Page 29 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

29

T he name had become a mantra in my mind. Lucius Arilius. A name I repeated silently as I trained, as I ate, as I lay awake at night between Septimus and Marcus. The soldier who had run my brother through with his sword while I watched helplessly.

I had imagined this moment for ten years. In the ludus, during the endless hours of training, during the nights when sleep wouldn’t come, I had pictured his face, remembering every detail — the scar above his right eye, the cruel smile, the cold emptiness in his gaze as he killed Tarus. I had rehearsed what I would say, what I would do, how I would make him suffer before he died.

Now, the parchment Septimus had given me lay open on my bed, the charcoal sketch of the man staring back at me. One of the Palace Guards. Living in comfort in the wealthy eastern quarter of the city. Honoured. Respected. While my brother’s bones lay in the sands of the desert.

After learning his whereabouts, I had watched his house. Excusing myself from academy meals or social events with feigned illness or exhaustion, I had donned plain clothes and tracked his movements, learning his routine. He left for the palace each morning at dawn, returning after sunset. On his days off, he visited the bathhouse near the Forum, then drank at a tavern called The Gilded Laurel until late. His wife — a small, pretty woman with nervous hands — rarely left their home. They had no children.

Tonight would be the night. His shift rotation meant he would be off duty tomorrow, which gave me a full day to compose myself before returning to the academy. Marcus and Septimus had both fallen asleep hours ago, exhausted from their own day’s labour. Tarshi was still out — another resistance meeting, no doubt. I had pretended to sleep until their breathing deepened and steadied, then silently slipped from between them.

Now, dressed in dark breeches and a hooded tunic, I tucked the small knife Marcus had given me into my boot and a larger blade into the sheath at my hip. The weapons were familiar, comforting — extensions of myself after years in the arena. I applied a smear of ash beneath my eyes to reduce the reflection of moonlight on my face. Then, with one last look at the sleeping forms of my lovers, I slipped out the window and into the night.

The city was different after dark. The grand boulevards and marketplaces that teemed with life during the day lay quiet and abandoned. Only in certain quarters did activity continue — the wharves where ships were loaded regardless of the hour, the brothels and gambling dens where the city’s vices flourished in darkness, the temples where eternal flames were tended by devoted priests. I kept to the shadows, avoiding the occasional patrol of city watchmen and the rare nobleman’s litter carried by slaves.

The eastern quarter was well-patrolled, its residents protected by both city guards and private security. But I had learned the patterns of these patrols during my observations. I slipped between them easily, scaling a garden wall to avoid a checkpoint, then dropping silently into a courtyard fragrant with night-blooming jasmine.

The Gilded Laurel stood at the corner of two wide streets, its upper windows still blazing with light despite the late hour. Through the open shutters came the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the plucking of a lyre. I positioned myself in the shadow of a colonnade across the street, becoming as still as the marble columns themselves.

I didn’t have to wait long. Shortly after midnight, the tavern door opened, spilling golden light onto the cobblestones. A group of men emerged, their Imperial uniforms marking them as officers of the Palace Guard. They were drunk, laughing loudly as they clapped each other on the shoulder and made ribald jokes. I scanned their faces quickly, my heart thundering in my chest.

And there he was.

Lucius Arilius. He was older than in my memories, his hair now streaked with grey at the temples, lines etched around his eyes and mouth. But I would never forget that face. Not as long as I lived. My hand moved unconsciously to the hilt of my knife.

Not yet. Not here.

The group separated at the intersection, each heading in a different direction toward their homes. Arilius turned down a narrow street that I knew led to his house. I followed, keeping to the shadows, moving as silently as the cats that prowled the city’s rooftops. The street was empty, the houses on either side dark and quiet.

Halfway down the street, Arilius paused, swaying slightly from the wine. He fumbled with his belt, then relieved himself against a wall. I slipped closer, my hand now fully gripping my knife. It would be easy. So easy. A quick approach from behind, a blade across the throat, and it would be over.

But no. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to know who killed him, and why.

He finished and adjusted his clothing, then continued down the street. I followed. His house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, a modest but well-maintained two-story building with flower boxes in the windows. As he approached his door, I stepped out of the shadows.

“Lucius Arilius.”

He turned, squinting into the darkness. His hand moved instinctively to the sword at his hip. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

I stepped forward, pushing back my hood. The moonlight would illuminate my face, though I doubted he would recognize me. I had been a child when he last saw me, and the arena had changed me in countless ways.

“Do you remember a village a few days from Veredus?” I asked, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.

He frowned, his hand still on his weapon. “What?”

