One of the guards, his face shadowed by his helmet, stepped forward and unlocked it. The Emperor strode in, flanked by more guards, with Dorias trailing behind.
Tarquinius didn’t pause, his focus fixed on Katell. “Dalmatius was right,” he muttered. “You have the spirit of Laran running through your veins.”
Before she could react, his hand shot out, seizing her throat with brutal force. He shoved her against the cold brick wall, his grip tightening until it squeezed the air from her lungs. She clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin. Panic surged, her chest heaving against a void that gave no air. Black spots bloomed at the edges of her vision. The dampeners smothered her magic, leaving her powerless. For the first time, she felt like prey caught in the jaws of a predator, her strength stripped away.
“Tell me,” Tarquinius sneered, “how will it feel when we crush that spirit so thoroughly, so completely, that you’ll be nothing more than a mindless puppet—your only purpose to carry out my orders?” His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “How will it feel when you summon the Makhai at my command, watching as they decimate entire armies that dare to defy me? How will it feel when you massacre every single Achaean rebel… including your sister?”
Katell’s fury exploded. She lashed out, knocking the Emperor’s hand from her throat, and swung at his face. But she never landed the blow. A guard surged forward, slamming her to the stone floor. The impact jarred her bones, and then the strikes came—hard, merciless, each one driving the air from her chest until her body curled in on itself, gasping and trembling beneath the assault.
“Imperator.” Dorias’ voice broke through the haze. Strangely, there was a flicker of concern in it—an edge she hadn’t expected.Rage seared through her harder than the blows. She didn’t want his pity or help.
She wanted blood.
Leywani’s muffled sobs cut through the guard’s fists raining down on her, a stark reminder of the helplessness surrounding them—and what Katell still stood to lose.
“Imperator,” Dorias said again, his tone more desperate this time.
“That’s enough,” came Tarquinius’ command.
Dorias grabbed the guard by the arm, hauling him back with a harsh yank. “For fuck’s sake, Velthur.”
Katell gritted her teeth, forcing herself to sit up despite her body aching under the blows. Blood trickled from her lip, down her chin. She let the corner of her mouth curl into a crooked smirk. Then, with all the contempt she could muster, she spat a dark streak of blood at the guard’s feet.
The guard stiffened, but before he could react, the Emperor’s voice cut through the tension. “Bring her to the pool.”
Dorias’ brow creased, hesitation breaking through his mask of obedience. “Imperator… She’s injured. Surely this can wait?—”
“The pool. Now.” He swept from the cell without a backwards glance, his cloak whispering against the stone, guards filing after him. “And bring her friend.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
KATELL
Dorias steered Katell down a shadowy corridor, his pace brisk, an iron grip on her arm. The Emperor’s imposing figure strode ahead, flanked by a cortege of guards whose purple cloaks looked like shrouds in the faint light.
Katell’s left eye throbbed, yet she tilted her head, trying to glance over her shoulder. The guard—Velthur—hauled Leywani along, his grip unyielding around her wrist.
Shadows clung to his face, obscuring his features, but Katell needed to see him. The guard who’d taken her down with ruthless precision—not a single blow wasted, not a single strike fatal. Just enough to incapacitate her.
They stepped into a vast hall where rows of torches blazed against the stone. The air was thick with incense, and flames flickered over carved statues of Laran—colossal figures looming like silent sentinels.
They were in his temple.
The Great Temple of Kisra.
And then the firelight caught Velthur’s face, revealing his features. Katell’s breath stilled in her throat.
Golden skin, dark, penetrating eyes, hair black as a starless night. He walked as though every inch of him were carved from stone, yet moved with a grace that betrayed honed lethality.
By the Moon…
Velthur caught her staring. His expression was blank, face an unreadable mask as carefully forged as the one Leukos had worn in Tiryns.
Katell’s heart faltered.
Accusing words tore out before she could stop them: “Why do you look like him?”
Her mind raced, piecing together connections she didn’t want to make. Had Alena been deceived as well? Had Leukos been working with the Rasennans all along?
