Katell’s heart lurched. “What? Why?”
“He had strict orders to keep you behind the lines.” Dorias dragged a hand down his face before raking it through his hairwith a sharp exhale. “Legate Tyrrhenus wants to know why he failed.”
Guilt slammed into her. She pushed herself up with a wince, her hands balling into fists in her lap. “By the Moon, Dorias. He didn’t fail—I forced his hand. The scouts never came back, and I assumed the worst. It was time to make a move before we lost all our men.”
He stopped at the edge of the bed, staring down at her, his eyes burning. “You are Laran’s Chosen, and you almost died.” He leaned in just enough to cast a shadow over her. “Tyrrhenus wants answers. And right now, he’s not interested in excuses. He wants someone to punish, and that someone is Atticus.”
Her throat tightened. “What will happen to him?”
Dorias exhaled through his nose, his expression shadowed. “It depends on what Tyrrhenus decides. He’ll remain in confinement for now. Maybe worse. I’ll do what I can, but…”
Katell’s stomach twisted. The thought of Atticus paying the price for her recklessness made her chest ache. “Dorias?—”
“Get some rest,” he interrupted, brushing a hand down her cheek in that quiet, possessive way that had become so familiar over the months. “I need to check on the others. The Eighth are celebrating, and you know what they’re like when wine’s involved.”
She managed a weak smile. He lingered a moment longer, then turned and left through the divider.
She sank back against her pillows, the ache in her body nothing compared to the unrest in her mind. She stared up at the tent’s canvas ceiling, haunted by the thought of Atticus locked away because of her.
She woke drenched in sweat,her tunic clinging damply to her skin. Sleep had offered little relief—only flashes of Atticus chained and bloodied, haunting her dreams.
Ladina arrived to assist her with a bath, and when they peeled back the bandages, her wounds were gone. The skin beneath was smooth, and though her muscles still ached, she was healed.
After forcing down a bowl of camp porridge thickened with meat, she dressed in a clean woollen tunic over riding leathers and fur-lined boots. The outfit deviated from regulation, but as praefect, no one dared to berate her—so long as she wore the black breastplate and helmet into battle.
Wrapping herself in a deep red cloak lined with fur, she slipped out of her tent just as night descended upon the camp. Her boots crunched through frozen snow as she followed a torch-lit side path past silent rows of symmetrical tents.
Though winter was nearing its end, the night air still bit at her cheeks. The sky stretched above her in a deep indigo expanse, dotted with twinkling stars. Her breath hung in the air in small, frosty puffs. She pulled her cloak tighter and made her way towards the distant, firelit pavilion.
Romilda’s tent.
Of all the officers Katell had met, the Fourth Legate spoke of the gods and Gifts with the most ease. Her insights into the Ice Kingdoms and their old deities made her Katell’s most promising lead. Perhaps she would know something about demigods.
And more importantly, she could be trusted to keep quiet.
Katell had considered asking Pinaria as her sister had once been a priestess, but since the Sixth Legion had come north, Pinaria had grown close to Arnza. The two were now inseparable.
And Arnza couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut.
Romilda’s quarters were nearly four times the size of Katell’s—matching Dorias’ in status—though both paled beside Legate Tyrrhenus’ monstrous pavilion looming at the centre of the Eighth Legion’s camp.
The two guards outside gave her familiar nods; she’d visited often enough to be expected. But the moment they parted the tent flaps, warmth spilled out—along with unmistakable sounds of pleasure.
Katell groaned, already guessing what she was about to stumble upon.
A servant parted the thick curtain leading to Romilda’s private space, revealing the luxurious interior filled with plush cushions and soft rugs. The beautiful blonde legate was atop her lavish bed, straddling a muscled warrior with flaming red braids. His hands gripped her hips as he drove into her at a relentless pace. Romilda’s head was thrown back, moaning with wild abandon. Her long blonde curls were splayed across the broad chest of a second man kneeling at her back, one hand on her breast while the other slipped between her legs.
Katell cleared her throat, and Romilda glanced over her shoulder with heavy-lidded eyes. Catching sight of Katell, a wicked smile curved her lips.
“Viridia, don’t just stand there,” Romilda called out between heavy pants, waving her over. “Come join us.”
Katell huffed, crossing her arms. “Your guards really shouldn’t allow anyone inside while you’re… celebrating.”
Romilda held up a hand, and at once the men stopped their ministrations. She rose from the bed in a fluid, feline motion,hips swaying with effortless confidence. A servant hurried forward with a silk robe, draping it over her shoulders. The fabric clung to the curves of her body before cascading down over long, sculpted legs.
The Suebi woman was just as striking as Tia, but the calculating glint in her icy blue eyes always put Katell on edge.
“I told them that you were always welcome,” Romilda said with a sly wink, already pouring herself a cup of wine. “Care for a drink?”