“Thirteen storms ago. A village in the northern province. Your unit was sent to make an example of traitors.”

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, quickly replaced by wariness. “Who are you?”

“My name is Livia.” I took another step forward. “You killed my brother. He was seventeen. He was trying to protect me.”

Arilius drew his sword, but the movement was sluggish from drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go home, little girl, before you get yourself in trouble.”

“You ran him through while I watched. You looked me in the eye afterward, and you smiled.” The memory burned white-hot in my mind. “I swore that day that I would find you. That I would make you pay.”

Understanding dawned on his face, followed by fear. He glanced around the empty street, knowing there was no one to help him. “Listen, girl. Whatever you think I did—”

“I don’t think. I know.” I drew my blade in one fluid motion. “You murdered an innocent boy who was trying to protect his sister.”

“I was a soldier following orders,” he protested, backing away. “There were rebels in that village. Traitors conspiring with the Talfen. We had to—”

“There were no rebels,” I spat. “No traitors. Just families. Children. Elders. And you slaughtered them all.”

He raised his sword, but his stance was poor, his balance compromised by alcohol. “Stay back. I’m warning you. I’m a warrior of the Palace Guard. If you harm me—”

“You’ll be dead,” I finished for him. “And I’ll be long gone.”

He lunged then, a clumsy attack that I sidestepped easily. My training had prepared me for opponents far more skilled than this drunken fool. I slashed at his sword arm, opening a deep cut from elbow to wrist. He cried out, his weapon clattering to the cobblestones.

“Please,” he gasped, clutching his bleeding arm. “I have a wife. She depends on me. I’m not the man I was then.”

“Did you look my brother in his eyes?” I asked, circling him like a predator. “Did you actually look at any of them before you cut them down?”

“I don’t remember your brother,” he said, his face pale in the moonlight. “There were so many... so many villages, so many people. They all blur together after a while.”

His words struck me like a physical blow. He didn’t even remember Tarus. My brother’s death, the moment that had defined my entire existence for the past decade, was nothing more than a forgettable incident in this man’s life.

“You don’t remember?” I whispered, rage building inside me like a gathering storm. “You murdered him, and you don’t even remember?”

Arilius sank to his knees, still clutching his bleeding arm. “We were told they were all traitors. Every village we cleared, they told us we were protecting the Empire from Talfen sympathizers.” His voice cracked. “After a while, you stop seeing them as people. It’s the only way to keep doing it.”

“And now? Do you still believe that?”

He looked up at me, his eyes haunted. “I see their faces when I close my eyes. Children. Old men. Women. I drink to make them go away, but they never do.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “I’ve killed so many, and I can’t remember any of their names or faces. But they remember me. They’re waiting for me in the dark.”

For a moment, I hesitated. This broken, pathetic man wasn’t the monster I had carried in my heart for thirteen storms. He was just a soldier who had followed orders, who had become the Empire’s weapon and then been discarded once he was too damaged to function properly.

But then I remembered Tarus. The light fading from his eyes as he reached for me. The warmth of his blood on my hands as I tried desperately to stop the bleeding. The sound of my own screams as the soldiers dragged me away from his body. the horrors I’d endured after they’d sold me as a slave.

“You’re going to kill me no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

He went to get up, but I moved closer, touching the point of my gladius to his throat.

“No. You stay on your knees. You die like the coward you are.”

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“I hope my brother’s face haunts you in the afterlife,” I whispered, and then I struck.

The blade slid across his throat in one smooth motion, opening a crimson smile beneath his chin. His eyes widened in surprise, his hands rising instinctively to the wound, but it was already too late. Blood poured between his fingers, splashing onto my face and chest as he fell forward. I stepped back to avoid being pulled down with him, watching dispassionately as he collapsed onto the cobblestones, his life leaking away in a widening pool of darkness.

It happened so quickly. One moment he was alive, speaking, breathing, and the next he was just meat, cooling in the night air. I had killed many times in the arena, but this was different. This wasn’t combat. This wasn’t survival. This was an execution.

I stood over his body, waiting to feel something — triumph, satisfaction, relief. But there was nothing. Just an emptiness that seemed to expand inside me, threatening to consume everything it touched.

From inside his house came a woman’s voice, sleepy and concerned. “Arilius? Is that you?”

I stepped back into the shadows as the front door opened. His wife stood framed in the doorway, a lamp in her hand, her sleep-tousled hair falling over her shoulders. For a moment, she didn’t comprehend what she was seeing. Then she saw the body, the blood, and her face transformed into a mask of horror.

