Page 4 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

4

I hated flying. Hated the lurching sensation in my gut when the dragon dipped suddenly, hated the thin air that made my lungs burn, hated the way the ground looked impossibly distant below us. Most of all, I hated clinging to Tarshi’s waist like some terrified child, my arms wrapped around him simply because there was nowhere else to hold.

The storm had finally passed, leaving the desert sky painfully bright and clear. Livia sat at the front, her back straight, hair whipping behind her in the wind. She looked like she belonged there, as though she’d been born to ride dragons instead of fighting them in the arena. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

“Still with us back there?” Tarshi called over his shoulder, his voice nearly lost in the rush of wind.

I grunted in response, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing the fear in my voice. Three days we’d been flying, and it hadn’t gotten any easier. Days of this torture, of pressing myself against a half-breed I didn’t trust, all for her. All for Livia.

She hadn’t spoken much to me since that night in the town, when I’d tried to rid us of Tarshi once and for all. I still didn’t understand why she’d brought him along. Was it pity? The same impulse that had made her free the dragon instead of killing it?

The mongrel shifted position, adjusting his grip on the dragon’s scales, and I couldn’t help but notice his movement. To keep a strong hold, I had to sit close to him, my body pressed against his back. I hated every moment of it, but I would endure anything to stay with Livia, and she’d made it very clear she wasn’t leaving him behind, whether he deserved it or not.

She hadn’t left me either, and I’d definitely deserved to have been left behind after the way I’d treated her that night in my room. I tried not to think about it; the feel of her body pressed against mine, the glimpse between her legs before she’d brought me back to my senses. The memory filled me with shame, but also the overpowering desire I’d felt, still felt. The memory stirred something in me, heat pooling low in my belly despite the fear of flight. The dragon banked sharply, and I tightened my grip on Tarshi instinctively. He was solid muscle beneath my arms, his body radiating heat even in the chill of high altitude. I hated how strong he felt, how capable. How easily he’d bested me in our fight despite my best efforts to kill him. I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how tightly I was pressed against Tarshi’s back. Close enough that he couldn’t possibly miss the effect my thoughts of Livia had produced, pressed as I was against him.

He turned, looking over his shoulder at me, his eyes widening slightly in recognition, then narrowed with something that might have been amusement.

“Enjoying the ride after all?” he asked, voice low enough that Livia couldn’t hear over the wind.

Heat rushed to my face — humiliation and rage in equal measure. I shoved away from him as much as I dared at this height. “Fuck you,” I hissed.

He merely raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

I considered shoving him off the dragon entirely, weighing the satisfaction against my own likely death. Instead, I clung to him as the dragon began to descend, every muscle in my body rigid with hate and embarrassment and something else I refused to name. Before I could decide, Livia’s voice cut through the wind.

“There it is! The Imperial City!”

Despite my hatred for the creature in front of me, I leaned around him to look. Even from this distance, Imperialis was magnificent. The city sprawled across the valley floor, a vast expanse of white marble and red tile roofs gleaming in the afternoon sun. The great river Timar wound through its heart like a silver snake, crossed by a dozen stone bridges. At the city’s centre, perched atop the highest of the seven hills, stood the Imperial Palace, its golden dome catching the light like a second sun. Aqueducts stretched like stone tentacles from the city walls, reaching toward distant mountains.

“Gods,” I breathed, forgetting my discomfort for a moment. The city was everything I’d heard and more — the heart of the Empire, the centre of the civilized world. And somewhere in that maze of streets and buildings was the man Livia had come to kill.

Livia guided the dragon lower, circling wide around the city’s perimeter. “We can’t land inside the walls,” she called back to us. “We’ll have to find somewhere to land, somewhere we can leave our dragon - at least for now.”

I nodded against his back, not trusting myself to speak. The dragon continued its descent, and my stomach lurched in response. Focus on something else, I told myself. Anything but the drop.

So I focused on her instead.

Livia’s silhouette against the cloudless sky, the curve of her spine, the strength in her shoulders. The way she’d looked at me when I’d finally woken after Tarshi knocked me unconscious — disappointed but not surprised. As though she’d expected better from me but wasn’t shocked by my failure.

