The barricade the Northerners had raised along the tree line during the night burned with eerie, green flames thatshimmered as if alive. They leapt at any soldier who ventured too close.
“What are the Northerners waiting for?” Katell asked, her breath visible in the cold air.
Atticus’ face was stony. He focused on the Black Helmets, who were attempting to breach the barricade with their Gifts. “Orders. From their leader, no doubt. The giant one Romilda told us about.”
Romilda, Legate of the Fourth Legion, had fought the Ice Kingdoms for years. She’d described their leader vividly: a colossal figure, a head taller than Atticus, with most of his head shaved save for a blond crested braid—just like Katell’s. Romilda had then speculated freely about the size of certain parts of his anatomy and what she’d do with them if given the chance, at which point Katell had tuned her out.
Romilda was Suebi—a female warrior from a tribe that had allied with Rasenna against the Ice Kingdoms. Her knowledge of the terrain, coupled with her formidable Gift, had helped her rise quickly through the ranks to become the only female legate in the army.
She’d warmed to Katell immediately, although her voracious appetite for men and unabashed way of discussing sex had been a surprise at first. Among the Freefolk, such things were rarely spoken of so openly. But the Rasennans indulged freely and with many partners, and Romilda, though Suebi, had assimilated their ways very well.
Movement caught Katell’s attention, and she focused on the battlefield once more. Shadows stirred beyond the tree line, but no warriors emerged. They had no intention of engaging—not yet. A wise move, with Dorias and the cavalry at their backs. But that didn’t suit Katell. It was too damned cold to sit around waiting for the enemy to oblige.
Refusing to waste another moment, she gathered her reins. “We need to get past that barrier.”
She spurred her horse forward, ignoring Atticus’ grumbling behind her.
As she cantered down the slope, the cold wind whipped back the hood of her cloak. The soldiers parted without a word, eyes wide, reverent.
“Laran’s Chosen,” they whispered among themselves.
The nickname had followed her since the battle at the Green Mountains hillfort. Her prowess in combat and command of Laran’s Flame had earned her not just respect but a sudden popularity, one that had brought all manner of soldiers to her. To talk. To flirt. To invite her to their bed. Until Dorias had put a stop to it. A few sharp glances, a handful of quiet conversations, and the shift had been immediate.
Ignoring the murmurs, Katell pulled to a stop beside the Black Helmets, her arrival drawing their attention. Arnza was the first to approach.
“Any luck?” she asked him, dismounting swiftly. Her boots sank into the snow.
He wiped the sweat beading down his face and scowled. “No. Our magic is useless.”
The Black Helmets converged around her. Larth’s black blade caught the dim light, its menacing edge no use until the Ice Kingdom warriors attacked. Pinaria’s right hand glowed with her magic’s silvery-purple hue, and Tia stood beside Larth, bundled in so many layers of fur that Katell almost didn’t recognise her. Her Gift for creating illusions was invaluable on the battlefield, but Tia was no fighter. She relied on Larth’s protection, and he never strayed far from her side.
Katell studied the searing wall of green flames ahead, their crackling roar a clear warning to any who approached. Strong gusts of wind whistled through the forest, the pine trees swayingand rustling, their branches creaking. Yet the flames stood firm, a glowing barrier of heat and light.
Katell clicked her tongue. “We need to find a way through those flames.”
“I spotted the Gifted who controls them.” Larth pointed to a cluster of bushes a few paces beyond the tree line. “An ugly bastard with dark swirls crawling down his face. He was focused on the barricade, muttering the whole time.”
Katell looked at the figure stamping her feet beside him. “Tia?”
The Southern Beauty looked so miserable in the cold it was almost laughable. The black Rasennan helmet nearly swallowed her face. “I tried, but he’s too far. My magic can’t reach him.”
Hooves pounded the ground behind them, signalling Atticus’ approach.
“Where’s that blonde legate?” Larth growled. The edge of his blade hummed with a dangerous aura that made Arnza glance at it uneasily. “Romilda?”
The Suebi’s unusual Gift allowed her to slip through shadows and take others with her—a skill that had turned the tide in two key battles, catching the Northerners completely off guard.
Larth had a point. Romilda’s abilities would’ve been useful now.
“She’s with the Eighth Legion today,” Katell said. “It’s just us out here.”
The Rasennan ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “Fuck. Then I’m out of ideas.”
Katell turned towards the burning barricade. There was only one solution she could see, and Dorias wouldn’t like it.
“I’ll go.”
Atticus swung down from his saddle, his boots thudding hard against the frozen ground. “Don’t even think about it. Dalmatius told us to stay put.”
