Page 18 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

18

I wasn’t sure what to expect from this meeting beyond the small comfort of being among those who might not flinch at the sight of my completely black eyes or the shape of my ears. When Suura had pressed me to come along, I hadn’t fully believed such a gathering could exist in the Imperial City — a place where those with Talfen blood might speak freely, where the Empire’s eternal war might be questioned rather than blindly accepted.

Yet here I stood in the abandoned tannery, the lingering scent of tanning agents masking our presence from casual passersby. I counted at least thirty faces in the dim candlelight, some bearing the marks of mixed blood like my own — the striking black eyes, pointed ears or white hair that marked Talfen heritage contrasting against the normal dark human colouring. But most surprising were the fully human attendees, their presence evidence that not all accepted the Empire’s carefully constructed narrative about the “savage enemy.”

We stood in loose clusters around the main floor, nervous energy palpable in the room. I had arrived early, uncertain what to expect but desperate for any connection to my father’s people beyond the slurs and contempt I endured daily. After my brief conversation with Suura yesterday, the promise of finding others who shared my blood, my history, had been too compelling to resist, despite the obvious dangers.

I had just finished speaking with another half-Talfen man — his pointed ears carefully hidden beneath a cap — when the distinctive knock pattern sounded at the door. Three sharp raps, a pause, then two more. A burly man moved to investigate while conversation temporarily hushed.

New faces seemed to bring apprehension, even my own, and there had been a few others tonight, recruited carefully from those current members who might be sympathetic to the cause. Each stranger represented another witness who might later identify us to Imperial authorities. I turned away, intending to find a less conspicuous position along the back wall, when a familiar voice halted me mid-step.

“I didn’t expect so many…”

That voice — I knew it instantly. Livia. But she couldn’t be — not here, of all places.

“People who see through the Empire’s lies?” I finished, turning slowly to confront the impossibility.

And there she stood her brown eyes widening in recognition. Octavia hovered, feeling uncertain at her side, looking as stunned as I felt. For several heartbeats, none of us spoke.

“Livia? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

I glanced at Octavia, then back to Livia, suspicion and hope warring within me. The last time I’d seen Livia, she’d chosen Septimus’s embrace over mine. The memory still stung, but now confusion overwhelmed the hurt. Livia at an anti-Imperial meeting? How on earth had she found out about it?

“This isn’t a game, Livia,” I said quietly, urgency sharpening my tone. “These people risk everything to be here.”

“I know.” She stepped closer. “I’m not here to play games, Tarshi. We met Suura today, and when she invited Octavia to this gathering... I thought of you. Of what you face every day. I wanted to come.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Suura invited Octavia?” Octavia had never been outwardly cruel at the ludus, or even since we’d arrived in the city, but she only spoke to me when necessity demanded it, and it was clear she avoided my presence. The idea of her supporting those of Talfen blood was surprising to say the least.

“I am right here, you know,” she grumbled, her arms folded across her chest as she glared up at me.

“These meetings aren’t just talk. There are plans. Dangerous ones,” I said to Livia. I hated the fact she was putting herself in more danger, but the idea she’d done it for me made a warmth grow inside me. I studied her for a long moment, weighing her presence against the risk it represented.

“When has danger ever stopped me?” She smiled at me but I couldn’t return it.

At the front of the room people began to gather near to the temporary platform they’d built, and I could see Korden stepping up along with Suura. She’d introduced me a little earlier to the Imperial legate who secretly worked from inside the Imperial palace to bring the war to an end.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked her quietly. I could still get them out until the speaking started.

“No, but I’m here anyway.”

Whatever Livia’s reasons for being here, she deserved to hear the truths the Empire had buried for centuries.

“Then that’s a start.” That simple declaration — the willingness to step into uncertainty when conviction faltered — embodied everything that had drawn me to her from the beginning. Before I could reconsider the wisdom of it, I let my fingers brush against hers in the darkness, the briefest touch, but enough to reveal my own vulnerability.

The main floor of the tannery had been arranged with scattered crates and barrels serving as makeshift seating, forming a rough semicircle around a small raised platform — likely once used for inspecting hides. Korden stepped into the middle of the platform as the last arrivals found places to stand or sit.

I positioned myself near the back wall, with Livia beside me and Octavia on her other side. The press of bodies offered a strange kind of privacy — too crowded for anyone to pay close attention to our hands, which hung mere inches apart in the semidarkness.

“Brothers and sisters,” Korden began, his deep voice carrying easily through the room without rising to a level that might be heard outside. “Welcome to our gathering of truth-seekers. I see many new faces tonight.”

A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the crowd.

