Page 30 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

30

I couldn’t sleep. Again.

The memory of Tarshi’s hands on me kept replaying in my mind — his strength as he pushed me against the rough stone wall, the way he’d forced my submission with terrifying ease. I’d fought him, of course — violently at first, thrashing and cursing, spitting hatred into his face. But then something inside me had fractured and given way, a wall crumbling that I’d spent my entire life building, and my resistance had diminished until it was nothing more than a pretence, a lie I told myself even as my body betrayed me.

“You hate what I am,” he’d whispered against my ear, his breath hot on my skin, sending unwanted shivers down my spine, “but you want what I can do to you.”

And Gods help me, he was right. That was the poison eating me from within — the knowledge that burned like acid through my veins. I wanted it. Wanted him. The enemy. The demon-spawn. The Talfen.

I threw off the thin blanket and sat up, my skin slick with cold sweat despite the mild night. I ran trembling hands through my hair, gripping the strands until pain gave me something to focus on besides the memories. Dawn was still hours away. In the main chamber, Livia slept soundly. Marcus was at his apartment and Tarshi — I didn’t know where Tarshi had gone.

It was better that way. Better that he wasn’t here, with his knowing eyes that seemed to see straight through me, with his half-smile that mocked my pretence of hatred.

Standing, I moved into the main chamber and stood at the window, staring out at the Imperial City sprawled below our modest dwelling. The moonlight silvered the grand temples and boulevards, casting the rest in shadow. Somewhere in those shadows lurked the truth of what I was becoming.

My hand drifted to my throat, where bruises still lurked beneath my collar — his fingerprints branded into my skin. I’d told Livia and Marcus they were from a tavern fight. Another lie atop the mountain of deceptions I’d built.

The memory surged back, unbidden and unwanted. Tarshi’s fingers digging into my hips, pinning me against the wall. The low growl in his throat as he’d pressed his body against mine, letting me feel his hardness. The way his eyes had seemed to glow in the darkness of that alley — inhuman, predatory. Talfen. Half-demon, as the Imperial propaganda claimed. In that moment, I’d believed it.

He’d laughed, wiped it away, and then — Gods forgive me — he’d forced his knee between my legs, found me hard and wanting, and laughed again, softer this time, triumphant.

“See?” he’d whispered. “Your body knows the truth even if your mind refuses it.”

And then his mouth had crushed against mine, stealing my breath, my resistance, my very sense of self. I’d expected violence, had been prepared for it, had almost wanted it — the clean, purifying pain of a fight. But what I hadn’t been prepared for was the hunger. The way my body had responded to his dominance, the way something deep inside me had uncoiled and surrendered.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to banish the memory. But it clung to me, tenacious as a shadow.

What kind of man was I, to desire what I had been taught all my life to despise? To crave the submission I’d spent years fighting against? When I closed my eyes, I saw Tarshi’s face above mine, felt the weight of his body pinning me down, and heard his voice commanding me to yield. And worse — far worse — I imagined yielding. Completely. Surrendering everything I was to his hands, his mouth, his will.

The thoughts sickened me. And aroused me. And sickened me further because of my arousal.

We’d been raised on stories of Talfen demons — half-human abominations who could seduce the mind as well as the body. Who could turn a loyal citizen against the Empire with their unnatural powers. Dark powers that could bind you with the shadows themselves. As a child, I’d believed those tales without question. As a man, I’d seen enough to convince me — Talfen were abominations.

Now with Tarshi’s touch still burning on my skin, I knew for certain the stories were true. What else could explain this madness? This compulsion to submit to the very thing I’d been taught to hate? This craving that woke me in the night, sweating and hard, the echo of his commands still ringing in my ears?

On your knees.

The worst part was how naturally those words had come to him. On your knees. As if he’d known exactly what I needed — what I feared — what I wanted. And damn me to Inferi, I’d complied right there in that filthy alley. I’d knelt in front of that half-breed and let him push that fucking enormous cock down my throat, and I’d fucking loved it.

