Katell.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
KATELL
Katell woke with a jolt, her chest heaving as though she’d just finished her morning run around camp. The air was thick, cloying with mildew and despair. The chill of the damp stone beneath her seeped into her skin.
Her pulse quickened as her eyes strained against the darkness.
A cell.
Panic surged before she could stop it. Her body froze, her mind yanking her back to Bruna—the clash of steel, the sickening roar of the crowd, her own screams. The phantom taste of copper filled her mouth.
No.
Her breathing hitched, and she forced herself to focus on the present. The faint sound of dripping water echoed through the oppressive silence. Not the arena’s belly—it was far too quiet. Besides, Bruna’s arena was being torn down. She’d seen it firsthand.
To her left, iron bars glinted in the dim torchlight that flickered from an empty corridor beyond the cell. She tried to sit up, but a sharp tug at her wrists stopped her short.
She looked down. Burnished gold bands encircled her wrists, and iron chains dragged against the floor. The hum of her magic, always a faint thread beneath her skin, was silent.
Dampeners. Again.
Her memories came back to her in fragments—Dodona, Tarxi, the First Legion, the Freefolk. And at the heart of it all, the bitter sting of betrayal—a knife lodged deep between her ribs, twisted by hands she’d once trusted.
Her fists clenched, the chains rattling against the stone.
“Fucking Dorias,” she hissed.
A figure stirred in the shadows. Another prisoner, shackled to the opposite wall. “Kat?”
Katell’s breath caught. “Leywani?” Her voice cracked, raw with thirst.
The woman shifted, straining to sit up. Dim light caught her face—cheekbones sharper than they should’ve been, dark hair matted and tangled, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion yet still vivid.
“You’re awake.” Relief softened Leywani’s words as she tugged a thick wool blanket tighter around her shoulders. Another rested across Katell’s lap, but she refused to touch it. A measly blanket wouldn’t erase what Dorias had done—nothing would.
“Barely.” Katell rubbed her wrists—her skin was chafed red. “Where are we?”
Leywani hesitated, her gaze darting towards the cell bars, as if expecting their captors to appear at any moment.
“Kisra, I think,” she whispered, stretching out her legs. A clean pair of boots adorned her feet since Katell had last seen her. “But I’m not sure. That commander, Dalmatius, isn’t onefor small talk.” A sly smile tugged at her lips. “Handsome, though. I’ll give him that. Anyway, they moved us a lot. Through shadows. It was hard to keep track.”
“Romilda,” Katell growled. If she ever got her hands on her again, she’d repay what she did to Tia ten times over. “Moving through shadows is her Gift.”
Leywani scowled. “Yeah. She was a delightful bitch.”
A soft chuckle escaped Katell—a rare reprieve in the suffocating gloom. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Did they hurt you?”
“No. Dalmatius kept his word.” Leywani wriggled her feet, showing off her new boots for emphasis. “Though they did leave me in here all day with only water, and now I’m positivelystarving.”
Katell’s stomach rumbled in agreement, the sound echoing through their shared cell.
“Here.” Leywani nudged a waterskin across the floor with her toe until it bumped against Katell’s boot. “That’s all I can offer.”
Katell snatched it up, uncorked it with shaking hands, and drank. The water was lukewarm, but it slid down her parched throat like salvation.
Leywani studied her for a moment, then ventured, “That man—Dalmatius. He was your commander?”
