Tarchun paused, his eyes raking over her in a way she hadn’t endured in some time. Not since the rumours of her and Dorias had spread among the Sixth. “You’re that Black Helmet everyone’s been talking about,” he said at last, stepping closer. Wine soured his breath, and the thick perfume on his skin couldn’t mask the rot beneath. “Laran’s Chosen, is it? I was expecting a brutish girl, but you’re far more beautiful than I’d been led to believe.”
Katell fought the urge to recoil. Her fingers itched at her sides, every instinct demanding she strike or draw steel. But then she caught Pinaria’s eyes quietly pleading not to make a scene. Not here.
She clenched her fists and drew a long breath.
Tarchun circled her, like a man sizing up a prize horse.
“Perhaps,” he drawled, his voice thick with condescension, “after your little mission fails, you’ll join me for dinner.”
He stopped just beside her and leaned closer. His smile was the kind men wore when they thought they held all the power.
“In my private tent,” he added, the words heavy with insinuation.
Katell’s stomach twisted. Rage prickled at the back of her throat.
Behind her, Arnza gave an awkward cough—an attempt to break the tension, or maybe to keep from punching the legate himself.
Katell answered with a sharp smile. “Perhaps.”
Tarchun seemed satisfied, his smug grin deepening. She nearly rolled her eyes.
“So,” she continued, her tone brisk, “do we have your permission to proceed?”
“Of course, of course,” he said with a lazy wave of his hand, already turning away. “Ennius will assist you.” He nodded towards the tent flaps. “You’re free to go.”
Then, over his shoulder with the same oily smirk: “And I’ll be looking forward to our dinner tonight, Praefect Viridia.”
Katell gave a curt nod, spun on her heel, and strode out of the pavilion, her scowl hidden until the cold morning air hit her face. She would rather burn herself on the barrier than sit across a table from that man.
They rode through the barricaded gate, past two deep trenches lined with sharpened stakes—an echo of the Rasennansiege at the Green Mountains’ hillfort the previous summer. Arnza eyed them in silence, jaw tight, while Pinaria’s expression remained unreadable.
Beyond, Tiryns rose into view.
The city was built on a rocky rise, a fortress carved from stone and defiance. Its outer walls were monstrous, massive limestone boulders stacked without mortar, fitted with uncanny precision, as if placed by giants rather than men. Soldiers patrolled the flat ramparts, their silhouettes stark against the sky. From that height, they could track every movement across the plain for miles.
Katell drew her horse to a halt, staring up at the towering wall.
She had never seen anything like it. Even if they somehow crossed the Maiden’s barrier, how were they supposed to get through that?
As if reading her thoughts, Ennius rode up beside them. “We have men on the inside,” he said, glancing from the wall to their faces. “If you break through the barrier, they’ll open the gate—but you’ll have to move fast.” His voice dropped. “The queen and her court are busy today. Some grand sacrificial ceremony on the far side of the city. Whatever they’re doing, they’ll be distracted. That makes today your best shot. If you can make it.”
Katell’s grip tightened on the reins. “We’ll make it.”
Pinaria’s brow lifted in warning. “Praefect Viridia,” she said carefully, forced into formality before Ennius, “we should be cautious. If no one’s crossed the Grey-Eyed Maiden’s barrier in years, there’s a reason.”
Arnza nodded in agreement, lips pressed into a grim line.
Katell smirked, casting one last glance at the towering walls. “Let’s see if the barrier holds up againstmymagic.”
She spurred her horse forward. Hooves pounded across the grassland, the rush of wind doing little to ease the tension coilingin her chest. The closer she rode, the heavier the air became—dense with pressure, thick with ancient power.
By the time she reached the city’s edge, the magic was suffocating. Her senses dulled, the world narrowing to a dense, humming wall of energy.
Her horse stopped short, then reared in panic, hooves slicing the air. Katell barely kept her seat.
“Animals sense the barrier,” Ennius called, already dismounting. “They won’t go near it.”
Katell slid from the saddle, heart pounding as she approached on foot. At first glance, nothing separated her from the city walls a few paces ahead. But upon closer inspection, the air seemed opaque, as if painted with diluted milk, and shimmered like the inside of a pearl.