I wanted to be the man she believed I could be. Wanted to erase the memory of my betrayal with loyalty so fierce it would burn away all doubt. If following her on this insane quest to the Imperial City was what it took, then so be it. I’d follow her into the jaws of death itself if it meant a chance at redemption.

Not that I believed in her plan. The Imperial City was a fortress, the Emperor untouchable within its walls. We’d be captured before we ever got close enough to enact whatever revenge she envisioned. But I’d go along with it for now, gain her trust again, then find the right moment to steer her toward safety instead. Convince her that life — our lives together — was worth more than vengeance.

The dragon dropped lower, its massive wings creating downdrafts that stirred the massive plains of grasses below. My heart hammered against my ribs, as we landed with a jolt that nearly unseated me. The moment the dragon’s claws touched earth, I released Tarshi and slid awkwardly to the ground, legs unsteady after hours of flight. I turned away quickly, busying myself with the packs, desperate to put distance between us.

“Everything alright?” Livia asked, approaching from where she’d dismounted.

“Fine,” I snapped, harsher than I’d intended. “Just glad to be on solid ground.”

She studied me for a moment, head tilted in that way she had when trying to solve a puzzle. Then she nodded, apparently accepting my explanation. “We’ll rest till morning, let the dragon hunt. We can go into the city.”

I watched her walk away, the setting sun casting gold and red highlights in her dark brown hair. Behind me, I felt rather than saw Tarshi’s attention, like a weight between my shoulder blades. I’d killed men for less than the humiliation he’d just witnessed. For less than the knowing look in his eyes.

I busied myself setting up camp, falling back on the routine we’d developed over the last week. There was comfort in the familiar tasks — checking supplies, securing the perimeter, preparing a fire pit. The certainty of purpose, of knowing exactly what needed to be done next. Outside the ludus, the world felt vast and formless, each decision weighted with too many possibilities.

In the arena, I’d known my place, my purpose. Even as I’d hated it, there had been a simplicity to life there. Fight. Survive. Protect Livia when I could. Now freedom stretched before us like an endless desert, and I found myself grasping for structure, for boundaries.

But I still had one purpose, one mission that remained clear: keep Livia safe. Even from herself. Even from her own reckless plans for revenge.

The thought froze me mid-motion as I realized a new fear. What if that wasn’t enough for her anymore? In the ludus, we’d been thrown together by circumstance, but now... Now she had choices. Now she had the mongrel with his easy grace and black eyes. Now she had her dragon and her quest for vengeance. What if she no longer needed what little protection I could offer? What if, without the walls of the ludus forcing us together, she realized she had no need of me?

I watched her across the camp, talking with Tarshi as they gathered fallen branches from the grove of Icari trees she’d brought us down in. They moved in perfect coordination, anticipating each other’s needs without speaking. When did that happen? I tore my gaze away, focusing instead on building the fire pit with unnecessary force. I would prove my worth to her. Would make myself indispensable to her plan, even as I worked to change it. Livia might have choices now, but I would make sure she chose me in the end.

Even if it meant tolerating the half-breed’s presence a while longer.

The next morning, we left the dragon hidden in a secluded valley with enough game to keep it fed for a few days, then hiked the remaining distance to the city walls. My legs ached from the trek across the plains, but it was a welcome pain compared to the torment of dragon flight.

The Imperial City loomed before us as we crested the last hill. From the ground, it appeared even more imposing than it had from the dragon’s back. Massive walls of white stone rose thirty feet high, topped with iron spikes and patrolled by Legionaries in gleaming armour. Their red cloaks fluttered in the morning breeze, bright as fresh blood against the pale stone.

“It’s bigger than I imagined,” Livia murmured beside me, her voice steady despite the tension I could see in her shoulders.

We’d cleaned ourselves in the first pool of water we’d found after the storm, and I’d brought some clothing from the store along with our travel provisions, so we didn’t look any different to the other people passing through the gates, but tension still coiled in my gut as we approached the gate.

