Page 24 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

24

“ I want Lord Varin executed and strung up in the city centre. I want his entrails spread where the crows can feast on them and his head on a spike.”

“Evening to you as well, son.”

Emperor Valorian sat behind his massive desk of polished obsidian, not bothering to rise when I entered. A crystal decanter of wine and two glasses waited on a silver tray beside a stack of official-looking documents. The chamber was exactly as I remembered — walls adorned with maps of conquered territories, displays of rare weapons, and shelves groaning under the weight of military histories and political treatises, many of which I’d read myself. Nothing frivolous. Nothing that didn’t serve some purpose.

Just like my father.

“I see you have returned from playing at being ordinary,” he said, his tone carrying that familiar edge of mockery. “Close the door behind you.”

I did as instructed, the soft click of the latch a final severing from the outside world.

“Father,” I acknowledged with a slight bow — not the full genuflection required of subjects, but enough to acknowledge his position. “I trust you’re well.”

His thin lips curved into what others might mistake for a smile. “Better than well. I’ve been receiving reports of your progress at the academy.” He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Join me for a drink. We should celebrate your accomplishments.”

My jaw tightened. “Reports? We agreed my attendance would remain confidential.” I remained standing, though I knew it would irritate him.

He poured wine into both glasses, the rich burgundy liquid catching the light from the nearby fireplace. “Come now, Jalend. You couldn’t possibly believe I would send my only son and heir into the academy without ensuring his safety and progress were monitored.”

“That wasn’t our arrangement,” I said, keeping my voice deliberately measured.

“Arrangements change.” He pushed one glass toward me. “Besides, I’ve respected your little charade. No one at the academy knows Prince Jalend Valorian walks among them. Your instructors report only to me, and only about matters of your safety and performance.”

I finally took the seat, though I left the wine untouched. “And what exactly have they reported?”

A hint of genuine pride crossed his features — rare enough that I almost missed it. “That you excel in theoretical disciplines, as expected. That your dragon responds to you better than most of your peers. That your combat skills, while not exceptional, have improved significantly.” He sipped his wine. “And that you’ve developed an unexpected interest in a fellow cadet. A Lady Cantius, if I’m not mistaken.”

Heat rushed to my face before I could control it. The mention of Livia’s name caught me off-guard, and the memory of finding her in that changing room — fierce and dangerous despite her dishevelled state, a knife at Varin’s throat — flashed through my mind.

“My interest in Lady Cantius is none of your concern,” I said stiffly.

My father’s cold eyes gleamed with amusement. “On the contrary. The companions my son chooses are very much my concern. Especially when they involve obscure noble houses with... questionable lineage.”

I should have expected this. Despite the academy’s rigorous vetting process, my father’s network of spies would have investigated every cadet’s background far more thoroughly.

“I came to discuss a different matter,” I said, steering the conversation away from Livia. Something protective stirred within me — I didn’t want her under my father’s scrutiny any more than necessary.

“Did you?” He leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. “Very well. What matter is important enough to bring Prince Jalend out of his self-imposed exile?”

I met his gaze directly. “Lord Varin Mallistus.”

My father’s expression didn’t change, but I detected a subtle shift in his posture — the slightest straightening of his spine. “You want him dead. Why?”

“He attacked another cadet,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended as anger rose within me. “A female cadet, in the changing rooms after training. He needs to be expelled from the academy and stripped of his title and estates, preferably executed.”

For several long moments, my father said nothing, merely studying me with the calculating gaze that had intimidated diplomats and generals alike. I refused to look away.

“The Mallistus family has been loyal to the Imperial throne for seven generations,” he finally said. “They control three provinces and provide nearly twenty percent of our armament resources. Tell me why I should jeopardize that alliance over what sounds like a youthful indiscretion.”

My hands clenched into fists beneath the desk. “Youthful indiscretion? He cornered her alone, locked the door, and attempted to force himself on her. When she refused, he attacked her. This wasn’t some drunken misunderstanding, Father. It was calculated and premeditated.”

“And how did this... situation resolve itself? Was the young woman injured?”

I couldn’t help the grim smile that formed. “No. She defended herself. Quite effectively.”

A flicker of surprise crossed my father’s face. “Did she? Against Varin? Interesting.” He took another sip of wine. “But if she successfully defended her honour, why involve yourself in this matter at all?”