The scream that tore from her throat cut through the night like a blade. It was a sound of pure anguish, of a world shattering into irreparable fragments. It was the same sound I had made when Tarus died in my arms.

I turned and ran, her screams following me through the darkened streets. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs threatened to give out beneath me. I ran until the eastern quarter was far behind me, until I reached the training grounds of the academy where the dragons were kept. I slipped in round the back, where the guards rarely patrolled. Who would be stupid enough to steal a dragon after all?

The dragon pens were quiet at this hour, most of the great beasts sleeping, their massive bodies rising and falling with each breath.

Sirrax was awake, as if he had been waiting for me. His massive head rose as I approached, golden eyes gleaming in the darkness. A low rumble of greeting vibrated in his chest.

“Hello, friend,” I whispered, reaching out to stroke his scaled snout. “I did it. I killed him.”

The dragon nudged my hand gently, sensing my distress. The blood on my skin and clothes didn’t bother him — dragons were predators, after all. They understood death.

I sank to the ground beside him, my back against his warm flank. Now that I had stopped moving, my body began to register what I had done. My hands shook uncontrollably. My stomach heaved, and I barely turned away in time before vomiting onto the straw-covered floor. Cold sweat broke out across my skin, and an uncontrollable trembling seized me.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I gasped, once the spasms had passed. “I was supposed to feel better. It was supposed to be over.”

Sirrax shifted, curling his massive body around me protectively. Through our bond, I felt a wave of warmth and acceptance, an emotion too complex for words but that I understood instinctively. He didn’t judge. He didn’t condemn. He simply acknowledged my pain and offered comfort.

“His wife,” I whispered, the woman’s scream still echoing in my ears. “She sounded like me, Sirrax. When they killed Tarus, I screamed just like that.”

The dragon made a soft crooning sound, nudging my shoulder gently.

“And he didn’t even remember Tarus. All these years I’ve carried the memory of my brother’s murder, and the man who did it couldn’t even remember his face.” Tears flowed freely now, hot tracks down my cold cheeks. “What does that mean? What was it all for?”

I have rarely cried since the day Tarus died. Not when I was sold to the ludus. Not when Cato beat me within an inch of my life for disobedience. Not when Drusus violated me for his pleasure, or when I killed my first opponent in the arena. Emotion was dangerous and I was convinced that vengeance would be my only solace. I always had to be strong.

But now, with Arilius’s blood still drying on my skin, the dam broke. I wept for Tarus, for my parents, for the village I had lost. I wept for the child I had been and the woman I had become. I wept for Arilius’s wife, now living the nightmare I had endured. Most of all, I wept because the vengeance I had sought for so long had brought me no peace, no closure, no sense that the scales of justice had been balanced.

Sirrax remained a solid, comforting presence as my grief poured out. Through our bond, I felt his steadfast support, his unwavering acceptance. Dragons didn’t understand human concepts of revenge or justice, but they understood loyalty and protection. In his mind, I had eliminated a threat to my pack. It was that simple.

Eventually, the storm of emotion subsided, leaving me drained but strangely clear-headed. I wiped my face with a corner of my tunic that wasn’t soaked with blood.

“One down,” I whispered. “But he was just following orders. The real culprit is still out there.”

The Emperor. But for the first time since I’d embarked on this path of vengeance, I questioned whether killing him would bring me any more satisfaction than killing Arilius had. Would it fill the emptiness inside me? Would it bring back Tarus and my parents? Would it make the thirteen years of slavery and suffering worthwhile? I was wiser now and I had my answer splashed in blood across my face. I knew that assassinating the Emperor wouldn’t do any of that.

Emperor Valorian. The man whose policies treated the Talfen as subhuman, who sent soldiers to slaughter innocent civilians under the pretence of security. The man whose greed and paranoia had torn apart countless families like mine. The man who had killed my brother was dead. But the monster who had ordered my village destroyed still lived, still ruled, still sent soldiers to commit atrocities in the name of Imperial security. My path forward still led to the Emperor, to the promised day when I would stand before him and exact the final payment for what had been taken from me. Peace. Not the false peace of vengeance fulfilled, but something deeper and more lasting. The peace that comes from building rather than destroying. From creating a future rather than avenging the past. Killing him might not bring me the peace I craved, but maybe whoever came after him could bring peace to the Empire.

Vengeance would be mine, but my parents had fought for peace, and I would too. I would leave diplomacy to those suited for it. I was not a politician or a noble. I was a gladiator and I had trained, fought and killed in the arena.