“We gather here at great risk, as all of you know. To speak against the Empire’s war is to invite charges of treason. To suggest the Talfen might be anything other than demons is to mark oneself as a sympathizer — a fate often worse than death in our society.”

I felt Livia’s fingers brush against mine, hesitant, uncertain. The almost-touch sent a jolt through me, and I found myself holding my breath.

“For our new friends,” Korden continued, “I’ll first speak of why we gather, before we hear tonight’s testimonies. We seek three truths: historical truth about the origins of this endless war, personal truth about the nature of the Talfen people, and future truth about a path to peace.”

I felt Livia’s fingers brush against mine again, more deliberately this time. Without looking at her, I made my decision and gently took her hand in mine, entwining our fingers in the shadows. I heard her soft exhalation — relief or surprise, I couldn’t tell — but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her grip tightened, and something loosened in my chest.

Whatever had happened between us, whatever lay ahead, in this moment we stood together, united in this dangerous pursuit of truth. The realization flooded me with warmth. She hadn’t known I would be here, yet she had come anyway, risking her carefully constructed cover and perhaps her life, because she thought it mattered to me. The depth of feeling this simple act inspired threatened to overwhelm me.

Korden’s voice pulled me back to the present. “The Empire teaches that the Talfen are inherently violent, incapable of reason or peaceful coexistence. That they attacked our ancestors without provocation when humans first settled these lands. That they practice blood rituals and sacrifice human children. That they cannot be negotiated with, only exterminated.”

Nods around the room acknowledged these familiar claims — the foundation of Imperial education regarding the Talfen.

“But those of us with Talfen blood know differently,” Korden said, gesturing to several attendees with the telltale black eyes or white hair. “And those of us who have fought on the frontier have seen evidence that contradicts the Empire’s version of history. Tonight, we have several who wish to share their experiences.”

He stepped aside, yielding the platform to an older woman whose silver-streaked white hair marked her Talfen heritage. I recognized her as Eleni from Suura’s brief description when she had invited me to the gathering.

“I speak first of history,” she said, her voice carrying the measured cadence of someone accustomed to teaching. “Before my heritage was discovered and I was expelled from my position, I discovered manuscripts dating to the early settlement period — documents deliberately excluded from the official records.”

The room fell silent, attendees leaning forward in anticipation.

“These texts tell a different story of human arrival in these lands. Not of peaceful settlers met with savage aggression, but of conquest. Our ancestors did not find empty lands awaiting cultivation — they found territories already inhabited by the Talfen. The early human settlements were military outposts, not farming communities.”

I felt Livia’s hand tighten in mine.

“The First Emperor, lauded as our great unifier, ordered the systematic clearing of Talfen settlements to make way for human expansion. What the Empire calls the ‘First Talfen War’ was actually a desperate counterattack after years of encroachment and forced displacement.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. This version of history directly contradicted everything taught in Imperial schools, yet it aligned with the fragments of history my mother had shared before she was taken from me.

“The manuscripts also spoke of early attempts at coexistence,” Eleni continued. “There were treaties, trade agreements, even intermarriage in some border regions.” She gestured to her own mixed features. “We who bear mixed blood are not abominations, as the Empire claims, but living proof that cooperation was once possible.”

As she stepped down, Korden introduced the next speaker — a barrel-chested man whose face was concealed by a half-mask. “Not all who join our cause can show their faces,” Korden explained. “Our brother currently serves in the Imperial Army’s eastern division.”

A collective intake of breath greeted this revelation. An active soldier at our gathering represented both tremendous risk and invaluable insight.

The masked soldier stepped forward. “I’ve served the Empire for fifteen years,” he began, his voice deliberately altered. “I believed in our cause, in protecting our people from Talfen savagery. I believed it until I saw with my own eyes what truly happens on the frontier.”

His gloved hands clenched as he spoke. “A decade ago, my company was dispatched to a border village reportedly devastated by a Talfen raid. But when we arrived, I found no more than four guards dead.” He closed his eyes and swallowed before opening them. “The orders were given as we arrived. Slaughter the villagers. All of them, leave none alive. Arrange the bodies to suggest ritual violence that never occurred. We weren’t there to protect the villagers, we were there to create a massacre they could blame on the Talfen.”

Shocked whispers filled the room. I felt Livia trembling slightly beside me and squeezed her hand in silent support.

“When I questioned my Commander, I was told the villagers had been suspected of trading with the Talfen. That sometimes ‘examples must be made’ to maintain the proper fear of the enemy.” The soldier’s voice hardened. “I’ve since learned this was not an isolated incident.”