I slammed my fist against the windowsill, welcoming the sharp pain that shot through my knuckles. Blood smeared across the weathered wood. Good. Physical pain was better than this... this other thing.

The sound of approaching footsteps on the stairs interrupted my thoughts. Not Tarshi’s near-silent tread or Marcus’s heavy stride. These were quick, light steps I recognized immediately. Livia. But that was impossible — she was asleep in her bed.

Or was supposed to be.

I turned just as the door eased open. Livia slipped in, then froze when she saw me standing by the window.

“Septimus,” she whispered, the shock plain on her face. “I thought you were asleep.”

The room was dark, but moonlight from the window illuminated her enough to see something was wrong. Her clothes were different from what she’d worn to bed. Her hair was damp. And her eyes — her eyes held a haunted look I hadn’t seen since our early days at the ludus.

“Where have you been?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

She hesitated, and in that moment I knew whatever she said next would be a lie. We’d known each other too long, survived too much together. I could read her silences as clearly as her words.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said finally. “I went to see Sirrax.”

A partial truth, then. “Dressed like that? With wet hair?”

Her hand went to her damp locks, a tell she’d never managed to eliminate. “I used the baths afterward. The dragon pens are filthy.”

“Livia,” I said, taking a step toward her. “What have you done?”

Something in my tone must have told her the game was up. Her shoulders sagged and she sank onto the nearby settle.“I killed him,” she said quietly. “Arilius. The soldier who murdered Tarus.”

The words struck me like a blow to the chest. “By the Gods, Livia. Alone? You went after an Imperial Captain alone?”

“He was drunk. It wasn’t difficult.”

“That’s not the point!” I hissed, struggling to keep my voice down. “We had a plan. We were going to do it together—”

“No, you had a plan,” she interrupted. “I never agreed to it.”

“You could have been killed! Or worse, captured. Do you have any idea what they do to people who murder Imperial officers?” The images that flashed through my mind made me sick — Livia on the execution block, Livia being tortured for information, her screams as she refused to give us up. Because she would, I knew that without a doubt.

“It’s done, Septimus,” she said, her voice flat with exhaustion. “He’s dead. My brother’s killer is dead.”

I paced the small room, trying to contain the storm building inside me. I wanted to shake her, to make her understand the recklessness of what she’d done. But there was something in her eyes — something broken and raw — that held me back.

“Did it help?” I asked finally. “Killing him. Did it bring you peace?”

She looked down at her hands. “No.”

That single word contained so much pain that my anger faltered. I sat beside her on the settle, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching.

“Tell me,” I said.

And she did. In a quiet, steady voice, she described following Arilius, confronting him, his pathetic attempt to defend himself, his final moments. As she spoke, I realized she wasn’t the same woman who had left our bed hours ago. Something fundamental had shifted within her.

“He didn’t even remember Tarus,” she said, her voice breaking. “All these years, I’ve carried the memory of my brother’s murder like a burning coal in my chest, and the man who did it couldn’t even remember his face.”

I reached for her hand then, unable to keep my distance from her pain. “Livia—”

“His wife found the body,” she continued. “I heard her scream. It was... it was the same sound I made when Tarus died in my arms.” She looked at me, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What have I become, Septimus? What kind of monster am I?”

“You’re not a monster,” I said fiercely. “You’re a survivor. We both are.”

“Is that enough? To just survive?” She shook her head. “I thought killing him would fill this emptiness inside me, but it’s only made it deeper.”

I understood then why she’d gone alone. This wasn’t about revenge — not entirely. It was about confronting the ghost that had haunted her since childhood. About facing the man who had transformed her life and seeing if his death could transform it back.

It hadn’t, of course. Nothing could undo what had been done to us. The village we’d lost, the years in the ludus, the blood on our hands — these things were woven into the fabric of who we were. Cut them out, and we might unravel completely.

“You should have told me,” I said, the last of my anger giving way to hurt. “You promised after the incident with Varin — no more secrets. No more solo missions.”