I nodded, keeping my face neutral despite the tension coiling in my gut. The Imperial guards looked bored as they waved people through, but their armour gleamed in the sunlight, and their spears were sharp. One wrong move, one hint of our true purpose, and we’d be dragged before a magistrate before we could blink.

The guard at the gate barely glanced at us as we approached, more interested in the merchant caravan behind us with its loaded wagons. My heart hammered against my ribs as we passed beneath the massive stone archway, certain at any moment someone would recognize us, would shout that we were escaped gladiators.

But no one did. We were just three more faceless visitors in a city none of us had ever seen before.

“Gods above,” Livia whispered as we stepped into the main thoroughfare, her eyes wide with wonder and trepidation. I couldn’t blame her – I felt equally overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it all.

In our town, the largest building other than the ludus had been the governor’s house – a two-story stone structure we’d thought impossibly grand. Here, buildings five and six stories tall crowded against each other, casting the narrow streets into perpetual shadow. The noise was deafening – thousands of voices shouting, laughing, haggling, crying, all blending into a constant roar punctuated by the clatter of wheels on cobblestones and the occasional blare of a military horn.

“Don’t gawk,” I murmured, though I was fighting the same impulse. “We need to look like we belong.”

“How?” Tarshi muttered back. “None of us have ever set foot in a city this size.”

He was right. My and Livia’s entire life before the ludus had been spent in a farming village so small it appeared on no imperial maps. The Imperial City might as well have been another world entirely.

The main thoroughfare from the gate led us into the heart of the city, past shops and taverns and bathhouses. The air was thick with the scents of spiced meats, fresh bread, perfumed nobles, unwashed commoners, and the ever-present undertone of sewage that defined all cities. People shouted offers of goods and services, children darted between legs playing elaborate games, and slaves hurried on errands for unseen masters.

Slaves. They were everywhere once I began to notice – carrying burdens, attending nobles, sweeping streets. Their iron collars gleamed in the sunlight, a constant reminder of what we’d escaped. What we risked returning to.

“We need somewhere to stay,” Livia said quietly as we paused in a small square dominated by a fountain. “And a plan. I... I hadn’t thought past getting here.”

The admission surprised me. Livia, always so certain, now looked as lost as I felt. I realized that the enormity of what she’d undertaken was finally sinking in. This wasn’t the simple revenge fantasy she’d described during our flight – find the Emperor and kill him. He would be in the palace of course, guarded day and night with no way of getting to him. Perhaps she would start to see now that her plan was impossible.

“First, we need somewhere to sleep,” I said. “And for that we need coin.”

“How do you propose we get that? We have maybe 5 bronze between us.” asked Tarshi.

I grinned at the creature. “Because there’s a lot of people here, and where there’s people, there’s entertainment. Fancy a fight?”

The basement tavern reeked of sweat, blood, and cheap wine. Torch smoke hung thick in the air, stinging my eyes as I stood at the edge of the makeshift fighting ring — nothing more than a circle of packed dirt surrounded by wooden benches and the stamping feet of spectators.

“This is a mistake,” Tarshi muttered, as we waited for the current match to end. Two burly men grappled in the centre, faces streaked with blood, the crowd roaring with each blow.

“We need the money,” I replied, wrapping my hands with strips of linen. “And this, this we can do. Look at them. It’ll be easy.”“Not too easy,” Livia said, her voice low. “We want them to bet against you, not for you. Tarshi, you’re up.”

The match had ended with one fighter unconscious, blood pooling beneath his nose. The winner raised his arms, accepting the cheers and a small pouch of coins from the tavern keeper who organized the fights.

“Half-breed!” the man shouted, pointing at Tarshi. “You’re next. Name?”

“Wolf,” Tarshi replied, the pseudonym we’d agreed upon.

Tarshi climbed into the ring as his opponent was announced — “The Butcher,” a slab-muscled man with a shaved head and hands like hammers. The crowd jeered at Tarshi, hurling the typical insults about his mixed heritage. It felt different to the provinces, here he wasn’t feared, only reviled.

