Page 7 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

7

I woke to thin sunlight filtering through the apartment’s small window and Octavia’s soft breathing beside me. For a moment, I was disoriented — a real bed, walls surrounding me, the distant sounds of the city already bustling despite the early hour. Then yesterday’s events flooded back. Marcus. The reunion. The plan.

I slipped from bed, careful not to wake Octavia, and padded to the bedroom door. Opening it just a crack, I peered into the main room where the men slept. Septimus was sprawled on his bedroll, one arm flung dramatically over his face, Tarshi curled up on the other. Marcus sat at the small table, already awake, nursing a cup of what smelled like herbal tea.

He looked up as the door creaked, our eyes meeting across the room. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

“You’re up early,” he whispered, mindful of the others.

“Old habits,” I replied, slipping into the room and closing the door softly behind me. In the ludus, rising before dawn had been mandatory. Freedom hadn’t changed that internal rhythm.

I joined him at the table, acutely aware of my borrowed nightclothes and sleep-tousled hair. Marcus pushed his cup toward me.

“It’s not much,” he said. “But it’s hot.”

I wrapped my hands around the cup, grateful for its warmth in the morning chill. “Thank you.”

We sat in companionable silence for a few moments, the quiet broken only by Septimus’s occasional soft snore. It felt strange — this domestic scene was so at odds with our shared history of blood and sand.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” I admitted finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

Marcus’s eyes, warm and steady as ever, held mine. “I told you I’d find you.”

“You also told me you wanted to earn your freedom fairly. Start an honest life. A peaceful one. What I plan to do is not peaceful.”

A shadow crossed his face. “Things changed when I watched you fly away from me. When Drusus…” He trailed off.

I wanted to ask more — about Drusus, about their escape, about everything — but the sound of movement from the bedroom interrupted us. Octavia emerged, wrapped in a shawl against the morning chill, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.

“Planning without me?” she asked, her tone light but her eyes sharp as she assessed the scene before her.

“Just warming up,” I replied, raising my cup.

She hummed sceptically, moving to the cooking area to start preparations for breakfast. The domestic normalcy of it all struck me again — how easily we fell into these rhythms of shared living, as though we’d been doing it for years rather than mere hours.

By the time the others woke, Octavia had arranged a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and dried fruit on the table. We gathered around it, the earlier awkwardness somewhat diminished in the light of day.

“So,” Septimus said around a mouthful of bread, “we need to turn our gladiator into a noble. Where do we start?”

Octavia immediately took charge. “First, we establish her identity. Every detail needs to be consistent, memorized, and believable.”

She pulled a scrap of parchment toward her and began writing. “Livia, fifth daughter of Lord Cassius Cantius of the Eastern Provinces. Mother died in childbirth — Lady Serena Valerian, formerly of House Drelius.”

“Raised in isolation due to her father’s overprotective nature,” Marcus added. “Following his recent death, she has come to the capital to honour his memory by pursuing entry to the Dragon Elites.”

Tarshi leaned forward. “She’ll need to explain her skills. Nobles don’t fight like gladiators.”

“Many provincial nobles employ weapons masters to train their children,” Octavia supplied. “We’ll say Lord Cantius hired a retired legionnaire to instruct Livia — that explains her martial skills while justifying any roughness in her technique.”

I watched, impressed, as they constructed my false life piece by piece. Septimus took up his charcoal again, sketching various family crests until we settled on one featuring a serpent entwined around a sword — subtle homage to my past that no one would recognize.

“What about her dragon?” Tarshi asked. “They’ll question where she acquired it.”

This had been a concern of mine as well. While dragons weren’t unheard of among the nobility, they were rare and expensive.

“A gift from her father,” Marcus suggested. “Purchased from traders at great expense when she was a child, and raised alongside her.”

“That explains the bond between them,” Octavia agreed. “And her unusual skill at riding.”

By midday, we had constructed an entire history for Livia Valerian — her education, her family connections, even the name of her childhood nurse and the location of the family estate. Octavia had me recite it again and again until the details became as familiar as my own past.

“Now,” she said when she was satisfied with my recitation. “We move on to deportment.”

What followed was the most gruelling training I’d experienced since my early days in the ludus. Octavia was a merciless instructor, correcting everything from my posture to my table manners to the way I held my cup.

“No, no,” she chided for the dozenth time. “A lady does not stride; she glides. Small steps, Livia. And your shoulders — back, but not rigid. You look like you’re preparing to charge into battle.”

