Page 5 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

5

I ’d spent three weeks searching for her in a city of thousands, with nothing but hope and the certainty that she would come to Imperialis. Octavia had called me a fool more than once. Perhaps I was. But I’d known Livia better than I knew myself once, and if vengeance drove her — and it surely did — there was only one destination that made sense.

“You’re distracted again,” Graccus grunted from beside me as I sliced through a side of beef with mechanical precision. The butcher shop stank of blood and offal, not so different from the ludus in that respect, though the screams were animal rather than human.

“Sorry,” I muttered, focusing on the task. Three weeks of slicing meat had earned me just enough to survive, but more importantly, it had given me a place to listen. Butcher shops were like taverns – people talked freely, sharing gossip and rumours over their purchases. I’d heard fragments about the Emperor’s increasing paranoia, the purges in the outer provinces, the rewards offered for escaped gladiators.

But nothing about Livia.

“You’ll cut your damn fingers off,” Graccus said, not unkindly. He was a hard man, but fair, asking no questions about my past when I’d appeared seeking work. “Go on, then. Your shift’s nearly done anyway.”

I cleaned my knife and hands, hanging my bloody apron on the hook before stepping out into the afternoon heat. The cramped streets of the lower city were crowded as always, the air thick with dust and the smell of too many people pressed too close together. I navigated through the familiar maze toward the market where Octavia sold fruit from a small stall.

She spotted me before I reached her, her face lighting with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Octavia had been beautiful once, before grief had hollowed her out. The dark circles beneath her eyes had never faded after watching her husband die in the arena three years ago. Now she survived on determination alone, her only goal to help me find Livia, her only friend from the women’s quarters of the ludus.

“Nothing,” she said before I could ask, reading the question in my face. “Though I did hear something interesting from a wine merchant this morning. There’s fighting in the Rat’s Nest tonight. Underground matches.”

I shook my head. “Livia would never—”

“You don’t know what Livia would never do anymore,” Octavia cut in gently. “The girl who left the ludus isn’t the same one you knew. Three weeks of searching the upper city has yielded nothing. Perhaps it’s time to try the less... respectable areas.”

She was right. The Livia I’d known — the fierce but careful fighter, the woman who planned every move — might not have risked exposure in an underground fighting ring. But the Livia who’d stolen a dragon and escaped during an attack on the city? That Livia might take risks I couldn’t anticipate.

“Where is this Rat’s Nest?” I asked, resignation in my voice.

“Near the eastern wall. Follow the smell of cheap wine and blood.” Octavia pressed a piece of fruit into my hand. “Eat something first. You look terrible.”

“You always know how to make a man feel special,” I attempted a smile, but it felt foreign on my face, like a mask that didn’t quite fit.

“Go find her, Marcus.” Octavia’s voice softened. “And when you do, don’t waste the chance. Tell her everything.”

“I will.” The promise felt heavy on my tongue. Everything. Including how I’d failed her. How I’d stood frozen while Drusus violated her. How I’d chosen security over freedom when she’d offered me escape. How I’d killed our owner too late for it to matter.

I ate the fruit as I walked, barely tasting it. The eastern district was the poorest section of the lower city, where buildings leaned against each other like drunks supporting one another’s weight. As darkness fell, I pulled my hood lower, one hand resting on the knife concealed beneath my cloak. Even desperate as I was, I wasn’t foolish enough to walk these streets unprotected.

The Rat’s Nest wasn’t hard to find once I neared the eastern wall. A steady stream of rough-looking men and women flowed into a building that looked more like a warren than a tavern, its entrance half-underground, accessible by stone steps worn smooth by countless feet. I joined the flow, paid the entrance fee to a man whose broken nose had healed, crooked, and descended into the smoky interior.

The basement tavern was packed wall to wall with bodies, the air thick with smoke and the smell of unwashed flesh. A fighting ring had been cleared in the centre, nothing more than packed earth surrounded by a press of shouting spectators. I found a place against the wall where I could observe without being noticed, scanning the crowd for any sign of Livia.

Two fights came and went – brutal, graceless affairs that ended quickly. Nothing like the arena, where combat was elevated to spectacle. This was raw violence for coin and entertainment, no different than dogs fighting in a pit.

“Next up,” shouted the tavern keeper, a barrel-chested man with arms like tree trunks, “we have the Butcher against ... the Wolf!”

