Katell nodded, Dorias’ words echoing in her mind. “Protective spells woven into the leather.”
Alena looked like she wanted to say more, but the moment shattered with muffled shouting in the corridor, followed by a heavythud. The door burst open, and Nik stumbled inside, dragging an unconscious guard by the shoulders, his breath ragged from exertion.
“Alena, catch,” he called, tossing a leather pouch her way.
She snatched it midair, then dropped to her knees to unlock the chain at Katell’s ankle, while Nik hauled the guards inside with urgent efficiency.
Once Alena freed the ankle chain, she turned to the burnished gold manacles binding Katell’s wrists. As soon as the cuffs clicked open, magic surged back into Katell like a dam bursting, the rush almost overwhelming. It was as if a boulder had been lifted from her chest, her power flowing freely once more.
She caught the second manacle as it slipped from her wrist and crushed it in her palm, the metal crumpling like paper. “Fucking dampeners,” she growled. She never wanted to see one of those cursed things again.
Alena’s eyes flicked from the mangled manacle to her sister’s clenched fist, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I see your temper hasn’t changed.”
“And you’re still too clever for your own good,” Katell shot back, her words tinged with fondness despite her scowl.
Alena’s smile widened, and despite herself, warmth flickered in Katell’s chest, her lips twitching faintly. For a heartbeat, they were just two sisters again, united as they once had been in the Freefolk Lands.
A pang of nostalgia twisted through her, heavy with the bittersweet weight of memory. Before the arena. Before the slavers. Before fate had torn them apart.
Nik’s voice sliced through the quiet, sharp with urgency. “I know a safe path to one of the smaller gates.” He snatched a torch from a nearby sconce, its flames casting stark shadows across his determined face. “We don’t have long before someone finds us. Let’s move.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
KATELL
They hurried down the corridor after Nik. He’d just regained the Achaeans’ respect, yet he was risking it all to help her escape. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
The palace lay in tense silence, every shadow watching. They slipped out through a small wooden door into the outer gardens. A rush of cold air struck her, sharp against her bare skin, and she rubbed her arms. She should’ve asked Alena for a cloak.
Above them, the moon was gone from the starless sky. Nik’s torch blazed like a beacon for any patrols, but without it, they’d be blind in the maze of hedges and overgrown paths.
Katell cast him a sidelong glance. He moved with urgency, no hesitation in his stride. He hadn’t faltered for her. That kind of loyalty—it shouldn’t have meant anything. Yet it did. Far more than she wanted to admit.
They pressed on until they reached a stone alcove carved into the garden wall, half-hidden by tangled vines and drooping branches. Nik stopped, gesturing to a heavy wooden door. Itssurface was weathered, the hinges rusted, and two faint torches flanked it.
“There,” he said, voice low. “That door leads outside the palace into a maze of back alleys. Keep north and you’ll reach the city walls before dawn. I’ll help cover your escape.”
He passed the torch to Alena, who caught his arm, aghast. “No, you can’t go. You’ve worked too hard to win back their trust.” She added more softly, “Don’t give the Tirynthians another excuse to turn on you.”
Nik looked ready to argue, but Katell stepped between them. “There’s no need. I’ll figure out the rest on my own. A weapon would be nice, though.”
She had wasted too much time in Tiryns. Her thoughts were already racing—to Tarchun, to the Twelfth, to the senseless killing she had to stop. And beyond that, to Dodona. To Leywani.
Alena and Nik exchanged a glance, silent understanding passing between them.
Then Nik untied the scabbard from his belt. “Take my sword.” He handed it to her with a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Try not to stab anyone on your way out.”
Katell unsheathed the weapon in one smooth motion. The weight settled into her hand as if it belonged there. She spun it once, quick and sure. The balance was still perfect despite the months since she’d last wielded an Achaean blade.
When she looked up, Alena had moved a few paces away, her attention outwards. Nik lingered closer, raw emotion she couldn’t quite place etched across his features.
Irritation flared through her. Just because he’d confessed his feelings didn’t mean he had a claim on her. He had no right to care. She was returning to the legions. If they met again, it would be as enemies on the battlefield. He needed to worry about himself, not her.
She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he stepped closer, and the words dissolved. The garden, the torchlight, even Alena nearby—all of it faded until there was only him. Shadows clung to the curve of his jaw, torchlight casting him in sharp relief, outlining the tension in his brow.
In a voice low and full of promise, he murmured, “If you ever need help, Kat, send word, and I’ll come. No matter what.”
Katell stood motionless, the sword in her hand, breath caught between protest and surrender. She should’ve snapped at him, reminded him of the opposite sides they stood on.