“Maybe I am,” I muttered, earning a sharp rap on my knuckles with a wooden spoon.

“Ladies do not mutter,” she said primly. “They either speak clearly or remain silent.”

From his position against the wall, Marcus failed to suppress a smile. I shot him a glare.

“Something amusing?” I demanded.

“Just remembering how you looked the first time you walked into the arena,” he replied. “Same expression. Like you wanted to commit murder.”

Despite my irritation, I found myself returning his smile. He was right — learning to be a noble was not unlike learning to fight. Both required a mastery of oneself, a careful control of body and mind.

“Again,” Octavia insisted, and I resumed my painfully slow circuit of the small room, balancing a book on my head as I attempted to ‘glide’ rather than walk.

The days that followed fell into a rhythm. Mornings were devoted to my education in noble etiquette and history under Octavia’s exacting tutelage. Afternoons were spent acquiring the necessary items for my disguise — clothing, jewellery, documents — or practicing my role in various settings around the city.

To my surprise, Marcus proved an invaluable ally in these preparations. Although he worked as a butcher during the day, at night he’d quickly accustomed himself to the more seedier citizens of the imperial city. His networking had already given him a few connections throughout the city, including a skilled forger who provided us with convincing documentation of my noble lineage.

“How did you find this man?” I asked as we left the forger’s dingy shop, precious papers tucked safely in an inner pocket.

“Merchants hear things,” Marcus replied with a shrug. “Especially merchants who deal in luxury goods and sometimes need to... ease their way past imperial tariffs.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you’re working for a smuggler?”

“I’m telling you I’m working for a butcher, a businessman who values discretion and rewards it well.” His smile held a hint of the old Marcus — the one who had taught me that survival sometimes required moral flexibility.

“And here I thought you wanted an honest life,” I teased.

His expression sobered. “I want a life with you in it, Livia. The rest is negotiable.”

The simple declaration stole my breath, and I had no response as we made our way back to the apartment in silence, my thoughts in turmoil.

Three nights before the trials were set to begin, I found myself unable to sleep, my mind racing with all the details I needed to remember, all the ways our plan could go wrong. Careful not to wake Octavia, I slipped from the bedroom and was unsurprised to find Marcus still awake, seated by the window looking out at the moonlit city.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked without turning.

“Too much in my head,” I admitted, joining him. “What’s your excuse?”

“Old habits.” He echoed my words from our first morning. “In the ludus, night was the only time that truly belonged to us.”

I knew what he meant. Despite the brutality of our lives there, the quiet darkness had offered rare moments of peace, of conversation, of connection.

“Do you miss it?” I asked, surprising myself with the question. “The ludus?”

He considered for a moment. “Not the place. But some of the people. The simplicity of knowing exactly what was expected each day.” His eyes found mine in the dim light. “Knowing you were near.”

My heart quickened. “I’m near now.”

“Are you?” His voice was soft, but the question cut deep. “You’re here, but sometimes I feel like you’re already gone. Already focused on what comes next.”

I couldn’t deny it. Even as we prepared for the trials, my mind was racing ahead to the academy, to the Emperor, to my revenge.

“I have to be,” I said finally. “This plan — it requires my full focus.”

“And after?” He asked the question I’d been avoiding. “If you succeed, if you kill the Emperor and somehow survive... what then, Livia?”

I looked away, out at the city that housed the man who had ordered my family’s destruction. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never let myself think that far ahead.”

“Perhaps you should.” His hand found mine on the windowsill, warm and calloused. “Perhaps we all should.”

The touch of his skin against mine sent a familiar heat through my body, awakening memories I’d tried to bury. Nights in his cell, stolen moments of pleasure amidst the horror of our lives. The way he’d made me feel seen, valued, when the rest of the world treated me as property.

“Marcus,” I began, not knowing what I meant to say, only that I needed to say something.

A floorboard creaked behind us. Tarshi stood in the shadows, his expression unreadable as he took in our proximity, our joined hands.

“Forgive the interruption,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “I was just checking Livia was not sitting up worrying.”

I withdrew my hand from Marcus’s, guilt and confusion warring within me.

“We were just talking.”

Tarshi inclined his head slightly. “Of course.” He turned to leave, then paused. “Dawn comes early. You should both rest while you can.”