The question hung in the air between us. Why indeed? I’d been asking myself the same thing since I’d broken down that door. Why had the sound of struggle compelled me to intervene? Why had the sight of Livia — her clothes torn, her knife at Varin’s throat — filled me with such rage that I could barely form coherent thoughts?

I’d never been particularly drawn to the noble-born women at court. They were trained from childhood to be ornamental and politically advantageous, their conversations carefully scripted to avoid any hint of genuine thought or opinion. But Livia was different. Beneath her perfect manners and composed exterior, there was something fierce and uncompromising. Something real.

“Because it matters,” I finally said. “Because the academy should be a place of merit, not a playground where the powerful prey on others with impunity. Because if we allow this behaviour to go unpunished, we send a message that some are above the law.”

My father’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “My, my. Such passion for justice. One might almost think this Lady Cantius was the victim here. She has made quite an impression on you.”

I refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “This isn’t about Lady Cantius specifically. It’s about upholding the standards the academy claims to represent.”

“Is it?” He set down his glass. “Then why not report this incident through official channels? Why come directly to the Emperor himself?”

“Because official channels would bury it,” I replied bluntly. “Because Varin’s father would ensure any complaint disappeared beneath mountains of bureaucracy. Because justice in this empire has become a commodity available only to those with sufficient wealth or influence to purchase it.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. “You tread dangerous ground, questioning the very system you are destined to inherit.”

“I don’t question it. I indict it.” The words escaped before I could temper them. “And I intend to change it when the time comes.”

A tense silence followed. My father The Emperor rose from his chair and walked to the window overlooking the Imperial gardens. For several minutes, he gazed outward, hands clasped behind his back.

“You know what they call you in the palace, don’t you?” he finally asked, his voice oddly subdued. “The Scholar Prince. As if it were some kind of insult. As if an emperor who thinks is somehow less than one who merely conquers.”

I remained silent, uncertain where this unexpected turn in the conversation was leading.

“I wanted a warrior son,” he continued, “because I was raised by warriors in a time of war. But perhaps…” He turned back to face me. “Perhaps the empire needs something different for the challenges ahead.”

This was not at all what I had expected. My father had never spoken to me this way before, with something almost approaching respect.

“Varin Mallistus is a problem,” he said abruptly, returning to the matter at hand. “Not just for what he did to your Lady Cantius, but for the pattern of behaviour he’s exhibited for years, protected by his father’s influence, and for ambitions his father is starting to develop. The family has become a liability.”

I blinked in surprise. “You already knew about Varin.”

“Of course I knew.” He returned to his desk. “I make it my business to know which noble houses are producing potential assets and which are harbouring potential threats. Young Varin has been in the latter category for some time.”

“Then you’ll expel him from the academy? Strip him of his position?”

“I will deal with him appropriately,” my father said, evasive as ever. “But such decisions come with political costs. Costs I am willing to bear — under one condition.”

And there it was. The manipulation I had been expecting from the moment I entered this room. No matter how seemingly personal our conversation had become, with my father, everything ultimately circled back to transaction.

“What condition?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

“When you complete your training at the academy, you will abandon this childish notion of anonymity. You will take your rightful place at court, assume your official duties as crown prince, and begin preparing in earnest for the responsibilities of leadership.”

Just as I had anticipated. My father was using Varin as leverage to force me back into the public role I had resisted for years. The scrutiny, the politics, the endless performance of being the perfect imperial heir — all the things I had escaped by attending the academy under an assumed name.

“The graduation ceremony is in six months,” I said carefully. “I can’t simply reveal my identity before then without compromising my training.”

“I’m not asking you to. Continue your studies as planned. But at the graduation ceremony, you will stand before the empire as Prince Jalend Valorian, not whatever pseudonym you’ve been hiding behind.”

I reached for the wine glass at last, needing something to occupy my hands as I considered his terms. The liquid burned pleasantly as I took a measured sip.

Livia’s face appeared in my mind — not as I had found her in the changing room, but as she’d looked during our training sessions. Focused. Determined. There was a mystery about her that intrigued me, gaps in her knowledge that shouldn’t exist in someone of noble birth, counterbalanced by skills that seemed out of place for a lady of her standing.

And then there had been that moment when our eyes met after I’d intervened with Varin. Something had passed between us — recognition, perhaps. As if we both understood what it meant to wear masks.

