“I can’t,” Tia whimpered from behind. “I told them how to counter my magic. It doesn’t work on them anymore!”
Katell’s stomach twisted. Of course. Dorias, ever scheming, had used Tia’s trust against her and stripped her of her only weapon.
Tarxi crossed his arms over his chest, laughing to himself. Around them, the soldiers shifted, their focus sharpening as if sensing the moment’s inevitable violence.
Dorias ran his thumb across the light scruff on his chin, expression detached, as though calculating the worth of pawns on a board. His steel gaze flicked to Romilda, and he gave a small, sharp nod. “Do it.”
Panic surged through Katell. “Tia, run!”
Tia didn’t hesitate. She bolted, her feet kicking up clouds of sand. Her eyes flicked over her shoulder, wide with terror, but she kept moving, weaving between the wooden stakes that bore the gruesome bodies of dead slaves. Wheezing, with desperate strides, she pushed towards the barracks.
But Romilda was faster.
Stepping into Dorias’ shadow, she disappeared using her Gift and emerged from the stakes’ shadows right behind Tia. With ruthless efficiency, the legate’s hand shot out, seizing Tia’s hair and wrenching her off balance.
“No!” Katell screamed, lunging towards them.
Romilda yanked the girl’s head back, exposing her neck. Tia’s cry echoed across the arena, her eyes wide with terror.
“Traitor,” Romilda hissed, plunging her blade deep between Tia’s throat and shoulder.
Crimson blossomed against her skin, spreading in a vivid arc down her tunic, and a strangled scream escaped Tia’s lips.
“Tia!” Katell cried, but Romilda was already withdrawing the blade, its edges slick with blood. Without a second glance, she shoved Tia’s limp body aside, letting her crumple to the ground.
Katell lurched forward, catching her before she hit the sand. Beside her, Romilda retreated, disappearing into the shadows between the wooden stakes like a ghost.
“Tia,” Katell whispered, lowering her gently. Blood streamed from the gash, soaking the sand beneath them a deep, accusing red.
Katell pressed her hands to the open wound, fingers slipping on the slick warmth.
Tia’s breaths came in wet, choking gasps, her frail body fighting against the inevitable. Her dark eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain, and met Katell’s. With a shuddering effort, Tia lifted a hand, her smooth fingers clutching Katell.
“I’m here,” Katell murmured, trying to offer some small measure of comfort. She smoothed the dark hair out of the girl’s face. “I’m right here.”
But Tia’s grip tightened, stopping Katell mid-breath. The fear in her tear-filled gaze softened, giving way to an emotion that struck Katell more deeply than any blade ever could: regret. Sorrow.
Her lips moved, forming words Katell couldn’t hear, but understood nonetheless.I’m sorry.
Tia had been many things to her—a rival, a comrade in arms—but now she was only a girl staring down death.
Her fingers slipped free, falling limp, and Katell’s heart wrenched. The light drained from Tia’s eyes, leaving only a hollow, unseeing stare.
The silence that followed was broken by a single muffled sob.
Katell didn’t dare glance up, but she knew that voice.
Pinaria.
The raw, involuntary cry had been hers. Somewhere in the sea of terrified Freefolk faces, she was there, likely held back by Arnza before she could reveal their presence to Dorias.
A storm of fury and grief raged in Katell’s chest, threatening to tear her apart. She wanted to scream, to lash out at the world that had chewed Tia up and spat her out. But all she could do was cling to the Southern Beauty’s frail body.
“That’s a shame,” Tarxi said in a loud, obnoxious voice. “She had a useful Gift, that one. I heard quite a few rumours about her other skills as well. Not that Dalmatius ever let me get near her?—”
“Shut your mouth,” Dorias growled.
Romilda, still toying with the dagger that had ended Tia’s life, gave a short laugh. “She got what was coming to her. Little traitor should’ve known better than to cross the Empire.”
