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

2

T he dragon’s scales were warm beneath my palm, like sun-heated stones at the height of summer. I traced the ridges along its neck, marvelling at how something so powerful could feel so alive under my touch. Its massive head turned slightly toward me, intelligent eyes reflecting the distant fires of the town we’d escaped.

“They’ll be back soon,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring the dragon or myself.

The night stretched around us, vast and silent save for the occasional cry carried on the wind from the burning town. I paced the small clearing where we’d landed, my boots crunching on the coarse desert sand. The wind had begun to pick up, whistling through the sparse, twisted scrub that somehow managed to survive in this harsh landscape. In the far distance, dark clouds were gathering on the horizon, obscuring the stars.

I kept my eyes fixed on the eastern path where Tarshi and Septimus had disappeared. They should have returned by now. The knowledge gnawed at me, sharp like hunger.

I’d never been good at waiting. In the arena, waiting meant death – hesitation was a luxury no gladiator could afford. Yet here I stood, useless, while the two men I — while they risked their lives for supplies we all needed.

“This isn’t right,” I told the dragon, who watched me with unnerving focus. “I should be with them.”

The creature made a low rumbling sound deep in its throat that wasn’t quite agreement but wasn’t disagreement either.

I knew what Marcus would say if he were here. “Patience was never your virtue, Livia.” Gods, I could almost hear his voice, that infuriating blend of amusement and condescension that made me want to kiss him and kill him in equal measure.

But Marcus wasn’t here and I couldn’t understand why. Why hadn’t he taken the chance himself? The question burned like acid in my chest, mixing with grief and rage until I could barely breathe through it. He could have come with us. Should have come with us. Instead, he’d chosen to remain in his gilded cage, too afraid to run, too invested in the false promise that Drusus might one day grant him freedom through loyal service.

Drusus. Even thinking his name made my skin crawl with remembered violation. The ‘noble’ citizen who bought and sold human lives as casually as horses. Who had forced Marcus to watch, chains holding him immobile, while he took what he wanted from me. Who had broken something fundamental in both of us that night, turning our love into something shadowed by shared shame and helpless rage.

And still, Marcus had stayed. Chosen the devil he knew over the uncertain promise of freedom.

“How could you?” I whispered to the storm, tears mixing with rain on my face. “After everything he did to us. After everything we survived together.”

The dragon shifted behind me, sensing my distress, but I waved it away. This grief was mine alone to bear. Perhaps it was fear that held Marcus back – not of death or capture, but of a world he no longer remembered how to navigate. Twenty years in the ludus had worn away whatever life he’d known before. Or perhaps it was something darker, more insidious – the slow poison of slavery that convinces the caged they deserve no better, that the walls that imprison them also protect them.

I had loved Marcus with a desperate, clinging love born of shared suffering. Had trusted his promises, his tender touches, his whispered plans for our future beyond the arena. Had allowed myself to believe that there was still some bond in this world that slavery couldn’t corrupt.

But he had chosen Drusus over me in the end. Chosen the familiar chains over the terrifying freedom we’d dreamed of together. And that betrayal cut deeper than any blade I’d ever faced in the arena.

“I would have carried you if I had to,” I told the empty air, my voice breaking. “I would have died trying to save you.”

Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the desolate landscape, and in that moment of clarity, I made a silent vow. I would not surrender to fear, would not forget what freedom meant. And when I returned to the Imperial City I would remember what Marcus had forgotten: that some chains are forged in the mind, stronger than any iron or steel, and perhaps his had bound him too completely for even love to break. But it would be so much harder without him. Without my Marcus. Tears fell finally, and I leaned back against my dragon friend, drawing comfort from its solidity.

In the quiet darkness, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to imagine possibilities beyond survival – revenge for my village, justice for those I’d lost. The face of the Imperial commander who had ordered the slaughter rose unbidden in my memory – a face I would never forget, a debt that would be paid in blood.

Dreams interrupted by the scuff of footsteps.

I whirled toward the sound, hand instinctively reaching for my gladius. The dragon tensed beside me, its body coiling with sudden alertness.

A figure emerged from the shadows at the edge of the clearing, stumbling slightly under the weight of a burden. Tarshi. My heart leaped in recognition, then plummeted as I realized what – who – he carried. “Septimus!” I rushed forward as Tarshi carefully lowered the unconscious form to the ground. Blood streaked Tarshi’s face, a dark gash visible on his forearm. Septimus lay utterly still, a purple bruise blooming across his temple. Neither man looked victorious.