A massive bald man entered the ring to cheers, facing off against a leaner opponent who moved with a grace that immediately set him apart. My breath caught as recognition hit me. Even in the dim light, I knew that fluid movement, that controlled stance. Not Livia, but perhaps the next best thing – the half-breed who’d escaped with her. Tarshi.

I pressed forward through the crowd for a better view, heart hammering against my ribs. If Tarshi was here, Livia couldn’t be far. My search was nearly over.

The fight began, and any doubts I had about the man’s identity vanished. Tarshi fought with the same measured precision I remembered from the training yard, conserving energy, using his opponent’s weight and momentum against him. It wasn’t the desperate brawling of the previous matches but the calculated fighting of a trained gladiator.

He won, of course. The outcome was never in doubt, not to anyone who’d seen him fight before. As the crowd roared and money changed hands, I searched the crowd again, but there was no sign of her. I waited until Tarshi moved toward the exit as well, then followed at a careful distance, keeping to the shadows. The streets were dark now, lit only by occasional oil lamps that cast more shadows than light. Perfect for following unseen.

Tarshi moved with purpose through the twisting alleys, occasionally pausing to ensure he wasn’t followed. I hung back, using skills honed through years of arena training to move silently, to blend with darkness. He led me to a small tavern several streets away, unremarkable except for the carved snake above its door.

Through the grimy window, I could see Livia and Septimus already seated at a corner table, heads bent close in conversation. The sight of her – alive, unharmed, fierce as ever – made my chest ache. Her hair had grown longer since the ludus, falling in dark waves around her face. Even at this distance, I could see the determined set of her jaw, the intensity in her eyes as she spoke.

I circled around to the tavern’s side entrance, slipping inside and finding a seat in a dark corner where I could hear their table but remain unnoticed. Tarshi joined them moments later, sliding onto the bench beside Livia with a familiarity that sent a spike of jealousy through me.

“Did anyone follow you?” Livia asked him, her voice so achingly familiar that I had to grip the edge of my table to keep from going to her immediately.

“No,” Tarshi replied. “But we’re drawing attention. We can’t keep fighting for coin like this.”

“We might not need to.” Septimus leaned forward, lowering his voice. I strained to hear his next words. “I’ve heard something that might interest you, Livia. Something about getting close to your mark.”

My heart stuttered. Her mark. The Emperor himself, if my suspicions were correct. Octavia had filled me in on what had happened to Livia’s village, how imperial forces had slaughtered everyone on suspicion of harbouring rebels. How the order had come directly from the Emperor.

“What have you heard?” Livia asked, tension vibrating in her voice.

“The Imperial Elite Academy is holding trials next month to recruit for its new intake,” Septimus said. “The cream of the Empire’s youth, training to become the next generation of imperial officers.”

Livia’s laugh was bitter. “That dream died long ago, Septimus. Why would I dream of serving the man who had my whole village wiped out?”

“That’s not the point,” Septimus shook his head. “The point is, if you could get into the academy and pass the training, the award ceremony is presided over by the Emperor himself. He personally congratulates each warrior. Face to face.”

Even from my shadowed corner, I could see the moment Livia realized what Septimus was suggesting. Her back straightened, her eyes widened, a transformation sweeping across her face like dawn breaking.

“You’re saying I could get close enough to kill him,” she breathed. “Close enough that even his guards couldn’t stop me.”

“It’s suicide,” Tarshi cut in, his voice hard. “Even if you succeeded, you’d be surrounded by hundreds of elite troops. How would you escape?”

“The dragon,” Livia replied immediately. “I would have him with me, I could just escape on his back, like from the ludus.”

“In the middle of the Imperial City?” Tarshi’s voice rose slightly before he controlled it. “They’d shoot it down before it got a hundred yards from the city.”

“Not if the chaos was great enough,” Livia argued. “Not if the Emperor himself was already dead.”

The determination in her voice sent ice through my veins. This wasn’t just vengeance she was planning — it was a suicide mission. She didn’t expect to survive it.

“There’s one major problem,” Septimus said, his voice gentle. “Only nobles are allowed to compete in the trials.”

Livia frowned. “That can't be right. It was always open to everyone with skill. That’s why Tarus and I trained — we thought we could join one day, rise through the ranks.”

“Back then, yes,” Septimus agreed. “But the Emperor has grown more paranoid. Now it’s limited only to those of noble blood. And they check lineages carefully.”

Silence fell over their table. I could see Livia’s mind working, refusing to let go of this new hope. Tarshi was the first to break the silence.