Would she look at me differently if she knew who I truly was? Would the easy camaraderie we’d begun to develop evaporate once my title stood between us?

“Well?” my father prompted, interrupting my thoughts. “Do we have an agreement?”

I set down the glass. “Varin doesn’t just get reassigned or quietly removed. He faces real consequences. Public ones.”

“Agreed.”

“And his family’s political standing remains untouched.” This surprised even me, but I felt compelled to add it. “They shouldn’t suffer for his crimes.”

My father studied me curiously. “Compassion for your enemies’ families. Interesting.” He nodded slowly. “Very well. Varin alone will bear the consequences of his actions. I want to watch how his father deals with the lack of an heir, see if it… dissuades his own posturing he believes he’s kept secret.”

“Then we have a deal.” I rose from my chair. “I’ll reveal my identity at graduation and assume my official duties.”

“Excellent.” My father stood as well, extending his hand across the desk. “Perhaps you’ve finally begun to understand what leadership truly requires, my son.”

I clasped his offered hand, feeling the cold, firm grip that had directed the fate of millions. “Perhaps I’ve begun to understand that influence is a tool, Father. One that can either build or destroy.”

Something like respect flickered in his eyes before he released my hand. “Find out more about this Lady Cantius,” he said, returning to his seat. “Anyone who can best a Mallistus in combat might prove a valuable ally.”

I ignored the suggestion, turning toward the door. “I’ll return to the academy tonight. I trust you’ll handle Varin’s situation promptly.”

“It will be addressed tomorrow,” he assured me. “Though I’m curious — what would you have done had I refused your request?”

I paused with my hand on the door handle. “I would have found another way to ensure justice was served.”

“Even if it meant defying your Emperor?”

I looked back at him, allowing a rare moment of complete honesty between us. “Especially then.”

Rather than anger, a smile spread across my father’s face — not the political mask he wore for courtiers, but something genuine and slightly unsettling. “Good. That’s precisely what I needed to hear.”

I left the Emperor’s chambers with a hollow victory churning in my gut. The corridor stretched before me, Imperial Guards standing at attention every few paces, their expressions carefully neutral. They’d heard nothing of our conversation — my father’s chambers were enchanted against eavesdropping — but they knew who I was. The Scholar Prince, returned from his self-imposed exile.

By tomorrow, Varin would face justice. But at what cost? Six more months of freedom before the golden cage of royal duty claimed me forever.

The night air hit my face as I stepped onto the palace’s western terrace. The moons hung low in the sky — Solis bright and full, Umbra a dark crescent beside it. Far below, the capital city sprawled in concentric rings, lamplight glittering like fallen stars.

“Prince Jalend.”

I turned to find Legate Santius approaching, his weathered face grim in the moonlight. My father’s most trusted general, the man who had taught me swordplay since I was old enough to hold a blade.

“Legatus,” I acknowledged with a nod. “I didn’t expect to see you here at this late hour.”

“I’m here to brief your father on developments on our northern borders, and I prefer to do it where there are less observers around.”

“The Talfen again?” I asked, moving to the balustrade. I studied his face, noting the new lines etching his weathered features. “They’re getting bolder.”

“Worse than bold,” Santius said, joining me at the railing. “They’re organized. Coordinated. Villages are being abandoned, and even towns deeper in our territory are under threat.” He ran a hand through his greying hair. “This isn’t just raiding anymore. It has the pattern of something... deliberate.”

“Casualties?” I asked.

“Mounting daily. Villages are being abandoned. Refugees are flooding into the larger towns, but even those aren’t safe anymore.” Santius ran a hand over his scarred face. “Last month, they hit Veredus. A hundred and forty-three dead, twice that wounded, half the town burned to the ground.”

“Veredus?” I couldn’t hide my shock. “That’s nearly sixty miles from the border.”

“Precisely why I’m here at this ungodly hour. This isn’t just raiding anymore. It’s beginning to look like an invasion.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the night air crept up my spine. The Talfen were fierce warriors from the northern lands in the shadow of the Cursed Mountains, but they typically limited their raids to isolated settlements near the border. For them to push further south meant something had changed.

“You think they’re testing our defences?”

“I think they’re preparing for something bigger.” His voice dropped lower. “Your father won’t want to hear it. He’s convinced this is just another border skirmish that needs a firm hand.”