“What happened?” I demanded, dropping to my knees beside Septimus, checking for a pulse with trembling fingers. Relief flooded me when I found it, strong and steady beneath my touch.

Tarshi set down two heavy packs before answering. “He tried to kill me.”

Three simple words, delivered without emotion, yet they struck me harder than any blow I’d taken in the arena. I looked up at Tarshi, searching his face for lies, for justification, for anything that would make sense of this.

“Why would he—”

“Because of what I am.” Tarshi’s voice remained level, but I saw the muscle in his jaw tighten. “Because men like him will always see me as a monster, no matter what I do.”

I sat back on my heels, caught between them as I had been so many times before. “And you knocked him unconscious.”

“Would you prefer I’d killed him?” There was a genuine question beneath the sharpness of his words. “It would have been easier.”

I turned back to Septimus, gently probing the bruise on his temple. “He’ll have a headache when he wakes, but there’s no lasting damage.” My voice sounded clinical even to my own ears, a learned detachment masking the chaos beneath.

Tarshi nodded, then began unpacking the supplies they’d gathered – water skins, dried meat, medical supplies. He moved with the efficient precision that had made him deadly in the arena, but I noticed the slight favouring of his right side, the careful way he extended his injured arm.

“You’re hurt too,” I said, rising to examine his wounds. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing.” He tried to turn away, but I caught his wrist, mindful of the gash that ran from elbow to mid forearm.

“This isn’t nothing. It needs cleaning before it festers.” My fingers traced the edges of the wound, assessing the damage. “Did he do this?”

A flicker of something crossed Tarshi’s face – pain or memory, I couldn’t tell. “Yes.”

“And your nose?”

“Also him.” His lips quirked in what might have been a smile under different circumstances. “He fights dirty when cornered.”

“You both do.” I reached for the medical supplies, pulling out a clean cloth and a small jar of healing balm. The scent of herbs filled the air as I opened it – lavender and witch hazel, comfrey root and myrrh. “Hold still. This will sting.”

Tarshi didn’t flinch as I cleaned the wound, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond my shoulder. I worked in silence, the familiar rhythm of battlefield medicine steadying my hands. How many times had I patched up these two after arena matches? Too many to count.

“He said you would never be safe with me around,” Tarshi spoke suddenly, his voice so low I almost missed the words. “That all Talfen are savages.”

My hands paused in their work. “And you knocked him unconscious instead of killing him. Very savage of you.”

“I wanted to kill him.” The raw honesty in his voice pulled my gaze to his face. “For a moment, I wanted to prove him right. To be exactly the monster he believes I am.”

I resumed bandaging his arm, deliberately gentle now. “But you didn’t.”

“Not for his sake.” Tarshi’s eyes found mine, gold flecks in dark brown, a legacy of his mixed heritage that had always fascinated me. “For yours.”

The simple declaration hung between us, heavy with implications neither of us was ready to address. I tied off the bandage perhaps more roughly than necessary, using the movement to break the moment.

“Help me move him closer to the dragon,” I said, nodding toward Septimus. “It’s getting colder.”

Together we carried his still-unconscious form to the sheltered space beside the dragon’s foreleg. The creature watched with curious eyes but made no objection as we settled Septimus on the ground.

“You should rest too,” I told Tarshi, noticing the exhaustion etched in the lines around his eyes. “I’ll keep watch.”

He nodded, settling himself against the dragon’s flank, a careful distance from both Septimus and me. Always maintaining boundaries, always conscious of the space he occupied. I’d watched him do it for years in the ludus – making himself smaller somehow, less threatening, as if trying to hide the Talfen features that marked him as different.

I waited until his breathing deepened into sleep before turning my attention back to Septimus. His handsome face was peaceful in unconsciousness, the perpetual tension in his jaw finally relaxed. How strange to see him vulnerable after years of carefully constructed defences.

“What am I going to do with you two?” I whispered, brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead.

Behind me, the dragon made a soft chuffing sound that almost seemed sympathetic.

The eastern sky had just begun to lighten when Septimus finally stirred. I was ready, sitting cross-legged beside him with a water skin in hand. His eyes opened slowly, confusion clearing into sharp focus as he registered my face.

“Livia?” His voice was rough, one hand rising to his temple with a wince.

“Don’t try to sit up too quickly,” I advised, offering the water skin. “You took a hard hit.”

