of steel against magic rang out, the reverberation jarring her arm, and her blade skidded uselessly off the glowing cuirass.
Dorias’ eyes widened, genuine shock flickering across his face. He hadn’t expected her to strike.
“Fuck you,” she hissed, the venom in her words lashing out where her sword had failed.
For a heartbeat, Dorias stared at her. Then his expression hardened—like a door slamming shut. “I see you won’t listen to me. As usual,” he said, his tone edged with frost. “So we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
Katell scoffed, her lips curling. “You think Laran’s Flame or your golden breastplate are enough to stop me?”
Dorias’ focus cut past her, towards the gathered Freefolk, and her blood turned to ice.
“Arnza,” he called out.
Katell spun, pulse thundering in her ears. She locked eyes with Arnza still standing by Pinaria’s side.
The young soldier’s throat bobbed, and a shadow darkened his features.
Then he moved. With a single, brutal motion, his fist shot out and slammed into Pinaria’s face. The younger woman crumpled with a sharp gasp, her shimmering protective barrier wavering once before its silvery light dissolved into nothing.
Katell’s heart slammed into her ribs. “No!”
A wave of panicked wails erupted from the huddled Freefolk as the soldiers surged closer. Arnza cradled Pinaria’s unconscious form in his arms, his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. “I’m sorry, Kat.” His head hung low. “I didn’t have a choice. It was the only way to save Pinaria’s life—”
“Silence!” Dorias snapped.
Katell turned to him, despair clawing at her chest. “Why are you doing this?”
Dorias’ expression was a stony mask, his steel gaze unyielding. “I already told you. The Empire’s plans stop for no one.”
“What plans? What the fuck do you want from me?”
“You’re Laran’s Chosen,” he answered in a maddeningly calm tone. “And the Emperor is keen to meet you.”
The Emperor? Katell’s rage lit in her stomach as the truth came to light. Dorias’ loyalty had never been with her, the Sixth, or the Black Helmets.
It had always belonged to Tarquinius.
And, like a fool, she’d walked right into their trap, blinded by trust. She’d justified each step further in the legions because she’d believed in Dorias’ vision. But all the while, he’d been using her as a pawn in a game she hadn’t even realised she was playing.
Out of nowhere, voices hissed in the back of her mind—a deafening roar that drowned out everything else. Kill him. Make him pay.
The storm inside her boiled over, consuming every shred of doubt, pain, and hesitation in its flames. Her magic erupted, wild and formless, like molten steel spilling from a shattered crucible and searing through every vein.
The ground beneath her feet trembled, black smoke rising from the sand in dense, writhing tendrils. They coiled around her limbs and streamed upwards in dark plumes, thick with a gravity that seemed to pull the light from the world around her.
Tarxi froze, his usual smug expression replaced by stark terror. Romilda edged away, her earlier bravado wavering under the weight of the unnatural force gathering around them.
Even Dorias faltered. He took a deliberate step back, doubt tightening the corners of his mouth.
The air crackled, taut with oppressive magic that hummed. The black smoke fanned outwards in a wide arc. Veins of darkness spidered across the sand, and nearby soldiers staggered back, their faces drawn tight with primal terror.
Let us out! Let us out! The voices screamed in her mind, a maddened chorus clamouring for release.
“Dalmatius…” Tarxi’s usual arrogance was stripped away, leaving behind nothing but naked fear.
Dorias’ eyes darted to the tendrils of black smoke, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword as the ground shook again.
The voices surged with a hunger that gnawed at her, twisting her insides.
Blood! Give us your blood!
“You lied to me,” Katell hissed, her voice strained under the suffocating pressure of the magic coursing through her veins. “You’ve been lying to me from the start. You knew what the voices and the smoke are.”
Dorias’ lips pressed into a thin line, his silence speaking volumes.
“Say it!” she spat, her fury demanding the truth while her betrayed heart demanded blood.
His steel eyes met hers and, for the first time, his composure slipped. At last, he spoke. “Makhai.”
An icy chill snaked down Katell’s spine, while the voices in her head became a cacophony of whispers and shouts. Makhai! Makhai!
She gasped, struggling for control. Her chest heaved. Her limbs trembled. The unrelenting pull of her magic drained her strength, feeding on her wrath and pain.
And then, amid the thickening smoke, a clawed hand rose up. Jagged fingers scraped across the blood-soaked sand, leaving deep gouges in their wake.
A ripple of shock moved through the gathered troops and slaves while Dorias stiffened at the sight.
“What are they?” Katell asked.
“Demons of the battlefield,” he replied. “Summoned by Laran himself during the Battle of Kendrisia. They exist for one purpose—to destroy.”
Demons. She could summon demons. “That’s why the Emperor wants me.” Nausea rose in her throat. “Because I can call upon them.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
A bitter laugh tore from her lips. “And yet all of you are terrified I’ll release them.” Well, by the Moon, they had called for her blood, and she was going to give it to them.
With a swift motion, she drew a dagger from her belt and, holding Dorias’ gaze, she drove the blade down, drawing a single drop of blood. It fell to the ground, and from the curling tendrils of smoke, another clawed hand emerged—larger, more terrifying than the first.
It lunged, clamping around the leg of a soldier who’d strayed too close. A single rake of its claws flayed flesh from bone, the wet sound followed by a howl of agony that split the air.
Two of his comrades grabbed him under the arms, dragging him away. His shredded, ruined leg was enough to make others recoil, stumbling over one another in their haste to put distance between themselves and the writhing smoke.
Katell’s lips curved into a dark smile.
Let them fear her.
“Make her stop!” Romilda shrieked, staggering back.