“I know.” She squeezed my hand. “But this wasn’t about our mission or our plan for the Emperor. This was about Tarus. About me. I needed to do it myself.”

“Why? Don’t you trust me?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, exposing a vulnerability I usually kept buried.

“Of course I trust you.” She turned to face me fully. “Septimus, you’re the only constant I’ve had for thirteen years. Through everything — the ludus, the arena, this insane plan — you’ve been there. I trust you with my life. I just couldn’t trust you with this.”

“Why not?”

“Because you would have tried to protect me from it. From the reality of what vengeance actually feels like.” She touched my face, her fingers cool against my skin. “You’ve always tried to shield me, ever since you promised Tarus you’d keep me safe. But some wounds need to be felt, not bandaged.”

Her words struck a chord of truth I didn’t want to acknowledge. Since the day we’d been captured, I’d appointed myself her protector. It was the promise I’d made to her dying brother, yes, but it was more than that. It was how I justified my own survival when so many others had died. If I kept Livia alive, if I helped her achieve her vengeance, then maybe my life would have meaning.

But increasingly, I wondered if I was protecting Livia or simply controlling her. If my devotion was selfless or the most selfish thing about me.

“I would have gone with you,” I said quietly. “Not to shield you, but to stand beside you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Livia. To stand beside you.”

“I know.” She leaned her head against my shoulder, her damp hair leaving a cool spot on my skin. “And I love you for it. But this was a step I needed to take alone.”

The words slipped past my defences, lodging somewhere beneath my ribs. I love you. She’d never said those words to me before, though I’d felt them in countless other ways — in her trust, her loyalty, the way she always found her way back to my side no matter what.

“Did you feel anything?” I asked. “When he died? Anything at all?”

“Empty,” she whispered. “I felt empty. And then I felt everything at once — grief, rage, regret, relief. It was overwhelming. I went to Sirrax afterward. Being with him... it helped. Dragons don’t judge. They just accept.”

I nodded, though a stab of jealousy cut through me at the thought that she’d sought comfort from the dragon rather than from me. It was irrational, I knew. Sirrax was bound to her in ways I could never match. And yet—

“Was it worth it?” I asked. “Now that it’s done?”

She was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know. I thought killing Arilius would be a step toward healing. Instead, it feels like I’ve opened a wound I didn’t know was there.” She straightened, looking into my eyes. “But it’s done. And now I know.”

“Know what?”

“That killing the Emperor won’t bring me peace either.” She spoke the words without emotion, a simple statement of fact. “But I’m still going to do it.”

A chill ran through me. “Why? If you know it won’t help—”

“Because it’s not just about me anymore. It’s about all of us. About the Talfen. About ending this war.” Her eyes had that determined look I knew too well. “My parents died trying to make peace. I’m going to finish what they started — not with diplomacy, but with blood.”

“By assassinating the Emperor? Livia, even if you succeed, there will just be another tyrant to take his place. The system doesn’t change because one man dies.”

“Maybe not. But it sends a message. And sometimes a message is enough to start a revolution.” She stood, moving to the washbasin to splash water on her face. “We still have months before the final ceremony. Plenty of time to plan the details.”

I watched her, this woman who had grown from the terrified girl I’d sworn to protect into someone I barely recognized sometimes. Strong, ruthless, unyielding — and yet also capable of profound compassion and vulnerability. The contradictions in her echoed my own.

There was so much I wasn’t telling her. The shame and confusion that tangled inside me whenever I thought of Tarshi. The way he’d pushed me to my knees in that alley behind the tavern, his hand fisted in my hair, forcing me to look up at him. “I’m going to come down your throat. And you’re going to swallow every drop.”

And then his mouth on mine, brutal and demanding, stealing my breath and my resistance in one devastating move. The hardness of his body against mine, so different from a woman's softness. The way his strength had matched my own, challenged it, overcome it. The thrill of that defeat, shocking in its intensity.