“You could pose as a noble,” he said grudgingly. “One from a distant province. A fifth child or something similar — less likely to be well-known.”

“It’s possible,” Septimus acknowledged. “But we’d need more money than we could make in the fighting ring in a year. You’d need appropriate clothing, supplies, and servants. How in Inferi are we going to manage that?”

This was the moment I’d waited for. Three weeks of searching, of rehearsing what I would say, how I would explain. Of carrying Drusus’s gold and wondering if it would be enough to earn her forgiveness. Of imagining her face when she saw me again — would there be joy? Hatred? Nothing at all?

I stood, pushed back my hood, and approached their table. My legs felt unsteady beneath me, weakness that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion and everything to do with the fear that she would turn me away.

“With this,” I said, dropping the heavy bag of coins onto their table.

The sound of gold hitting wood silenced their conversation instantly. Three heads snapped up to look at me, three expressions of shock so similar they might have been comical in any other circumstance.

Livia’s reaction cut deepest. Her face went through a rapid series of emotions — disbelief, joy, confusion, and finally, a guarded wariness that hurt more than outright anger would have. She was on her feet in an instant, momentarily overcoming her caution to throw her arms around me.

“Marcus!” The sound of my name on her lips was sweeter than I deserved. Her body pressed against mine, familiar and yet changed, stronger somehow. I was allowed one brief moment to hold her before she pulled back, wariness returning to her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice hard now, controlled. “How did you find us?”

I was acutely aware of Septimus and Tarshi rising to flank her, their stances protective. Ready to defend her from me, if necessary. The thought was a knife in my gut.

“I’ve been searching for you since the attack,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “I knew you’d come here. Where else would you go for revenge?”

“You stayed behind,” she said, the accusation plain in her voice. “You chose Drusus over freedom.”

“I chose wrong.” The admission felt like ripping open a wound. “I’ve made many wrong choices, Livia. But finding you — that’s the first right thing I’ve done in a long time.”

Septimus cut in, his eyes on the bag of gold. “Where did you get this money?”

“From Drusus’s strongbox,” I replied, meeting Livia’s gaze steadily. “After I killed him.”

Shock registered on all their faces. Livia’s eyes widened. “You killed Drusus? When? How?”

“During the attack,” I said quietly. “He begged, in the end.”

The satisfaction in my voice was ugly, but I couldn’t hide it. Wouldn’t hide it. Drusus had deserved every moment of terror, every desperate plea ignored.

“Why didn’t you just take the money and run?” Livia asked, her voice softer now. “Build that quiet life on a little farm somewhere, like you always talked about.”

“That was my old dream,” I said. “You’re my new dream, Livia. You have been for a long time.”

I saw Septimus flinch at that, saw the complicated look that passed between Livia and Tarshi. There were currents here I didn’t understand, relationships that had formed or changed in my absence. I pressed on anyway, needing to say what I’d rehearsed a thousand times.

“I’ve spent every day since the attack looking for you. I always told you to trust me, and the first time things got hard, I betrayed that trust. I won’t ask for it again.” My voice broke slightly, and I forced myself to continue, to meet her eyes. “But I’m begging you for a chance to redeem myself. To earn it back.”

Livia studied me, her expression unreadable. “And if I say no? If I tell you to go, to leave me to my path?”

The question was a blade between my ribs, but I’d prepared for it. “Then I go. The gold is yours regardless. Use it to fund whatever revenge you seek. I won’t stand in your way again.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy with all that remained unsaid. I was acutely aware of every breath, every heartbeat. Of Septimus’s hostile glare, Tarshi’s calculating gaze, the press of other tavern patrons who had begun to notice our tense tableau.

“How did you find us tonight?” Tarshi asked, his voice neutral.

“I heard about the fights. Went on the chance you might be there.” I kept my eyes on Livia. “I recognized you immediately. Followed you here.”

“You’re not alone,” Septimus stated rather than asked. His hand had drifted to where a weapon would be, if we weren’t in a public tavern.

“Octavia is with me,” I answered, seeing recognition flash in Livia’s eyes. “She escaped during the attack too. She’s been helping me search.”

“Octavia’s alive?” For the first time, genuine emotion broke through Livia’s careful mask. Relief, joy. “Where is she?”

“Working at a market stall in the merchant quarter. She’ll be overjoyed to see you.”

Livia sat back down, gesturing for me to join them. Not rejection, at least. Not yet. I took the seat opposite her, careful to keep my movements slow, non-threatening.

