Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
LEYWANI
Leywani stared at the pool where Katell had vanished only moments before. The black surface lay smooth and unbroken, gleaming like polished stone. It was as if the water had swallowed her whole, erasing every trace of her existence.
No ripples. No bubbles. No sign that Katell had ever been there at all.
Leywani’s chest constricted. Her breaths came sharp and ragged, each one louder in her ears than the last.
No. No—this couldn’t be real. Katell couldn’t be gone. Not her. Not her dearest friend, the fiercest, strongest woman she’d ever known, who’d bled and sacrificed for everyone she loved. Snuffed out in an instant, like everything else the Rasennans touched.
Tears blurred her vision, and a choked sob rose in her throat. Beside her, Velthur sheathed his blade and yanked her to her feet.
“Did you know about this?” The Emperor’s roar shook the chamber. His fingers clamped around the priest’s throat, dragging him forward.
The priest gasped, clawing at Tarquinius’ grip. “No—I swear it! We never found her daughter. We assumed she had either perished or was hiding in the Western Lands.”
The priest’s words did nothing to quell the Emperor’s rage. His lip curled in disgust, and he shoved the man backwards. The priest went sprawling into the waiting arms of the crimson-clad priestesses, their hushed gasps rippling through the chamber.
“She wasn’t in the Western Lands,” the Emperor spat. “She was with the damn Freefolk.”
Then, without hesitation, he turned to Velthur, his eyes dark with command. Leywani dropped her gaze at once, willing her breath to steady, praying his fury would sweep past her unnoticed.
“Get me Ancharius, Claudius, Numesie, Tarxi—anyone who fought at the Battle of Kendrisia.” The Emperor’s voice was sharp, each name a blade cutting through the tense silence. “Use Romilda if you must to drag them back to Kisra. I want them here now.”
A shiver ran down Leywani’s spine, her whole body taut with the urge to vanish, to melt into the stone.
But then warm fingers clamped around her chin. A startled cry escaped as the Emperor wrenched her head up, forcing her into the full weight of his piercing stare.
“Do this right,” he murmured, his words meant for Velthur behind her, “and I’ll let you keep the girl. I know how much you enjoy breaking them.”
Nausea churned in her gut, but she forced her features into stillness. Her nails dug into her palms until the sting grounded her. Years of her husband’s threats and cruelty had hardened her. She’d learned to hide her fear, to bury it so deep that not even monsters like this could see it.
No reaction. No breaking.
Inside, though, she was screaming.
Velthur strode out of the chamber without a backwards glance, but she wasn’t alone for long. Dalmatius approached at once, his intimidating presence a silent warning.
A ripple shuddered across the blackened pool, and a sudden hush fell over the chamber.
Every gaze snapped to the water as movement disturbed its surface, and a breath later, Katell emerged.
She rose from the black waters with eerie stillness, her limbs fluid yet unnatural, as if guided by an unseen force. Dark liquid streamed down her naked body in slow rivulets, pooling at her feet like spilled ink.
But it was her eyes that sent a cold shock through Leywani’s veins.
They were black. Entirely, utterly black.
Behind her, Dalmatius went rigid. His fists clenched, jaw tightening before he turned his face aside, unable—or unwilling—to meet her gaze.
Katell did not blink. Did not speak. She only stood, water trailing from her fingertips, her face blank. The priestesses moved around her without a word, draping her in the same crimson fabric they wore. The deep red clung to her damp skin, and a breath of silence passed.
The Emperor stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over Katell with the same scrutiny Freefolk suitors reserved for their intended brides. “You have the Tears?” he asked.
The priest retrieved a thin vial from his robes, but the Emperor flicked his fingers. “Give them to Dalmatius. He’ll take care of her.”
Dalmatius accepted the vial, his eyes flicking uneasily towards Katell. The Emperor, meanwhile, continued to study her like a newly forged blade. Droplets of black water clung to her skin, catching the torchlight in a ghostly shimmer.
“She will follow whoever holds the Tears. They’ll act as a beacon,” the Emperor declared.
“In battle, she will not harm Laran’s followers, but keep the soldiers out of the Makhai’s way.
” His sharp gaze snapped to Dalmatius. “Guide her to the enemy using their blood—she will follow it. And once she has them in her sights…” His final words rang with chilling certainty. “She will show no mercy.”
Leywani fought the wave of nausea rising in her throat.
What had they done to her friend?
Dalmatius rotated the vial between his fingers, his features schooled into composure, though Leywani caught the faintest tightening at the corner of his mouth. “So, she isn’t the first. How many Chosen have been brought here?”
“Sagar.” The Emperor shifted his attention back to the priest. “How many Chosen have my ancestors submerged in Laran’s Pool of Tears?”
“Only three, Imperator.”
The vial came to a halt, and Dalmatius’ fingers tightened around it. “And how long did they survive?”
“A few months at most,” Sagar admitted. “Never more than half a year. The power is too much for a mortal, and they eventually lose their mind.”
Leywani’s breath caught. A single month was the Rasennan equivalent of a moon cycle. Summer hadn’t even begun, and already it seemed Katell might not live to see its end.
“Then we have no time to waste,” the Emperor snapped. “The legions must be ready to march. Send her to Eluvia, test her strength against those pesky slaves, and then she’ll lead the charge against the Westerners.”
He turned to Dalmatius. “Have her friend clean her up. She’ll set out for battle at first light.”
The Emperor swept from the chamber, his guards falling into step behind him. Sagar trailed silently, while the priestesses lingered, their crimson robes vivid against the shadowed walls.
