Tarxi’s eyebrows shot up. “Dalmatius, what in Laran’s name are you doing?—”
“The Emperor will understand,” Dorias cut him off. “Laran’s Chosen is worth more than all these slaves combined.”
The soldiers moved among the slaves, chains falling away from the Freefolk’s wrists.
Katell blinked. Was it another trick?
Dorias, already in motion, waved an officer over. “They’ll need supplies—blankets, food, a guide. Get the two Gifted healers. Tend to their injuries before they leave. Make it quick.”
The cohort leader, identifiable by the red armband marking his rank, nodded stiffly, though his gaze remained fixed on the lingering clawed hand.
Tarxi strode forward, incredulous, gesturing to the ominous black smoke. “Have you lost your mind? If you send them all away, there’s no reason for her to cooperate. She could wipe us all out.”
Katell’s chest tightened, each breath a struggle. If she could have wiped out the entire First Legion—and Tarxi’s smug face along with it—she would’ve done so already. She wanted them all to suffer for what they’d done to her people. But the magic she’d summoned was bleeding her strength like water from a cracked jug, each drop bringing her closer to empty. The clawed hand alone was a strain. Even if she summoned a demon, without the Tears to amplify her magic, it would break free of her control.
She couldn’t let them see weakness, though. Not now. The legates’ fear of the Makhai—and of her—was the only leverage she had to win the Freefolk’s freedom. She would play her part until her people were safe.
She squared her shoulders and ground her teeth against the burn of exhaustion in her limbs.
“You’re right,” Dorias replied, and the glint in his eye made her stomach knot. “Fortunately, I know Katell won’t risk the lives of her loved ones. Especially someone named… Leywani.”
Katell froze. Panic clawed at the edges of her resolve, but she forced her face into stillness. “She’s not here,” she lied, her pulsequickening. “She either never reached the camp… or was sent elsewhere.”
Dorias’ gaze sharpened, then flicked to the crowd behind her. “Arnza?”
Cold dread seeped into Katell’s gut. She twisted just in time to see Arnza lowering Pinaria to the ground. Their eyes met—guilt flickered across his features—then he shoved past the huddled Freefolk without a word.
And there Leywani was, standing against the nearest barrack, her bronze skin gleaming under the harsh sun. Strands of dark hair had slipped loose from her braid, framing a face Katell remembered all too well. She held herself straight, expression wary but unbowed.
Katell’s heart hammered in her chest.
No.She’d already lost Leywani once. This couldn’t be happening again.
“Arnza!” Her voice cracked, a broken plea that echoed through the arena.
His shoulders tightened, but he didn’t turn. Instead, he strode straight to Leywani and jerked his chin at the nearby soldiers.
Two men closed in, seizing Leywani with rough hands and dragging her to Dorias. She thrashed against them until cold steel pressed to her throat. The fight bled from her movements, replaced by a defiant stillness.
Rage blurred Katell’s vision. She moved forward, but Dorias raised a hand, stopping her mid-stride. “Stand down,” he said, his tone edged with quiet menace. “And nothing will happen to her.”
Katell locked in place, every muscle taut, her thoughts a whirling battlefield. Every instinct screamed at her to charge forward and unleash the full fury of the Makhai.
Then her gaze found Leywani. The trust in her friend’s eyes slammed into Katell. One reckless move, and Leywani would pay the price. A price Katell would never forgive herself for.
A sharp, trembling breath shuddered through her as she fought to quiet the chaos within. Bit by bit, she drew her magic back, wrestling down the furious voices clawing at her mind, each one hungry for blood.
The smoke dissipated, its violent tendrils retreating until only faint wisps hovered in the air, curling away like embers snuffed out. The oppressive magic lifted from the arena, and the soldiers’ relief rippled through the ranks.
Katell barely noticed. Her focus was fixed on Dorias. “If you harm her,” she said, each word like a dagger, “I will tear you apart. Limb by limb.”
Dorias tilted his head and gave a humourless smile. “So vicious, my love,” he murmured. “But rest assured, I’ll keep my word—so long as you keep your magic under control.”
Katell glared back but held her tongue. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a Gifted healer crouched beside Scylas, working on the gash in his side. As ordered, the other healer moved among the crowd, bandaging cuts and setting broken bones.
Next to the barracks, the Freefolk were being handed reins to horses, saddlebags bulging with supplies slung over their flanks. Most of the freed slaves took the reins without hesitation, eager to leave, but others hesitated, looking to Scylas to lead.
Katell stayed rooted, tracking every movement. Dorias continued issuing crisp commands to his soldiers, tone edged with authority. Two guards still held Leywani, their hands firm on her arms. Though the blade was gone from her throat, the threat lingered, and the sight of her so vulnerable made Katell’s stomach churn.
