When Larth wasn’t training or on duty, he hovered around Tia, a constant sentinel at her side. Whether it was love or obsession, Katell wasn’t sure, but his gaze never left her. Tia, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious.
The soldiers ignored him. One scooped Tia over his shoulder. She cursed immediately, pounding his back with her fists. The man only laughed.
Katell’s jaw clenched. She doubted Tia could channel her magic in her drunken state, and using their Gifts on fellow Rasennan soldiers would land them all in chains.
“Get Tia, but do not start a fight,” Katell ordered.
“On it.” Pinaria caught Arnza’s arm, and they sprinted for their comrade.
A flash of searing white light split the night, and in the next moment, Larth stood free, black swords in hand. The soldiers flinched back, and Katell moved fast, stepping between them.
“Larth, put the swords away.” If Dorias discovered he’d used his Gift against fellow Rasennan soldiers, they would all face serious consequences.
Larth’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “They touched her.”
“And they’ll answer for it,” Katell shot back, eyes sweeping the cowed soldiers, “but not like this. You know the rules.”
Larth hesitated. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, arms trembling with fury.
Then Arnza spoke. “She’s bleeding.”
Katell whirled around. “What?”
By the flickering firelight, Pinaria and Arnza inspected a fresh wound at Tia’s temple. Just as a rough hand lunged towards them, Pinaria shot out her palm, and a shimmering barrier of silvery-purple light flared between them, casting an ethereal glow that held the other soldiers at bay.
In the next instant, while they were distracted, Larth dismissed one sword with a flick of his wrist and lunged.
Katell’s heart lurched.
He seized the soldier who’d struck him by the collar, and with chilling precision, pressed the flat of his remaining blade against the man’s cheek. The soldier’s scream tore through the cold night as the stench of burning flesh rose around them.
“Next time,” Larth growled, “you fuckers will think twice before touching one of us again.”
“No!” Katell shoved Larth away. Her stomach churned at the sight of scorched skin. “What the fuck, Larth?”
Before he could answer, the watchtower’s door slammed open and a dozen soldiers spilled out, alerted by the scream.
Their cohort leader, marked by a red armband, surveyed the scene with cold calculation.
“Soldiers, on your feet,” he ordered.
Around the campfires, men roused from their stupor and jumped to their feet, arming themselves. The oppressive darkness of the winter night seemed to press in from all sides, and Katell’s pulse quickened, sensing the rising threat. She pulled Larth away and began a slow retreat towards Pinaria’s barrier. The Eighth soldiers closed ranks, their breaths misting in the cold air.
“What happened here?” the leader asked, his sharp gaze shifting between them and the injured soldier, whimpering in the snow. “What are Black Helmets doing in our camp?”
Katell held up her hands in a placating gesture. “We don’t want trouble. Your men attacked ours, and we only defended ourselves. The matter is settled.”
The injured soldier’s groans echoed between them until two comrades hauled him up, revealing his burned face.
One recoiled in horror. “Laran’s shield, his face!”
“Take him to the infirmary, then notify Legate Tyrrhenus,” the leader said grimly.
Katell’s brow furrowed. If the legate got involved, it wouldn’t end well for any of them. For now, her priority was shielding Larth from the growing circle of furious soldiers, their faces hard and unforgiving. They wouldn’t let them slip away easily.
She jerked her head towards Pinaria’s shimmering barrier. “Take cover before they tear you apart.”
Larth raised his sword, gaze locked on the encroaching soldiers. “Hiding isn’t my style.”
