Dorias and the Black Helmets would have to wait. She needed to see the Freefolk and Leywani with her own eyes. Which meant the quarry would be her first stop.
Her breath frosted as she approached the tent she had shared with Pinaria and Arnza. Outside, Arnza crouched by the fire, stirring a pot. The familiar scent of simmering broth and herbs made her stomach rumble.
Arnza looked up, eyes widening. “Laran’s shield, Kat! You’re back!”
He spoke too loudly. Without hesitation, she gripped his elbow. “Not here,” she whispered, dragging him into the tent. The thin fabric flapped shut behind them, muting the outside world.
Pinaria, still bundled on her cot, startled awake. She blinked. “Kat, is that you?” Her voice cracked with sleep, but her eyes were sharp, searching Katell’s face.
“It’s me,” Katell murmured. A flood of relief surged through her, tangled with the tension of the past few days. She was home, surrounded by her people, yet a strange emptiness gnawed at her—as if she’d left pieces of herself behind in Tiryns.
Arnza blinked, looking confused. “How did you?—?”
“I escaped,” she cut in, unwilling to dwell on how Alena had let her go. “I need to leave before the legate hears I’ve returned. I need a map, supplies, weapons, and a horse.”
Pinaria was already pulling on her armour over her tunic. Outside, the fire crackled low, its glow barely reaching through the seams. “What? Why? Where are you going?”
“Some place called Dodona.”
“Dodona. Isn’t that a stone quarry?” Arnza helped fasten her chain mail. “We heard there was a slave rebellion. The First was sent to put it down.”
“The First Legion?” Katell’s heart stalled. “The one led by Legate Tarxi?” She remembered him clearly from the celebration in the Western Lands—the legate who could control minds. The one Dorias had called a snake.
Arnza exchanged an uneasy glance with Pinaria. “Yes. Word is he’s handling the rebellion personally.”
Katell’s blood ran cold. The tent suddenly felt too small, too hot. “I have to go. Now.”
“Go? But you’re barely back!” Pinaria argued. “Why Dodona anyway? What’s so important?”
“A friend of mine was taken there.” Katell snatched the sheathed sword propped against the straw bed and thrust it at Pinaria. “Someone important. I need to save her before Tarxi—” She broke off, unable to voice the worst.
Pinaria stepped forward, firelight flashing off her chain mail. “We’re coming with you. You can’t confront Tarxi and his legion alone.”
Arnza nodded, determined. “Whatever you need, Kat. We Black Helmets stick together.”
Their loyalty was a bright candle in the dark. Part of her wanted to shelter it close, while the rest of her wanted to shove it away before it cost them their lives.
“No. Out of the question,” Katell said. “What I’m about to do could get you both in serious trouble.”
“We can argue about it later,” Pinaria snapped, tucking her helmet under one arm and slinging her pack over her shoulder. “All three of us need to leave the camp. Now.”
Katell opened her mouth to protest, but Arnza stepped closer, shadows slicing across his face. “We don’t trust Tarchun. After you vanished, he spoke of attacking villages in retaliation.When we questioned him about harming civilians, he flew into a rage and confined us here.” His jaw clenched, eyes darkening. “Then, two days ago, a cohort from the First arrived.” His mouth twisted. “If anyone’s going to raze a cluster of villages to the ground, it’s them.”
Unease coiled in Katell’s gut. Tarchun acting on his own was foreseeable, but the First’s arrival? That meant something else was in motion. Something planned.
She exhaled slowly. “Fine. Let’s go.”
A tight smile curved Katell’s lips, gratitude swelling in her chest for the two people willing to risk everything for her.
They moved swiftly through the camp towards the supply tent, slipping past the dim glow of watchfires and the low murmur of distant sentries. Inside, the smell of oiled leather stung her nose. With Arnza and Pinaria’s help, she gathered what she needed—saddlebags filled with rations, a rolled map of Achaea, and two daggers she strapped to her belt.
The camp was still quiet when they hurried into the stables. The air was thick with hay, leather, and sweat, undercut by the earthy scent of dirt and straw. Horses shifted in their stalls, hooves scraping wood. Katell ran a calming hand along the warm neck of a bay mare as they loaded the saddlebags. But before they could saddle another, the rhythmicthudof heavy boots broke the stillness.
Katell’s head snapped up. Tarchun filled the doorway, Praefect Ennius at his side, two dozen armed soldiers at their backs. More poured in through the rear entrance, sealing every exit.
They were surrounded.
Katell shot Pinaria a pointed look, a silent command to be ready with her magic if it came to that. Her own hand hovered near the hilt of the Achaean sword at her belt.
