Page 10 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

The momentary distraction cost me as Lucia's practice sword caught me hard across the shoulders, sending a jolt of pain down my spine.

"Point to Lucia," Ferris called.

I forced myself to focus, to push away their words and the rage they triggered. These pampered, vicious girls had never faced real consequences for their actions, had never understood what it meant to truly fight for your life or your dignity.

The next exchange was a blur of movement as my anger fuelled each strike.

I dropped low, sweeping Lucia's legs from under her, then rolled to avoid Valeria's downward strike.

As I came up, I caught Drusilla with a pommel strike to the sternum that left her gasping, then spun to parry Valeria's attack.

We locked blades, her face inches from mine, malice blazing in her eyes.

"Your slaves were quite thorough with Lord Varin, weren't they?" she hissed. "A pity they won't be here to help you when your provincial luck runs out."

The insinuation struck me like a physical blow. That she would dare suggest... I faltered, just for an instant, but it was enough. Valeria's practice sword slipped past my guard, striking my ribs with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. I stumbled backward, fighting to maintain my footing.

"Point to Valeria," Ferris called. "Reset positions."

As I struggled to catch my breath, the fury within me grew. How dare they speak of Varin, how dare they imply I had anything to do with his death when they were the ones who had helped him corner me, who had laughed as he tore at my clothes.

"Continue!" Ferris barked.

The next round began, and I channelled all my rage into every movement. I would not let them see how their words affected me. I would not give them that satisfaction.

When Drusilla lunged, I sidestepped and struck her wrist with precise force, causing her to drop her practice sword with a cry of pain. Before Lucia could react, I was inside her guard, driving my elbow into her solar plexus and sweeping her feet from under her.

Valeria's eyes widened as she suddenly found herself alone against me.

Her technique was excellent, her form perfect—but she had never had to fight with real desperation or fury.

I disarmed her with a brutal twist that nearly broke her wrist, then swept her legs and followed her down, the tip of my practice sword at her throat before she even hit the ground.

"It's disgusting," I whispered, my voice shaking with barely controlled rage, "that you would help him try to do that to another woman."

Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed. "You've always thought yourself above your station," she spat back. "We just thought a good fucking would put you in your place."

For a moment, I pressed the practice sword harder against her throat, imagining what it would feel like to—

"Match to Cantius," Ferris announced, breaking through my dark thoughts. "Three points to two."

I stepped back, allowing Valeria to rise. Her face was flushed with humiliation and rage as she retrieved her practice sword.

"That wasn't Academy technique," she spat.

"No," I agreed coldly. "It was effective."

Legate Ferris approached, his weathered face unreadable. "Unorthodox," he commented, looking me over with new interest. "But undeniably effective. Where did you learn to fight like that, Cadet Cantius?"

I could feel the weight of every gaze in the yard. "My father believed in practical combat training, sir. The southern provinces are less... formal in their methods."

Ferris nodded slowly. "Practical indeed." He turned to address the entire class. "The rest of you would do well to observe that perfect form means nothing if you're dead. Continue drills!"

As the cadets resumed their practice, I caught Jalend watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher—assessment mixed with something that might have been concern or curiosity.

I turned away, focusing on regulating my breathing and calming my racing heart.

Valeria and her friends had just made their cruelty and malice explicitly clear.

The reminder of that night with Varin—what would have happened if I hadn’t managed to have fought him off or if Jalend hadn’t come to my aid.

I had a good idea of who had killed Varin, and I lived in fear of anyone finding out, but my men were good at what they did, and so far, no evidence had been revealed that had led in our direction.

Valeria was just trying to rattle me, and I couldn’t let her succeed.

The dining hall echoed with the clamour of cadets at evening mess, the long tables filled with uniformed figures wolfing down food after the day's training. I sat alone at the end of one table, mechanically consuming the bland stew while trying to ignore the occasional glances cast my way.

After my performance in the training yard that morning, the other cadets seemed unsure whether to be impressed or wary. Even Valeria and her coterie kept their distance, though their whispered conversations and pointed looks made it clear I remained their primary topic of discussion.

I was pushing the last of my meal around my bowl when a shadow fell across the table.

"This seat taken?" Jalend asked, not waiting for an answer before sliding onto the bench opposite me.

"To what do I owe the honour, Lord Northreach?" I asked, setting down my spoon.

His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Perhaps I simply enjoy your company, Lady Cantius."

"More likely you enjoy the scandal your company creates," I replied, nodding toward the table where Valeria and her friends sat watching us with thinly veiled outrage.

He followed my gaze and chuckled. "An added benefit, I admit." His expression grew more serious. "Your performance this morning was remarkable."