I’d left as soon as it was over, disgusted with myself, with him, with the whole sick situation. But the truth I couldn’t escape was that I’d thought about it every moment since. Craved it. Hated myself for craving it. Dreamed of what might have happened if I hadn’t fled — of Tarshi’s hands continuing their exploration, of my surrender becoming complete, of the line between hatred and desire blurring until it disappeared entirely.

These thoughts haunted me, tormented me. Each time Tarshi entered a room, my body tensed — partly in genuine revulsion, partly in anticipation. Each time our eyes met, I wondered if he could see the war raging inside me. If he knew that I lay awake at night, reliving that moment in the alley, imagining variations where I didn’t resist, where I gave in to the hunger that clawed at my insides.

What would Livia think if she knew? What would any of them think? That I was bewitched, perhaps — ensnared by some Talfen magic. That was easier to believe than the truth: that something in me had always been drawn to the forbidden. To power. To submission. That Tarshi had simply been the one to recognize and exploit it.

The shame of it burned like fire in my veins. I’d been raised to believe the Talfen were animals at best, demons at worst. My family had served the Empire proudly for generations. My father had died fighting Talfen rebels. And here I was, fantasizing about surrendering to one. About being dominated, controlled, possessed by the enemy.

How could I tell Livia that? How could I explain that while she was risking everything for our mission, I was betraying her with thoughts of the enemy? That I was betraying myself?

I couldn’t. Some secrets were too heavy to share, even with her.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, turning to face me. “You look troubled.”

I swallowed hard. “Just worried about you. About all of this.” Not a lie, exactly, but not the whole truth either. “You could have been killed tonight, Livia. Do you understand what that would do to us? To me?”

She approached me slowly, her expression softening. “I’m sorry I worried you. But I’m not sorry I did it.”

“I know.” I reached for her hand, gripping it tightly in mine. “You never apologize for doing what you believe is right. It’s one of the things I—” I stopped, the word catching in my throat.

“One of the things you what?” she prompted.

“Love about you,” I finished, the admission feeling both terrifying and inevitable. “I love you, Livia. I’ve loved you since we were children. Before I even understood what that meant.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with thirteen years of unspoken feeling. I’d never said them before, not like this. Not with their full weight and meaning.

“I know,” she said softly. “I’ve always known.”

Of course she had. We knew each other too well for such secrets. But knowing and acknowledging were different things.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” I hurried to add. “I know you care for Marcus, and for—” I couldn’t bring myself to say Tarshi’s name. “I know your heart is divided. I just needed you to hear it, especially after tonight. Life is too uncertain for unspoken truths.”

Even as I said it, the irony of my words wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, preaching honesty while hiding my darkest secret. Professing love while harbouring thoughts that would wound her if she knew. But perhaps some truths were better left unspoken. Perhaps some burdens were meant to be carried alone.

She stepped closer, placing her palm against my cheek. “Septimus. Look at me.”

I raised my eyes to hers, bracing myself for pity or gentle rejection.

“I love you too,” she said, her voice steady and certain. “Not as the child I was, or as Tarus’s sister, but as the woman I’ve become. The woman who has survived because you were always there, always fighting for me, even when I didn’t think I deserved it.”

Something broke open inside me — a dam that had held back emotions for so long they’d nearly drowned me. I pulled her to me roughly, burying my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her that had become as familiar as my own.

“Then why do you shut me out?” I whispered against her temple. “Why do you take these risks alone when I would die to keep you safe?”

“Because I couldn’t bear it if you did,” she answered, her arms tightening around me. “Die for me, I mean. Too many people have already sacrificed themselves in my name. I won’t add you to that list.”

“It’s not your choice,” I said, drawing back to look at her. “It never has been. From the moment your brother made me promise to protect you, my life has been bound to yours. Not because of the promise — though the Gods know I’ve clung to that as my purpose — but because somewhere along the way, I realized I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, and she brushed them away impatiently. “Now you sound like Marcus.”

“Maybe he and I aren’t so different after all.” The admission cost me something, but it was worth it to see the surprise in her face. “We both love you. We both want you safe.”