He paused, looking down at the ground for a moment, then raising his head to gaze out into the small crowd. “I’m ashamed to say that day I followed the orders to the letter, and several after that. Eventually, I managed to arrange a transfer, but even though it’s been over a decade, the guilt and shame has not left me. The knowledge of what I did haunts me to this day, and now I work to change the future.”

A heavy silence followed the soldier’s confession, thick as the tannery’s lingering chemical smell. Somewhere in the shadows, someone wept quietly.

“I can’t undo what I’ve done,” the soldier continued, his voice cracking beneath the disguise. “But I can help expose the truth. The Empire doesn’t want peace. Peace would mean no more conscriptions, no more emergency taxes, no more justification for the Emperor’s absolute power.”

A second masked figure joined him on the platform — another soldier, judging by their bearing.

“I served on the northern front,” this second soldier said, their voice softer but no less intense. “For years, I never questioned why the Talfen raids seemed to target specific villages, or why they always seemed to know where our patrols would be weakest. Then I intercepted orders from Imperial Command explicitly directing certain villages to be left undefended, despite intelligence of imminent raids.”

The implications were clear — the Empire deliberately sacrificed its own citizens to maintain the narrative of Talfen brutality.

“But the most damning evidence came when I was part of a delegation meant to intercept a Talfen raiding party,” the soldier continued. “We were ordered to reject any attempt at parley, to kill all envoys immediately. When I asked why, my Commander told me that peace was not the objective — that the war itself served the Empire’s purposes.”

“They tell us we fight for survival,” the first soldier said, “but the truth is, we’re the aggressors. Always have been.”

“The Empire doesn't want peace,” the second soldier continued, his voice cracking slightly. “Peace would mean acknowledging the Talfen as people with rights to their ancestral lands. Peace would mean ending the war economy that keeps our nobility wealthy. Peace would mean admitting centuries of lies.”

He left the platform, but the first soldier stepped forward again.

“I stand before you today not seeking absolution — there is none for what I’ve done — but seeking change. When you leave here tonight, know that the blood-soaked frontier is not what the Empire claims. The savagery comes from both sides now, after generations of hatred, but it began with us.”

I felt my fury burn at their words. How many had suffered, marked as lesser because of blood that made us convenient scapegoats for an Empire built on conquest and lies?

Livia must have sensed my tension. Her thumb traced small, soothing circles against my palm, and I found myself leaning slightly toward her, drawing strength from her presence. The simple gesture — hidden from view but profoundly intimate — struck me more deeply than any passionate embrace could have. Here, surrounded by danger and revealed truths, she had chosen to anchor herself to me.

As the soldiers stepped down, Suura took their place. “I speak of personal truth,” she said. “My father was fully Talfen, my mother human. He did not abduct her, as Imperial propaganda would have you believe about such unions. They loved each other, lived peacefully in a frontier settlement until a purity patrol discovered them.” She swallowed hard. “My father was executed on the spot. My mother was imprisoned for ‘race defilement.’ I survived only because a sympathetic guard smuggled me away.” Her black eyes, a legacy of her Talfen blood, scanned the room until her eyes met mine, and I nodded. We had spoken for hours this morning, and she had told me her story, and I had told her mine, though I had left out anything that involved Livia or the others.

“I have since found others with similar stories,” Suura continued. “The violence against mixed families does not come from the Talfen side — it comes from the Empire.”

“Through my work as a healer, I’ve treated both humans and those with Talfen blood. We bleed the same. We suffer the same. We love the same. The differences between us are no greater than those between humans from different provinces, yet the Empire has built an entire system of oppression on these minor variations.”

Heads nodded throughout the room. I felt a surge of fierce pride in these brave souls who dared to speak truth in a city built on lies.

Korden returned to the platform as Suura stepped down. “We’ve heard history’s truth and personal truth. Now we must speak of future truth — the possibility of peace.”

He surveyed the gathered faces. “The Empire will not willingly end this war. The eternal enemy serves too many purposes — justifying military expansion, distracting from domestic problems, providing convenient scapegoats. Peace must come from the people themselves — from humans and Talfen refusing to be enemies any longer.”

“Some among us have established contact with Talfen communities beyond the frontier,” he revealed, causing excited whispers to ripple through the crowd. “We have confirmed what many of us suspected — they too want an end to this conflict. They too have lost too many to senseless violence.”

This revelation struck me deeply. Since arriving in the city barely a month ago, I had felt increasingly isolated from my Talfen heritage, with only painful memories and the scars on my back as reminders of that part of my identity. The thought that there might be peaceful Talfen communities, that there might be a place where both sides of my blood were accepted rather than one condemned, kindled a dangerous hope within me.

