Alena blinked, startled by the sudden urgency in the goddess’ tone.
“The Emperor is trying to fashion himself into a god.”
Her pulse kicked up. “What? That’s—how is that even possible?”
A sudden gust swept snow across the rocks at their feet. “He is raising temples in his own name,” the Maiden explained, herfeatures darkening. “Placing his image in every city across the Empire. Soon, his priests will demand sacrifices. The moment the people worship him, the force of their faith—redirected from the old gods to him—will make his power grow beyond mortal reach. He will become harder to kill.”
A chill gripped Alena, one that had nothing to do with the cold.
“I asked the Amazon to bring you here so we could meet, and so that you might remain hidden from the Emperor while you train. Heed Phoebe’s guidance. When the snow melts and the passes open, you must be ready for war.”
The Maiden’s eyes held unwavering certainty, no room for doubt or fear.
Alena drew a shaky breath, the cold searing her lungs, and silently vowed not to disappoint the goddess. “I’ll do my best.”
The Maiden gave her a knowing smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from Kallinos’ daughter.”
Alena’s chest tightened at the name. She wanted to ask more about her father, but the Maiden stilled, her gaze sharpening. The shimmer of raw magic around her dimmed.
“Do you hear that?” she asked.
Alena held her breath, straining to listen. Wind hissed across the ridge, whispering through pine needles and stirring the snow, but beyond that—nothing.
“I don’t?—”
But the Maiden was already moving. She stepped forward into the wind, her form blurring at the edges.
In the blink of an eye, she was gone.
Alena stood alone on the icy ridge, the cold gnawing through her layers as the wind rushed in to fill the silence. The weight of her new reality settled on her shoulders like a blanket of snow.
Drawing a long breath, she steadied herself and turned towards the winding path below.
CHAPTER TWO
KATELL
Winter’s harsh grip was unyielding so close to the Ice Kingdoms’ territory. Snow blanketed every inch of the frozen land, turning it into a stark white desert. The relentless wind whipped across the flat expanse, stinging Katell’s face and carrying the faint, salty scent of a distant sea.
She sat astride her horse on a low rise, flanked by cohort leaders and fellow praefects. Below, disciplined rows of Rasennan soldiers stood ankle-deep in the snow-covered plain before the forest, their faces set in grim determination. Their breath misted in the frigid air as they faced the dark, imposing tree line. The men shifted and shivered, their armour creaking in the cold as they waited for orders.
Beside Katell, Atticus’ grey stallion snorted and pawed at the snow, mirroring the restless edge tightening in her chest.
How much longer would they wait in the cold?
The Sixth Legion’s orders were to root out the Ice Kingdoms’ warriors hiding among the trees.
Dorias—now Legate of the Sixth Legion—was leading the eastern charge. Katell and the Black Helmets, now under her command, had been assigned to the western front, but Dorias had insisted she remain with the other commanders and not join the fighting.
She sat bundled in a thick cloak that snapped in the wind. Despite the layers of wool and fur, the cold cut through to her bones, making her teeth chatter. Her hands, however, trembled for a different reason. She slid her left fingers behind her breastplate, reaching for her hidden vial. When she retrieved the small supply of Laran’s Tears, a wave of relief washed over her. Just one pebble to calm her nerves while she waited.
She swallowed it dry and eased back in her saddle, awaiting the familiar rush of magic to settle her shaking limbs.
It had been Dorias who first suggested she take one at night when thoughts of Alena, Sinope, and the arena kept her awake. One Tear had been enough to clear her mind and sharpen her focus. It had proven useful during training, and soon she’d grown accustomed to taking them throughout the day. Although she’d feared the supply would dwindle this far north, deep in the campaign against the Ice Kingdoms, Dorias continued to receive packages from the capital.
Atticus, wrapped in a massive fur cloak, furrowed his brow. His Gifted amber eyes strained to pierce the dense forest. Beside him, Katell itched to move closer, but Dorias’ orders were clear: observe from a distance and await further instruction.
Behind the Rasennan lines, catapults hurled flaming projectiles through the air, their arcs illuminating the overcast sky before crashing into the forest and igniting the treetops. Still, the enemy remained hidden. Watching. Waiting.