“Tell me everything,” she commanded. “From the beginning.”

So I did. I told her about the day of the attack — how I’d found Drusus, killed him, taken his gold. How I’d joined the defence of the city afterward, fighting rebels alongside the imperial troops because it was the only way to move freely through the chaos. How I’d found Octavia hiding in the women’s quarters, terrified but alive. How we’d made our way to Imperialis, certain that’s where Livia would head if revenge drove her.

“We’ve been here three weeks,” I finished. “Octavia selling fruit in the market, me working at a butcher shop. Listening, watching, hoping to hear something that would lead us to you.”

Throughout my story, I watched Livia’s face, trying to read what she was thinking. She’d always been good at hiding her emotions — a necessary skill in the ludus — but I’d once been able to read her better than anyone. Now I felt like I was looking at a stranger wearing a familiar face.

“The gold will be enough,” Tarshi said into the silence that followed my tale. “More than enough to establish Livia as a minor noble from the eastern provinces.”

“We’ll need documentation,” Septimus added, his hostility toward me undiminished but set aside in favour of planning. “Family crests, letters of introduction.”

“Those can be bought,” I said. “I know where to look. The gold will open those doors too.”

They began discussing logistics, the conversation flowing around me as they debated plans and possibilities. I contributed when I could, offering knowledge I’d gained during my search of the city. But my focus remained on Livia, who had gone quiet, watching us all with those inscrutable eyes.

Finally, she raised a hand, silencing the men mid-discussion. “Give us a moment,” she said to Septimus and Tarshi. “I need to speak with Marcus alone.”

Septimus looked ready to object, but Tarshi caught his arm, nodding once to Livia before leading them to the bar. I watched them go, then turned back to find Livia’s gaze fixed on me, all pretence stripped away.

“Why, Marcus?” she asked, her voice barely audible above the tavern’s noise. “Why didn’t you come with me when you had the chance?”

The question I’d dreaded most. The one I’d asked myself every night since she’d fled. “I was afraid,” I admitted. “Not of death or recapture. Of freedom.”

She frowned, not understanding.

“Ten years in the ludus,” I explained. “Ten years of knowing exactly what each day would bring — training, fighting, surviving. I knew who I was there. A gladiator. A trainer. A slave, yes, but one with a defined place. Outside those walls? I was nothing. No one.”

“You would have been free,” she said, but there was a new understanding in her eyes.

“Freedom terrified me more than death,” I confessed. “And then, after what Drusus did to you — what he made me watch — I thought I’d lost you anyway. That you’d never forgive me for not protecting you. For not being strong enough to stop him.”

Pain flashed across her face at the memory. “You were restrained. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I could have come with you when you escaped,” I said simply. “I could have chosen you over fear.”

We sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of the past heavy between us. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler than I deserved.

“I waited for you, you know. That night. I waited as long as I dared, hoping you’d appear.”

The knowledge was another wound, another regret to add to the mountain I already carried. “I’m sorry, Livia. More than I can ever say.”

She nodded, accepting the apology without absolving me. “And now? What do you want now?”

“To help you,” I said immediately. “Whatever path you choose. Even if it leads to the Emperor’s throat.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Even knowing it’s likely a death sentence?”

“I died the moment I let you go without me,” I said. “Everything since has been borrowed time.”

She considered me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine for deception, for weakness. Whatever she saw there must have satisfied her, because she reached across the table and took my hand. Her palm was calloused against mine, familiar and yet changed, like everything else about her.

“I can’t promise you anything, Marcus,” she said quietly. “Too much has happened. I’m not the same person who left the ludus.”

“I’m not asking for promises,” I replied. “Just a chance to fight beside you. To help you achieve your revenge.”

“And after?” she asked. “If there is an after?”

The question held a fragile hope I hadn’t dared to consider. “After is for you to decide,” I told her. “I’ll follow wherever you lead.”

She stood then, moving around the table to stand before me. I rose to meet her, hardly daring to breathe as she studied my face, her expression softening for the first time since she’d recognized me.

“Welcome back, Marcus,” she said simply, and stepped into my arms.

I held her carefully, as if she might shatter — or more likely, change her mind. But her arms came around me with surprising strength, her face pressed against my chest. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the solid reality of her in my arms.

I didn’t deserve this moment. Didn’t deserve her forgiveness, if that’s what this was. But I would spend whatever time we had left proving myself worthy of the second chance she’d granted me.