He returned to his bedroll and I rose. “He’s right. Tomorrow will be busy.”

Marcus caught my wrist gently. “Livia.” Just my name, but weighted with everything unsaid between us.

I met his gaze, saw the questions there, the hunger, the hope. “Goodnight, Marcus,” I said softly, and retreated to the bedroom, more confused than ever about what — and who — I truly wanted.

The next day, Octavia arranged what she called a ‘final examination’ of my noble persona. She transformed our small apartment into a mockery of a noble dining room, with the table set as formally as our limited resources allowed. Tarshi and Septimus were assigned roles as various nobles I might encounter, while Marcus played a sceptical Dragon Elite instructor.

“Lady Cantius,” he greeted me with a formality that felt strange after our whispered conversation the night before. “We are honoured by your interest in joining our ranks. Though I must admit, we rarely see candidates from such... remote lineages.”

I offered the curtsy Octavia had drilled into me, keeping my spine straight and my expression pleasantly neutral despite the insult embedded in his words. “The Eastern Provinces may be distant, sir, but our loyalty to the Empire is unwavering. As was my father’s before me.”

“Indeed?” Tarshi, playing a haughty court noble, interjected. “Strange that we’ve heard so little of House Cantius at court.”

“My father valued our lands and people above court politics,” I replied smoothly, taking the seat Septimus held out for me with practiced grace. “He believed nobility was demonstrated through service to the Empire, not through appearances at court functions.”

“A convenient belief for those lacking the bloodlines to be welcomed at court,” Tarshi pressed, his performance so convincing I had to remind myself this was merely practice.

I smiled thinly, reaching for my wine glass with perfect form. “Perhaps. Or perhaps a recognition that true nobility lies in actions, not ancestry.”

The mock dinner continued in this vein, with each of them challenging me in different ways — questioning my lineage, my education, my motives for joining the Dragon Elites. Octavia, observing from the corner, occasionally jotted down notes but otherwise remained silent.

By the end of the exercise, even Septimus seemed impressed. “You actually sounded like one of them,” he said as he helped clear the dishes. “That haughty tone, that way of insulting someone while smiling... perfect.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I retorted, though I was pleased by the compliment.

“You’ve made remarkable progress,” Marcus agreed. “But the real test will be maintaining it under pressure. When you’re tired, or angry, or afraid.”

“I don’t get afraid,” I said automatically.

The look he gave me was knowing. “Everyone gets afraid, Livia. The trick is not letting it show.”

That evening, while Octavia made final adjustments to my gowns, I found myself thinking about fear. I had known fear, of course — in the arena, during our escape, on the long journey to the capital. But it had always been the immediate fear of physical danger, of pain or death. What I felt now was different — a deeper, more insidious fear of failure, of letting down the people who had risked everything to help me.

“You’re miles away,” Octavia observed, pins held between her lips as she hemmed my sleeve.

“Just thinking about tomorrow,” I admitted.

She sat back on her heels, studying me with understanding eyes. “It’s normal to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” I protested automatically. “I’m…” I trailed off, unable to name the emotion.

“Afraid?” she suggested gently.

I looked away. “Maybe.”

“Good.” She resumed her sewing. “Fear keeps you sharp. Makes you careful. Just don’t let it paralyze you.”

Later, as I packed the few items I would take with me to the trials — my forged documents, a small purse of gold, a change of clothes — Marcus appeared in the bedroom doorway.

“May I come in?” he asked, uncharacteristically hesitant.

I nodded, and he entered, closing the door softly behind him. In his hand was a small cloth-wrapped package.

“I wanted to give you this,” he said, holding it out. “Before tomorrow.”

I unwrapped it carefully to find a small bronze dagger, its blade gleaming in the lamplight. The hilt was simple but elegant, wrapped in dark leather with a single red stone set into the pommel.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, testing its weight in my hand. Perfect for concealment, light enough to be unnoticeable but sturdy enough to be lethal.

“The stone is fire agate,” Marcus explained. “The merchant I work for says it offers protection to warriors.” A hint of embarrassment crossed his face. “I’m not one for superstitions, but…”

“But it can’t hurt,” I finished for him, touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”

I tucked the dagger into my pack, then turned back to find Marcus watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“Livia,” he began, then seemed to struggle for words. “I know you need to do this. I understand why. But promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” I said, attempting levity.