Memory flooded back into his expression, darkening his eyes. He jerked upright, ignoring my warning, his gaze darting around until it found Tarshi sleeping against the dragon’s flank. His hand instinctively reached for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“Why am I still alive?” he asked, voice low and tense. He kept his eyes on Tarshi’s sleeping form, as though expecting an attack at any moment.

“Because he chose not to kill you,” I replied simply. “Despite your best efforts to make him.”

Septimus’s attention snapped back to me, incredulous. “He should have. I would have, in his place.”

“I know. That's the difference between you.”

His jaw tightened, a familiar stubborn set I’d seen countless times in the arena. “You don’t understand what he is, Livia.”

“I understand perfectly well what he is,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “He’s a man who’s fought beside us, who still fights beside us. And he’s the reason you’re still breathing.”

The wind picked up around us, sending a swirl of sand skittering across the clearing. The dark clouds I’d noticed earlier loomed closer now, an ominous wall on the horizon. Sand and sky were beginning to blur together at the edges.

“Let me make something perfectly clear,” I continued, keeping my voice low but firm. “Tarshi stays with us. This isn’t up for debate. If you can’t accept that, you’re free to go your own way. But if you stay, there will be no more attempts on his life. Understood?”

Septimus held my gaze for a long moment, conflict evident in his expression. Finally, he gave a curt nod, though the tension never left his body. “For now.”

“Forever,” I corrected. “I won’t watch you two try to kill each other while the Empire hunts us down.”

Across the clearing, Tarshi stirred, sitting up with the fluid grace that had made him so lethal in the arena. His eyes immediately found us, narrowing slightly at the sight of Septimus conscious.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice neutral despite the tension vibrating through the air. “I see our sleeping beauty has awakened.”

Septimus tensed beside me, but I placed a warning hand on his knee. The dragon lifted its head, watching the three of us with ancient, intelligent eyes.

“We need to talk,” I said, cutting through the tension. “About what happens next.”

The rising sun cast long shadows across the desert floor, illuminating the barren landscape around us. In the daylight, the desert’s harsh beauty was more apparent – red-gold sands stretching to the horizon, interrupted occasionally by jagged rock formations that jutted from the earth like the bones of ancient creatures. The dark clouds had drawn closer, a wall of angry purple-grey that promised violence.

“I know where I’m going,” I said without preamble. “To the Imperial City.”

Both men stared at me, identical expressions of shock on their very different faces.

“The Imperial City?” Septimus recovered first, disbelief colouring his voice. “That’s suicide, Livia. It’s the heart of the Empire, crawling with soldiers who would recognize us instantly.”

“I know exactly what it is,” I replied evenly. “It’s where Commander Aurelius lives – the man who ordered the destruction of our village.”

Understanding dawned in Tarshi’s eyes. “You want revenge.”

“I want justice,” I corrected, though the distinction felt thin even to me. “For my family, my village. For eleven years, I’ve lived with their ghosts. Now I finally have the chance to avenge them.”

“By getting yourself killed?” Tarshi asked quietly. “The Imperial City is the most heavily guarded fortress in the known world. You’d never even get through the gates, let alone close enough to Aurelius to—” He stopped, studying my face. “Do you even have a plan?”

I squared my shoulders, refusing to be deterred by the practicalities. “I’ll figure something out. But I’m going, with or without you both.”

Septimus ran a hand through his dark hair, wincing as his fingers brushed the bruise on his temple. “The Imperial City is three weeks’ journey from here, through the most dangerous territories the Empire controls. Every soldier, bounty hunter, and mercenary will be looking for three escaped gladiators on a stolen dragon.”

“I’m aware of the risks.”

“Are you?” Septimus leaned forward, intensity in every line of his body. “Because this sounds like throwing away the freedom we’ve just won.”

“What freedom?” I shot back. “Running forever, looking over our shoulders until old age or imperial steel finds us? That’s not freedom. It’s just a larger cage.”

The dragon shifted behind us, its massive tail curling protectively around our small circle. The wind had strengthened again, sending hot, dry air gusting through the clearing, carrying the scent of the coming storm.

“We could go south,” Tarshi suggested, his voice careful. “Beyond imperial borders. Start new lives where no one knows what we were.”

“And leave the dead unavenged?” I shook my head firmly. “I can’t. I won’t.”

A heavy silence fell. I watched both men, reading the conflict on their faces. They thought I was being foolish, reckless. Perhaps I was. But the need for justice burned too fiercely to ignore.

“I’ll go with you,” Tarshi said finally, his voice quiet but certain. “Though I think it’s madness.”