“Our task now is threefold,” Korden continued. “First, to spread these truths carefully to those who might listen. Second, to document Imperial atrocities that have been blamed on the Talfen. And third, to build a network of those committed to peace, so that when the moment comes for public action, we stand ready.”

The energy in the room had changed, tension giving way to a cautious but palpable hope. I felt it myself — the dangerous spark of possibility that had drawn me to this gathering in the first place.

“This is not a path for the faint-hearted,” Korden warned. “The Empire will brand us traitors. We risk everything — our freedom, our lives, our families. But we risk these things for a future worth building, where blood determines neither status nor safety.”

Voices around us murmured agreement, some calling out “Truth and peace” softly but fervently.

“Remember what brings us here,” Korden concluded. “Not hatred of the Empire, but love for all people. Not destruction, but the building of something better. Carry these truths carefully, share them wisely, and know you are not alone in this struggle.”

“Truth and peace,” the gathering responded in unison, myself among them. The words felt powerful on my tongue, dangerous and necessary.

As the formal portion of the meeting concluded and people broke into smaller discussion groups, I finally turned to look directly at Livia. Her expression was complicated — shock, anger, and determination all warring for dominance. I felt the same emotions battling inside my own skin, as well as a dark fury that simmered deep inside.

“The things they described — villages sacrificed, massacres staged — even in the arena, slaves would whisper about frontier atrocities,” Livia whispered. “My village, Tarshi, my family… My parents died trying to forge peace with your people. Septimus says that’s why the Imperial soldiers destroyed our home. Our families. He blames the Talfen, but it was never them. My parents believed that. Vengeance became my purpose, but peace was theirs. Maybe I need to remember that.”

“The Empire needs the Talfen to be monsters,” I said. “It justifies everything — the war, the treatment of mixed-bloods, the military expenditures, the restrictions on civilian freedoms.”

Octavia, who had been silent throughout the meeting, finally spoke. “If even half of what we heard tonight is true…”

“It’s all true,” I said, perhaps too sharply. The scars across my back seemed to pulse with remembered pain. “Every lash I’ve endured, every slur thrown at those with mixed blood — it’s all built on these lies.”

Livia’s free hand moved as if to touch my face, then stopped, remembering where we were. “I’m sorry,” she said simply.

“Don’t be. You’re here. That matters.” I squeezed her hand once more before reluctantly releasing it as Korden approached.

“Tarshi,” he greeted me before turning curious eyes to my companions. “I see you’ve brought new friends.”

“They found their own way here,” I clarified. “Through Suura.”

Korden studied them carefully. “New faces are always welcome, provided they come with open hearts and careful tongues.”

“You have my word,” Livia said, meeting his gaze steadily.

Something in her demeanour must have satisfied him, for he nodded once. “We’ll be dispersing soon. The Imperial patrols increase after midnight. Remember, no more than three leave together, and take different routes.”

As he moved to speak with others, Livia turned to me. “How long have you known about these meetings?”

“Only since yesterday,” I admitted. “Suura approached me at the market when she saw my... features. She recognized what I was and invited me here. This is my first time attending.”

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “So that’s where you were earlier — I looked for you at the academy.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I didn’t feel like returning last night.”

She hesitated, clearly wanting to say more. “Tarshi, I—”

“Not here,” I interrupted gently. “There will be time.”

Uncertainty clouded her expression. “Will there?”

“Yes,” I said with more conviction than I truly felt. “There will be.”

The promise hung between us, fragile but sincere. Then Octavia was tugging at her arm, and the moment passed.

“We need to get back. The academy has its curfew and Septimus will be searching for you by now.”

The mere mention of his name was enough to draw a veil between Livia and myself. He would be searching for her, waiting for her. I took a deep breath.

“Then let’s get going. We’ll need to hurry.”

“You’re coming back with us?” Livia asked.

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Why wouldn’t he? He’s still officially your slave. Now come on!”

She dragged Livia towards the door. I stood for a moment, trying to compose myself, and then Suura moved beside me.

“She’s important to you,” she said when I approached.

“Yes.” There seemed no point in denial.

“Dangerous, bringing academy nobles into our circle.” Her tone held caution rather than accusation. She’d clearly overheard our conversation. We needed to be more careful, even here.

“She’s not what she appears,” I said carefully.

Suura studied me. “Few of us are.” She touched my arm briefly. “Be careful, Tarshi. The heart can be as dangerous as Imperial spies.”

“I know.” And I did know — had known from the first moment Livia had looked at me with something other than a master’s indifference. Loving her was perhaps the most dangerous choice I had ever made, yet it no longer felt like a choice at all.