He shook his head, not allowing the deflection. “Promise me you’ll think before you act. That you’ll remember there are people who…” He swallowed hard. “People who can’t bear the thought of losing you again.”

The raw emotion in his voice stripped away my defences. I stepped closer, resting my palm against his cheek. “I promise.”

For a suspended moment, we stood there, breath mingling, the air between us charged with everything unsaid. Then, with gentle deliberation, he turned his face to press a kiss into my palm — not demanding, not presuming, just a simple acknowledgment of what we had been to each other, what we might be again.

"I should let you finish packing," he said quietly, stepping back.

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. As he reached the door, I found the words I needed.

“Marcus.” He paused, looking back. “Thank you. Not just for the dagger. For everything. For finding me. For understanding.”

“Always.”

I watched him leave, half tempted to ask him to stay. I couldn’t, of course, Octavia was sharing the room with me, and with Tarshi and Septimus just next door, I felt awkward. In the ludus things were more straightforward. No one formed actual relationships and sex was just another way of unwinding from the stress and adrenaline of battle, but here... here I wasn’t sure what to do. The dagger in my pack seemed to represent everything complicated about my feelings for Marcus — his steadfast support, his subtle strength, the way he now seemed to understand my need for vengeance even while hoping I might someday let it go. Marcus had gone through a lot to follow me, to support me, he might expect me to belong only to him. Could I give Tarshi up? I didn’t think I could, but then I would have to tell Marcus about him, and although Marcus was more open to trusting the Talfen than Septimus, I didn’t know if his open mind would extend to sharing a woman with one, even if he was a half-breed. But would I be able to give Marcus up to be with Tarshi? And where did that leave Septimus?I got ready for bed, my mind spinning, and when Octavia came back in, I pretended to be asleep when she climbed in beside me. In truth, I couldn’t calm my racing thoughts, and it was a long time before I finally drifted off to sleep.

Dawn came too quickly. Octavia helped me dress in the fine clothes we’d acquired — a simple but elegant stola in deep blue, my hair arranged in the modest style favoured by provincial nobility. The weight of the dagger Marcus had given me was reassuring against my thigh, hidden beneath my skirts.

In the main room, everyone was already awake, an air of tension pervading the small space. Septimus and Tarshi were dressed in the plain but respectable clothing of household retainers, while Marcus and Octavia wore their everyday attire.

“You look every inch the noble,” Octavia said, adjusting a strand of my hair with evident pride. “Remember everything I taught you. Back straight, chin up, but never appear haughty. Provincial nobles are expected to be somewhat impressed by the capital.”

“Speak clearly and confidently,” Marcus added. “You’re entering the trials by right of birth, not as a supplicant.”

Septimus handed me a rolled parchment. “Your family records and letter of introduction. Keep them close.”

Last was Tarshi, who simply clasped my hand briefly. “Trust your instincts,” he said quietly. “They’ve kept you alive this far.”

The moment of departure arrived too soon. Marcus and Octavia would remain at the apartment, our base of operations and safe house should anything go wrong. Septimus, Tarshi, and I would proceed to the Dragon Elite headquarters to register for the trials. We’d also decided if I made it into the academy, Octavia would join us later as my ladies maid.

At the door, she embraced me fiercely. “Remember, you’re as good as any of them,” she whispered. “Better, even.”

Marcus clasped my hand, his touch lingering. No words passed between us, but his eyes conveyed everything — belief, worry, and something deeper I wasn’t ready to name. I nodded up at him and was about to step away, when he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. It was a soft kiss, but my feelings were already on edge with nerves, and I slid my hand behind his back, pulling him down and deepening the kiss. I’d missed him, and now here I was preparing to leave him again.

When we finally broke apart, I was breathless, my heart hammering against my ribs. The room had gone silent. I could feel Tarshi’s eyes on us, but I refused to look away from Marcus’s face, memorizing every line, every shadow.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, so low only I could hear.

“I will,” I promised, though we both knew it was a promise I might not be able to keep.

Septimus cleared his throat pointedly from the doorway.

“The registration closes at midday,” he reminded us, his voice carefully neutral. “And we still have to get you to that beast.”

I stepped back, smoothing my hair with trembling hands. “Right. We should go.”

Marcus smiled at me. “Victory and honour.” The words from the arena. I smiled back, my nerves abating slightly. This was just another battle. I could do this.

“Victory and honour,” I murmured back, then I turned away and followed Tarshi and Septimus out into the morning air.