I leaned against the stone balustrade, mind racing. “What about our garrisons?”

“Spread too thin and winter is coming. If the Talfen strike in force during the snow months…” He didn’t need to complete the thought. The lands to the north were cold and barren, often buried under snow. It was why we had performed the water trials the other day. In the spring and summer months, the snow melted in the lower lands and rivers rose and flooded, making it treacherous for our troops.

“Why tell me this?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

Santius turned to face me fully. “Because when you return to the academy tomorrow, you’ll be training alongside the future commanders of those legions. The cadets who graduate with you will be leading men into whatever comes next, and it might come faster than you think. We might be calling up every man and woman we can get.”

“The academy isn’t preparing them for that kind of fight,” I said quietly, the realization settling in my gut like a stone. “Most of the combat training focuses on tournament forms, controlled environments. Nothing like facing Talfen berserkers in the dead of winter.”

Santius nodded grimly. “That’s precisely my concern. These cadets can execute perfect drills in the practice yard, but how many have ever seen a man die? How many understand what it means to make decisions that will send soldiers to their deaths?”

I thought of my classmates — sons and daughters of nobility, most of them raised in luxury, their biggest concerns centred around social standing and graduation rankings. Even those with genuine talent approached warfare as an academic exercise, a path to glory rather than the bloody, messy business it truly was.

“What are you suggesting, Legatus?”

He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring we were truly alone. “Your father ordered a review of the academy curriculum six months ago. The recommendations were… substantial. More practical combat training, wilderness survival, guerrilla tactics. Everything that would actually prepare these cadets for what’s coming.”

“And?” I prompted when he paused.

“And those recommendations were quietly shelved. The old guard convinced him that traditional methods were best. That innovation was unnecessary.” Santius’s jaw tightened. “But you have his ear in a way I don’t. As his son, not just his general.”

I laughed, the sound cold and hard.

“Emperor Valorian doesn’t listen to me, Santius. You should know that. And you’re suggesting the academy students might be deployed? Most of us haven’t even completed basic field training.”

“I’m suggesting,” Santius said carefully, “that circumstances may soon demand extraordinary measures.” He glanced around, ensuring no guards were within earshot. “Your father believes in overwhelming force. It’s served him well for decades. But the Talfen... they’re different now.”

“Different how?”

Santius’s jaw tightened. “They have dragons, Jalend.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. “That’s impossible. The northern breeds are untameable — everyone knows that.”

“Everyone is wrong.” His voice was flat, certain. “Three weeks ago, we lost a scouting party near the Blackthorn Pass. One survivor managed to make it back. Before he died of his wounds, he described dragons with eyes like gold fire. Dragons that moved in formation, following commands, without riders. ”

“That’s impossible,” I murmured. “How could they control them without riders? And if the Talfen have somehow managed to bond with the northern breeds…”

“Then everything changes,” Santius finished grimly. “Our aerial superiority has been our greatest military advantage for generations.”

“Does my father believe this report? Has he ordered more riders into active service?”

“Your father,” Santius said with careful precision, “believes what suits his existing strategies. He dismissed it as the hallucinations of a dying man. Says the dragon corps should be reserved for a ‘true emergency .’”

A cold knot formed in my stomach. My father was playing some deeper game, as always. The dragon riders were our most effective weapon against massed forces — why hold them back unless...

“There’s something else,” I murmured. “Something beyond the Talfen. Something we don’t know.”

Santius nodded grimly. “Your father sees patterns where others see chaos. Always has. But he’s not sharing his suspicions, even with me.”

The moons cast long shadows across the terrace as we stood in silence. I thought of the academy, of Livia and the other cadets training for a war they didn’t know was coming.

“I should return tonight,” I said finally. “If what you’re telling me is true, I need to be back at the academy.”

Santius gripped my shoulder, his calloused hand heavy with the weight of his concern. “Be vigilant, Prince Jalend. Watch your fellow cadets — not just for who excels in training, but for who has the temperament for real war. We’ll need leaders soon, not just fighters.”

“I’m not a prince there,” I reminded him. “Just another cadet.”

A rare smile crossed the Legatus’s weathered face. “I’ve known you since you were a boy who could barely lift a training sword. You’ve never been ‘just’ anything. But do remember, whatever’s coming, it won’t wait for graduation ceremonies.”