Before her, the Northern woman closed in on Scylas. He scrambled aside, but not fast enough. The axe sliced through the air and caught his side. Scylas’ sharp gasp echoed through the arena.
Her heart dropped.
Hot fury surged within her. Panic tangled with rage, blooming deep in her gut like a violent storm, boiling her blood. Her magic roared to life, pulsing through her veins, building and swelling until it threatened to explode.
Get. Out. Of. My. Head!
Her will tore Tarxi’s grip from her, magic surging in a burst of raw power that cracked through the arena. Tarxi’s confidentsmirk faltered, panic flickering across his face as the invisible chains binding her shattered.
In one fluid motion, Katell’s arm snapped forward. The dagger sailed through the air and lodged in the woman’s throat, cutting her scream short.
Her eyes went wide. She clawed at the hilt, but it was too late. A beat later, she collapsed, the axe slipping from her limp fingers.
The arena sank into stunned silence. Scylas staggered back, breath ragged, blood seeping between his fingers as he clutched his side. His skin was pale, lips quivering.
Katell darted to his side and tore off her cloak, pressing it against the wound. It oozed beneath her hands, the sight of his blood sending a sickening wave of guilt crashing over her.
Scylas tried to sit up, but winced and fell back. Sweat streaked his temples, and when their gazes locked, the raw anguish in his expression tightened her chest.
“Kat,” he choked out. “Why… why did you do this to us?” Pain and betrayal carved deep into his features. “I let you live… you and Alena, both.”
The accusation hit her like a blow to the gut. She couldn’t face him and focused on his wound instead. It wasn’t deep enough to kill him outright, but the bleeding was bad—and if she didn’t find help soon?—
“I didn’t… I never—” She swallowed hard, a knot forming in her throat. Her hands, slick with blood, shook as she worked to save him. “I’m going to fix this,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “I swear it.”
But before she could finish, the male Northerner crashed into her like a battering ram, his elbow smashing her face. Pain exploded through her skull, blinding and sharp.
Katell hit the ground hard. The world spun, blurring into darkness as she fought to regain her bearings.
When her eyes blinked open again, the smell of blood and sweat was gone. She was no longer in the arena but in the comforting confines of her tent, the soft flicker of candles casting shadows across the walls.
She lay in her bed, wrapped in plush furs that cocooned her in warmth.
It was all so… pleasant.
Calloused fingers brushed her cheek—a touch she welcomed without hesitation. Dorias lay beside her, his muscular arm propped under his head as he watched her.
The shadows etched across his face softened. “Welcome back, my love.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
KATELL
Katell turned into his arms, resting her head on his chest. She breathed in his familiar scent. “I had the strangest dream,” she murmured, her voice muffled.
His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her hair. “Oh? Tell me about it.”
“I dreamed I was in Achaea,” she replied. “I was sent for…” She couldn’t quite remember why she’d been there. “There was a magical barrier around a city. It seemed to reach the sky itself. I never knew the Achaean gods were so powerful.”
“They aren’t.” Dorias’ sharp tone cut through her dazed recollection. She pulled back to look up at him, and his expression softened. “Clearly, you were dreaming, Furia.”
Katell frowned.Furia.He’d never called her that before. The word ignited a memory from her time on the northern front.
One night, Arnza had joked that Tia was fierce and violent like a Fury—a Rasennan goddess of vengeance. She’d gone as pale as the snow surrounding their tent.
“Don’t ever call me that,” she’d spat.
When had that been exactly? Last month? Last week? Her memories blurred together, edges smudged like ink dissolving in water.