“Follow us,” one of them murmured.
Dalmatius seized Leywani’s arm, his grip firm but not bruising, and pulled her forward. His gaze flicked to Katell, who moved without hesitation, an obedient puppet.
The priestesses led them down a winding corridor, torches casting flickering shadows that stretched and clawed at the walls.
Finally, they emerged into another bathing chamber.
Unlike the blackened pool they’d left behind, this one shimmered with clear, inviting water, its surface rippling with purple flowers.
The cloying scent of lavender hung heavy in the air, wrapping around them like an illusion of peace.
Dalmatius unlocked Leywani’s manacles with a sharp click. “Clean her up, get her dressed, and then I’ll take you somewhere more comfortable than your cell.”
Beside them, Katell waited, her dark, empty eyes fixed on nothing.
Rubbing her sore wrists, Leywani kept her focus on Katell. “What did you do to her?”
She knew better than to question a Rasennan commander, but she couldn’t stay silent—not with Katell standing there so broken.
Dalmatius didn’t even flinch. “She’s Laran’s Chosen. She was always meant to become the Empire’s weapon.”
Leywani shook her head, her voice filled with quiet fury. “This is wrong, and you know it.”
His jaw clenched, a shadow crossing his eyes—a flicker of doubt, of regret—before he masked it with cold resolve. “It’s done. Now help her bathe, or I’ll send you back to Velthur.”
Leywani’s breath shuddered, helplessness and rage tangling in her throat.
Words wouldn’t sway Dalmatius. He moved towards the stone bench near the entrance, blade resting across his knees, its edge scraping against the whetstone with slow precision—a quiet reminder of the threat he represented, even with his gaze averted.
The three priestesses lingered like silent sentinels by the pool, their veiled faces unreadable.
Leywani forced herself to ignore them.
“I’ll undress first,” she told Katell in a gentle tone. “Then we’ll get you cleaned up.”
No response. No flicker of recognition.
Katell stood rigid, her blackened eyes vacant, water still clinging to her skin in inky droplets.
With dread heavy in her chest, Leywani peeled off her boots and tattered tunic, the fabric sticky with sweat and grime. Every movement felt weighted, suffocating, but she willed herself not to falter.
A flicker of motion made her stiffen. One of the priestesses stepped forward, hands reaching for Katell. Leywani’s pulse leapt, and she raised a hand to stop the woman.
“It’s all right,” she said, her voice edged with quiet defiance. “I’ll do it.”
The priestess hesitated, then retreated without a word.
Leywani’s fingers trembled as she unclasped the pin at Katell’s shoulder. The crimson fabric slid from her body, pooling on the floor, but Katell’s vacant stare never shifted.
Leywani had seen Katell’s body before, during carefree days by the stream at Camp Bessi—days filled with laughter, warmth, and the lightness of their friendship.
Those days felt a world away now.
She forced a soft smile, trying to chase away the bitter weight pressing down on her chest. “Let’s go into the water.”
Katell moved, a shadow following her every step.
The water greeted them like a gentle caress, though it was a little too hot for comfort. Leywani paused on the steps, letting the sting seep through her limbs. Katell slipped into the steaming pool without hesitation—or reaction.
Leywani drew a tight breath and faced the array of oils and tools arranged along the edge of the bath. She ignored the curved metal implements, focusing instead on the simple sponge.
Her heart squeezed as she approached Katell. “I’m going to cleanse your skin.” She forced her tone to remain calm, almost cheerful—anything to keep panic at bay. “You’re still covered in that black water, and we don’t want it to damage your hair. Here.”
Gently, she took Katell’s arm and rubbed the oil-soaked sponge over her friend’s skin. “You’ll be right as new when I’m done,” she said, trying to believe her own words.
She stole a glance at the others. None of them had moved from the door.
“Kat, if you can hear me,” she whispered, leaning closer, “you have to fight this. You can’t let them win. Do you hear me? You have to wake up, break out of this, or they’re going to send you into battle. They’ll make you kill innocent people. Your friends…”
Katell didn’t react. Her vacant stare seemed fixed on something distant, her mind gone.
Leywani swallowed hard, then squeezed warm water over Katell’s chest. The sponge traced across her collarbone, scraping away the lingering stain of the black pool, each stroke a trembling act of hope against the panic clawing inside her.
Her fingers moved, and she began to sing—the Freefolk song of the Harvest. A melody of renewal, of the earth giving and taking in its eternal cycle. Leywani clung to it, willing the notes to spark something within her friend.
But Katell remained silent, motionless.
The song carried Leywani’s mind back to the day when Katell had chased after her, desperate to stop her from leaving Camp Bessi with her new husband. The heartbreak in her friend’s eyes, offering to switch places, still haunted her.
Her brave, loyal friend—the one who’d once risked everything—was gone.
If Leywani faltered, if she stopped singing or paused in her care, the weight of grief threatened to crush her. So she kept going, hands steady even as her heart ached with every beat.
But then, when she reached to wash Katell’s hair—she saw them.
Tears.
Silent, glistening trails slipping down Katell’s cheeks.
Leywani’s breath hitched, hope sparking in her chest.
“Kat?” She grasped her friend’s hands, squeezing them tight as if she could jolt life back into her.
But after several agonising moments, the silence remained unbroken.
Katell didn’t stir.
The flicker of hope dimmed, and with a heavy heart, Leywani resumed her task, the painful truth sinking in. “It’s all right. I’m here, Kat. You’re not alone. I’m with you.”