“And what about what I want?” she challenged, though her tone was gentle. “To be wrapped in silk and protected like some precious relic? To abandon my quest for justice because it might put me in danger?”

“No,” I said, taking her face in my hands. “I want you to be exactly who you are. Fierce. Unstoppable. The woman who survived the ludus and the arena. The woman who rides a dragon and infiltrates the academy. But I want you to live, Livia. I want you to survive this vendetta and find something beyond it. Something worth living for, not just dying for.”

She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. “What if I don’t know how to do that anymore? What if vengeance is all I am?”

“Then I’ll help you remember. We all will — me, Marcus, Tarshi, Octavia. We’ll remind you of all the things you are besides an avenger.” I brushed a strand of damp hair from her face. “You’re a friend, a lover, a gladiator, a dragon rider. You’re the girl who used to collect wildflowers by the river. The warrior who never leaves a comrade behind. You contain multitudes, Livia. Don’t let the Emperor take that from you too.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and I caught it with my thumb. “When did you get so wise?” she asked, with a shaky laugh.

“I’m not wise. I’m terrified.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “Terrified of losing you to this obsession. Of watching you sacrifice yourself for a moment of vengeance that won’t bring back any of the people we’ve lost.”

“What if it’s not just about vengeance anymore?” she whispered. “What if it’s about making sure no other village burns? No other brother dies protecting his sister? No other children are sold into slavery because they had the misfortune of being born in the wrong place?”

I pulled back, studying her face. This was new — a shift in her thinking I hadn’t anticipated. “Then it’s even more important that you survive to see it through. One assassination isn’t a revolution, Livia. It’s just the beginning. And beginnings need leaders.”

She shook her head. “I’m no leader. I’m a weapon, forged in blood and pain.”

“You’re whatever you choose to be,” I insisted. “That’s what freedom means. The choice to define yourself.”

The irony of my words wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, preaching about self-definition while hiding the truth of my own confused desires. Telling her she could choose her identity while I struggled with mine. But perhaps that was the point — we were all struggling to become something beyond what circumstances had made of us.

Livia sighed, leaning against me. The fight seemed to drain out of her, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. “I’m so tired, Septimus. Tired of fighting. Tired of hating. Tired of sacrificing pieces of myself to survive.”

I held her tighter, feeling the fragility beneath her strength. “Then rest. Just for tonight. Let me keep watch.”

She nodded against my chest, allowing me to guide her to the bed. I helped her out of her boots and outer clothes, then lay beside her, pulling the blanket over us both. She curled against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine as it always had.

“Promise me something,” she murmured, already half-asleep. “Promise you’ll tell me if I start to become a monster. If I lose sight of why we’re doing this.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “I promise. But only if you promise the same for me.”

She made a soft sound of agreement, then slipped into sleep, her breathing becoming deep and even. I lay awake, holding her, listening to the sounds of the city through the open window.

Dawn would come soon enough, bringing with it all the complications we’d set aside for this moment of honesty. Marcus would return from his night shift. Tarshi would slink back from wherever he’d gone, his knowing eyes meeting mine across the room, seeing through my pretence to the desire I couldn’t seem to extinguish. Livia would don her noble disguise and return to the Academy. And I would go back to pretending that my world wasn't falling apart at the seams.

But for now, in the darkness, with Livia’s warmth pressed against me and her confession of love still hanging in the air between us, I allowed myself to hope. Not for the simple future I’d once imagined — a cottage by the sea, children with Livia’s fierce eyes — but for something more complex and uncertain. A future where we all survived this mad venture. Where Livia found purpose beyond vengeance.

Where, perhaps, I reconciled the contradictions tearing me apart — the loyal imperial citizen and the traitor, the protector and the one who needed protection, the man who loved a woman and desired a man. Where I found the courage to face what I was becoming, whatever that might be.

It was a fragile hope, easily crushed. But as I finally drifted toward sleep, Livia safe in my arms, it was enough to keep the darkness at bay. For tonight, at least, that would have to be enough.