“Through blood and steel, I will forge myself into the weapon of their destruction,” I whispered, the words starting to take on a new meaning in my mind as I spoke them to myself in the dark.

Sirrax stirred, his massive head coming to rest beside me. His golden eyes studied me with an intelligence that sometimes caught me off guard. Dragons were not mere beasts, despite how the academy taught us to treat them. They were ancient, wise creatures with their own understanding of the world.

I placed my hand on his snout, feeling the heat of his breath against my palm. The scales beneath my fingers were warm and smooth, vibrating slightly with each exhalation. “What should I do, Sirrax? I’ve come so far, sacrificed so much.”

Through our bond came a sensation I hadn’t experienced before — a warmth that spread from my chest outward, accompanied by images that weren’t quite mine. Flashes of flight, of soaring above clouds, of viewing the world from heights where human conflicts seemed small and temporary. The freedom of the sky, where past and future melted into the endless now of wind and sunlight.

“You understand, don’t you?” I whispered, pressing my forehead against his scales. “You always understand me.”

His response wasn’t in words but in emotions — a fierce surge of protective loyalty mingled with something deeper. In that moment, I felt him not as a mount or a weapon, but as a kindred spirit. Another soul who knew what it meant to be bound by chains both visible and invisible.

I closed my eyes, allowing myself to sink deeper into our connection. The academy taught us that dragon bonds were utilitarian — a psychic link that allowed rider and mount to coordinate in battle. But this felt like something more ancient and profound. As if Sirrax had recognized something in me from our first meeting, some essential quality that called to him.

I ran my hand along his great neck, fingers brushing over his great iron collar. It was heavily rusted, eroding in places. The academy would want to replace it were we to be accepted, but I couldn’t quite face the thought of placing another around his neck. There was no way they’d allow him to remain here without a way of chaining him though, and the thought broke my heart. I might have some degree of freedom after escaping from the arena, but Sirrax didn’t. His loyalty to me meant he was still bound in chains.

My heart ached with sadness and guilt, but a wave of love and pride washed over me, and I blinked at him. It was such a strong sensation, it brought fresh tears to my eyes.

“I love you too,” I whispered. “And I swear, when this is over I’ll free you completely. No more collars, no more cages."

A pulse of fierce approval came through our bond, so strong it left me breathless. For a brief moment, I could have sworn I saw something flicker in Sirrax’s golden eyes — a consciousness more complex than anything the academy masters would acknowledge.

He lowered his head, positioning it so that his breath warmed my blood-stained clothes. The heat intensified, drying the fabric against my skin. It was an oddly tender gesture from such a massive predator, like a mother cat cleaning her kitten.

“Thank you,” I murmured, stroking the sensitive spot beneath his jaw that always made him rumble with pleasure. “For everything.”

Through our connection, I felt his certainty — whatever came next, we would face it together. His loyalty wasn’t to the academy or the Empire, but to me alone. In a world where every relationship seemed complicated by ulterior motives and divided loyalties, there was something profoundly reassuring about the dragon’s straightforward devotion.

I hadn’t come seeking absolution, but somehow Sirrax had given me something even more valuable — acceptance. Not just of what I had done tonight, but of who I was at my core. The broken girl, the vengeful gladiator, the woman beginning to question her path — he embraced all these versions of me without judgment.

The academy’s bells tolled in the distance, marking the fifth hour after midnight. Soon the sky would begin to lighten with the approach of dawn. I needed to clean myself and return to our quarters before Marcus and Septimus discovered my absence.

“I need to go,” I told Sirrax, rising stiffly to my feet. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The dragon huffed softly, a plume of warm air rustling my hair. His tail curled briefly around my ankles — a last touch of reassurance before releasing me to the human world with all its complexities. Through our connection, I felt a pulse of what I could only interpret as love — uncomplicated, unconditional.

As I turned to leave, Sirrax made a low sound in his throat, almost like a word. I paused, looking back at him curiously. His golden eyes seemed to glow from within as they met mine, and for a heartbeat, I had the strangest sensation that he was trying to tell me something important.

But the moment passed, and I had more pressing concerns. I made my way to the academy baths, thankfully deserted at this hour. I stripped off my bloodied clothes and submerged myself in the tepid water, scrubbing my skin until it was raw. The water around me turned pink, then clear again as the evidence of my night's work drifted away.

Yet even as I washed away Arilius’s blood, I could still feel Sirrax’s presence in my mind — a warm, steady connection that somehow made the burden of what I had done a little easier to bear. Whatever path I chose in the days ahead, I knew with absolute certainty that I would not walk it alone.