I turned to Septimus, waiting. His green eyes were troubled, his mouth set in a grim line. “Three weeks to certain death,” he muttered. “With him.” He jerked his head toward Tarshi.

“Your choice,” I reminded him. “Stay or go.”

Septimus sighed, resignation and determination mingling in his voice. “Then I go too. Someone has to keep you alive long enough to realize this is insane.”

Relief washed through me, though I was careful not to show it. However fragile this truce is between them, it was a beginning. “We leave at dusk then,” I decided. “Travel by night while it’s cooler. The dragon can carry all three of us, yes?”

As if in answer, the creature stretched its wings, the vast leathery expanse momentarily blocking out the sun. It was larger than the arena dragons we’d fought in exhibitions, its scales a deeper shade of bronze, patterns more complex. Not just a beast of burden but something altogether more magnificent.

“It can carry us,” Tarshi confirmed. “Though not indefinitely. It will need to rest, hunt.”

“Then we plan accordingly.” I stood, suddenly eager for action after the night of waiting and worry. “Let’s organize the supplies, figure out what we’re missing.”

As the men began sorting through the packs, I walked a short distance away, needing a moment alone to steady myself. The enormity of what lay ahead threatened to overwhelm me – the Empire hunting us, the Imperial City looming like an impossible fortress in my mind, and the face of Commander Aurelius, the architect of so much suffering.

The wind whipped my hair across my face, and I tasted sand on my lips. The storm clouds had conquered half the sky now, turning day to premature twilight. We would need shelter before it hit.

The dragon followed, its massive form surprisingly quiet as it moved to my side. It lowered its head to my level, those ancient eyes studying me with what could only be described as concern.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted in a whisper, pressing my forehead against its scaled snout. “I just know I can’t let it go. They deserve justice.”

The dragon made a soft sound, almost a purr, vibrating through its body into mine. Then, something extraordinary happened – a feeling brushed against my mind, not words exactly, but an impression: understanding. Approval. Protection.

I pulled back in shock, staring into those intelligent eyes. “Was that you?”

It blinked slowly, deliberately, and the sensation came again – stronger this time, a sense of connection that went beyond physical contact. Not speech, but communication nonetheless.

“How is this possible?” I whispered, awe replacing fear as the connection strengthened. Through it came impressions rather than thoughts – flight, freedom, hunt, protect. Simple concepts but unmistakably intentional.

The dragon nudged me gently, and one final impression came through with crystal clarity: mine.

I wasn’t its master or its rider. I was its chosen. Its companion.

“Livia?” Tarshi’s voice broke the moment. “Storm’s coming. We should find shelter before it hits.”

I turned to find both men watching me with concern, their earlier animosity temporarily set aside. The dragon straightened, the mental connection fading but not disappearing entirely – a gentle presence at the edge of my awareness.

“Yes,” I said, noting the darkening sky. “There’s a rock formation a few miles east. We might find a cave or overhang there.” There was. My father had often taken Tarus and I there. It would only be another two or three miles to where our village had been, but I couldn’t face the idea of going there. I doubted there was anything left anyway.

We gathered our supplies quickly, the wind now strong enough to send small pebbles skittering across the ground. The dragon bent low, allowing us to mount, all three of us settling awkwardly along its neck. Septimus positioned himself behind me, as far from Tarshi as possible, but he didn’t complain.

As the dragon launched into the air, powerful wings struggling slightly against the strengthening wind, I felt the first hint of raindrops – rare and precious in this arid land. Below us, the desert floor was a tapestry of reds and golds, mesmerizing in its desolation. Ahead, the distant horizon was hidden behind the approaching wall of the storm, and somewhere beyond it, the Imperial City waited.

I had escaped the arena only to set my sights on an even more dangerous prize. Perhaps it was madness, as both men believed. But as the dragon carried us toward the promised shelter, I felt something like purpose hardening within me. Not just running from, but running toward.

Toward answers. Toward justice. Toward a future that, against all odds, might hold more than mere survival.

Sand swirled around us as the storm’s leading edge caught up with our flight. Through driving grit and thickening air, the dragon pressed onward, as determined as I was to face whatever lay ahead. Behind me, Septimus’s arms tightened around my waist, while Tarshi guided the dragon with gentle pressure from his knees.

Three escaped slaves on a stolen dragon, flying into the heart of a storm. It was either the beginning of something magnificent or the most elaborate suicide I could have imagined.

Either way, I was finally free to choose my own fate. And I chose vengeance.