Chapter 56 #2
Laran was already lounging in a carved wooden chair, angled slightly away from her, his muscled legs stretched out, one ankle resting on the other.
A table beside him was piled with food—roasted meats, fresh bread, bowls of olives and figs, wine so dark it was nearly black.
He plucked a grape from a golden dish, rolled it between his fingers, then popped it into his mouth.
“My home.” Chewing, he gestured to the empty seat beside him with a casual flick of his fingers. “Come, eat.”
Katell crossed her arms, still reeling from the strange sensation of being ripped from one world and thrust into another. “I’m not hungry.”
He forked several items onto a plate, including a tender cut of roasted boar glazed in thick, fragrant sauce. “Then go take a bath. You reek.”
But Katell stood her ground, exhaling a slow breath and fighting the urge to snap at him. “You said I needed to train. We trained. Now bring me back.”
She couldn’t waste time eating or bathing while the Emperor used her as a weapon, sending her to fight his battles. And the bright sunlight streaming in did little to ease the gnawing tension in her chest. How many days had passed since she’d been pulled from the mortal world?
For a moment, Laran said nothing. He simply took another bite of food, his dark eyes fixed on her. “Not yet. Soon, you’ll be ready to return to the battlefield and fight in the upcoming war.”
His words jolted her, and she crossed to the table, her muscles protesting with each step. “Wait… do you think I’ll be returning to the legions?”
“Won’t you?” Laran gave her his full attention. “Then what will you do, daughter?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I’m going to kill the Emperor.”
His lips quirked upwards, a half-smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, as if her answer amused him in some private way. “Interesting.”
She tensed at his lack of reaction. “Are you going to stop me?”
He weighed the question before answering, his voice edged with finality. “No. Whatever happens to Tarquinius, it has been a long time coming.”
Relief flooded her. If he had opposed her, what could she have done? She couldn’t fight the god of war. The very thought was madness.
“Then please take me back to the mirror,” she pressed, struggling to keep desperation from her voice. “I need to know what’s happening.”
Laran reached for his goblet, swirling the dark wine without sparing her a glance. “Not until you’re ready.”
Her patience frayed. “And when will that be?”
“When I say so.”
Katell clenched her fists and turned away, releasing a frustrated breath.
Behind her, Laran let out a quiet chuckle. “So impatient, daughter. I’ve waited years to finally meet you, and already, you can’t wait to leave.”
Something in his tone made her pause. Not frustration. Not mockery. Something heavier. Regret, maybe. Or something close to it.
She turned back, but he still wasn’t watching her. His gaze hovered over the table, fingers cradling the cup, though he didn’t drink.
A long silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.
“If I had known the truth,” Katell admitted quietly, “we might have met sooner. But I didn’t. I only found out about my mother a few days ago. My sister told me.”
Laran set the goblet down with care and leaned back. “And I would have tried to find you before, but you were hidden from me. The Mark on your neck—it belongs to the White Mare.”
Katell stiffened. The White Mare? The Western goddess. Her mind raced. “Why would she—”
“I suppose it must have been a request from your mother,” Laran cut in, his voice quieter now. “To keep you safe. It was meant to suppress your true nature until your magic could no longer be contained.”
Warmth she’d never known filled Katell’s chest. Her mother had done this for her—gone to the goddess, sworn some kind of pact, just to protect her. The thought settled over her like a shield, bringing both comfort and an avalanche of new questions.
“I searched for many years, but never found you or your sister.”
He’d been looking for Alena, too? Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected that. “We were east. Past the Deep River—”
Laran’s gaze sharpened. “The Freefolk Lands?”
“Yes.” Her throat tightened, her mind flashing back to that day in the woods with the hunting party—the day everything had changed. “My strength… it broke out of me while I was fighting. After that, I could hear them—the voices in my head.”
Laran nodded, as if this was exactly what he’d expected. “The Makhai are my children, born of the battlefield, and they are yours to command—just like my magic.”
“Command?” She blinked, a dry laugh escaping her. “I could barely summon one, last time I tried.”
Laran leaned forward, his gaze unyielding. “Once you embrace your immortal side, you will.”
“It can’t be that simple—”
A hand slammed onto the table with a resounding thud, rattling goblets and sending cutlery clattering against the golden plates.
“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear…” Laran rose, the thunderous look in his eyes rooting her to the spot. He prowled forward, jagged shadows stretching long across the marble walls, shifting with each measured step.
“I am the god of war.” His voice swelled, reverberating through the chamber, rattling her bones until it seemed the very stone trembled with it. “Protector of the Empire, and defeater of giants.”
The villa around them seemed to shrink, the air thick with his overwhelming magic, pressing down on her lungs like an iron weight. The sunlight streaming through the open archways dimmed, as though even the day itself dared not shine too brightly in his presence.
Her muscles coiled, every instinct screaming at her to flee, yet she remained frozen, limbs locked before a divine force far beyond mortal strength.
“Thousands pray to me each day, and I wield more magic than any of the Rasennan gods.” His words crackled with raw power, and the ground beneath Katell’s feet wavered, as if the world itself bowed to his presence.
She forced herself to breathe, to remain upright against the invisible force pressing down on her, threatening to crush her into submission.
“Mortals sacrifice their most precious possessions for a sliver of my favour. They feast in my honour and celebrate great festivals in my name. I was there when the Achaeans came with their ships to conquer Kyrnos, and our warriors—nothing more than a rabble—drove them back. I was there when King Tarquinius crushed our greatest enemy, the Romans, at Lake Vadimo. And I was there when the most beautiful, most brilliant Western queen marched her armies into Kendrisia to defy the Emperor.”
He stopped just short of her, dark eyes gleaming with something primal…
something that should never be defied. “You are the daughter of the fiercest god the Rasennans have ever known. Act like it.” His voice thrummed with command.
“You refuse to face the magic within you because its darkness scares you, but you cannot run from it. It is a part of you, just as the Makhai are an extension of me—my wrath, my unrelenting prowess in battle. They obey me in all things. And they will obey you.”
Laran didn’t move, his heavy gaze boring into hers, expectant. Blood pounding in her ears, Katell gave a single nod, her voice stolen by the suffocating force of his magic.
Then, as swiftly as it had come, the weight vanished. The towering shadows shrank back to their natural forms, and the charged energy in the air dissipated like mist in the sun.
Laran resumed his seat at the table and plucked an apple. “The bathhouse is at the end of the hall.” His tone was flat—a dismissal, if ever there was one.
He took a large bite, the crunch reverberating in the silence, then sank back in his seat, his posture leaving no doubt the conversation was over.
Katell narrowed her eyes but said nothing. A bath sounded better than another round of snark, anyway. She was filthy, sore, and too tired to spar with a god’s ego.
“Fine,” she said, turning towards the hall. “I’ll go wash.”
Laran didn’t glance up. He just bit into the apple again with exaggerated indifference. “You do that.”