“Five silvers on the half-breed,” someone nearby said with a laugh. “Easy money when the Butcher crushes him.”

I kept my expression neutral even as satisfaction curled through me. Good. Let them underestimate him. Our meagre betting money would multiply nicely when he won.

The fight began without ceremony, just a shout from the tavern keeper. The Butcher charged immediately, clearly hoping to end things quickly with his superior size. Tarshi sidestepped with the fluid grace I’d seen countless times in the arena, letting his opponent’s momentum carry him past.

I had to admit, however grudgingly, that Tarshi was impressive to watch. Where the Butcher fought with brute force and rage, Tarshi moved like water — flowing around attacks, striking with precision rather than power. He fought smart, conserving energy, using his opponent’s size against him.

The crowd’s mood shifted gradually as the match progressed. Initial jeers faded into interested murmurs, then scattered cheers as Tarshi landed a particularly well-timed blow to the Butcher’s kidney.

Three minutes in, it was clear who would win. The Butcher’s breaths came in gasps, his movements slowing. Tarshi, barely winded, circled patiently, waiting for the opening he needed.

It came when the Butcher attempted a desperate lunge. Tarshi stepped inside the man’s reach, delivered a sharp uppercut to his jaw, then swept his legs in a move I recognized from our arena training. The Butcher hit the ground hard, tried to rise, then fell back as consciousness left him.

The tavern erupted in a mixture of cheers and curses. Money changed hands rapidly as bets were settled. Tarshi accepted his winnings with a modest nod, then made his way back to me, a thin trickle of blood running from a split eyebrow but otherwise unharmed.

“Your turn,” he said quietly, pressing a damp cloth to his brow.

My opponent was already in the ring — younger than the Butcher, leaner, with the quick, restless movements of someone used to street fights. The tavern keeper beckoned impatiently.

“Name?” he asked as I stepped into the circle.

“Snake,” I replied.

Fighting without weapons felt strange after so long training with sword and shield. My body remembered other movements, though — from childhood scraps, from training sessions when our weapons were confiscated as punishment. I flexed my hands, centring myself as I had before a hundred arena matches.

Unlike Tarshi’s fight, mine was neither elegant nor prolonged. My opponent was quick but untrained, relying on instinct rather than technique. I took two glancing blows to the ribs before finding my rhythm, then ended things with a brutal combination I’d learned from a Nardic gladiator — a feint to draw the guard high, followed by a devastating strike to the solar plexus.

The young man folded, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come. I stepped back, allowing him to recover rather than pressing the advantage. This wasn’t the arena. No one needed to die tonight.

The tavern keeper declared me the winner, pressing a small leather pouch into my palm. The weight of it was reassuring — enough coin for several days if we were careful.

As the crowd’s attention turned to the next match, I made my way to where Livia waited, collecting our betting winnings from a sullen-faced man who clearly resented paying out.

“That was quick,” she said, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

“No need to draw it out.” I wiped blood from my knuckles. “Did we get enough?”

She nodded, her fingers briefly brushing mine as she showed me the coins. “More than expected. Enough for a week if we’re frugal.”

Relief washed through me, followed immediately by renewed tension as Tarshi joined us. His face showed no strain from the fight, just that perpetual calm that irritated me so deeply.

“We should leave separately,” he murmured. “You two first. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

He was right, though I hated to admit it. We’d attracted attention with our victories, and lingering together would only make us more memorable.

“The usual place?” Livia asked.

Tarshi nodded. “I’ll bring food.”

I placed a protective hand at the small of Livia’s back as we made our way toward the exit, hyper-aware of the eyes that followed us. We’d gotten what we came for, but at what cost? How many people would remember the skilled fighters calling themselves Wolf and Snake? How many would connect those fighters to the escaped gladiators the Empire sought?

As we emerged into the cool night air, Livia’s shoulder pressed briefly against mine. “You did well,” she said softly.

Despite everything — the risk, the pain in my knuckles, the danger that still surrounded us — I felt a surge of pride at her words. For that alone, perhaps the night’s gamble had been worth it.