I tensed. "Legate Ferris said the same."

"I imagine he did." Jalend leaned forward slightly. "Three against one, and you defeated them using techniques I've never seen taught at any academy or noble house."

"As I told the Legate—"

"Yes, your father's practical training methods." His eyes held mine, searching. "The thing is, Livia, I've made it something of a study to learn about the noble houses of the empire, particularly those from the border regions. And the name Cantius is... curiously obscure."

My pulse quickened, but I kept my expression neutral. "We're a minor house. Hardly worth noting in the imperial registries."

"And yet you fight with the skill of someone trained for combat from childhood. Unusual for the daughter of a minor provincial lord, wouldn't you say?"

I held his gaze steadily. "The borders are dangerous places, Jalend. Those who survive learn to defend themselves."

Something flickered in his eyes—doubt, perhaps, or reluctant admiration. "Indeed they do."

He paused, then continued in a lower voice. “Did you hear the rumours? About the Talfen on the northern borders?”

“I hadn’t. Anything out of the ordinary?” I managed to ask, my voice carefully neutral.

“Yes, actually. Rumours that the situation on the northern border is worse than the official reports suggest. The Talfen tribes are uniting under a single war chief for the first time in decades."

My hand tightened around my spoon. If this was true, Tarshi needed to know this for the resistance. "Just rumours, surely."

Jalend's expression was unreadable. "Perhaps. But I find it interesting that Legate Santius has commissioned early reports on progress from both this academy and the army academy this week. I overheard Ferris talking about it with one or the deans. And they’ve ramped up the dragon breeding program at the farms in the north as well.”

I swallowed, the food I’d just eaten sitting like a rock in my stomach.

Since Sirrax had revealed to me that the dragons the Empire used were actually enslaved Talfen shifters, I’d struggled to keep the knowledge to myself.

Guilt and shame at what my people were doing swept over me once again, and even though Sirrax had urged me not to say anything for my own protection, I still fought the urge to confess everything to Jalend.

There was something about him, despite his arrogance, that told me I could trust him, but I’d learned long ago that trusting as few people as possible was safer.

I forced myself to look up at him, careful to keep my expression neutral even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "What does that mean for us? The academy, I mean."

Jalend glanced around before leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It means they're accelerating our training. I've heard whispers that the final assessments might be moved forward. They need officers in the field."

"We've barely started the training program," I said, genuinely alarmed. While I'd made remarkable progress, I wasn't sure I was ready to be thrust into actual combat—especially not against the Talfen, not after what I now knew.

"War waits for no one, not even half-trained cadets." His hand moved across the table, not quite touching mine but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. "Are you afraid, Livia?"

The question held no mockery, only genuine curiosity. I considered lying, then decided against it. "Only a fool wouldn't be."

His smile was unexpected. "Honest as always. That's what I—" He caught himself, clearing his throat. "That's what makes you different from the others."

Something shifted in the air between us, a tension that had nothing to do with impending war or academy politics. I found myself studying the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead when he leaned forward.

"Jalend," I began, not entirely sure what I wanted to say.

"Yes?" His eyes held mine, something expectant in his gaze that made my heart stutter. He raised an eyebrow, waiting. When I didn't continue, he reached forward and, with deliberate slowness, let his fingertips brush against mine.

"Yes?" he prompted, his voice deeper than before.

The touch sent a jolt of awareness through me that was both thrilling and terrifying. I withdrew my hand, suddenly conscious of how public our location was, of how many eyes might be watching.

"Nothing," I said. "Just... thank you for the information."

Disappointment flickered across his features before he masked it with his usual sardonic smile. "Always at your service, Lady Cantius."

The way he said my false name felt like an accusation, though I knew it couldn't be. He couldn't know who I really was. No one could.

"I should go," I said, rising from the table. "I have weapon maintenance duty tonight."

“Of course,” he said, a little stiffly. “I’ll see you another time.”

As I walked away, I could feel his eyes on my back. The weight of his attention followed me across the dining hall, heavy with unasked questions and unspoken desires. I quickened my pace, desperate to escape not just his scrutiny but my own dangerous impulses.

The weapons maintenance room was mercifully empty when I arrived.

Rows of practice swords, spears, and daggers lined the walls, each requiring regular care to prevent rust and maintain their edge.

I selected a whetstone and a cloth, then grabbed one of the blunted training daggers that had seen heavy use earlier that day.

The familiar rhythm of stone against steel soothed my frayed nerves. Scrape, turn, scrape. A methodical process that required focus but left just enough mental space for reflection.

What was I doing, allowing myself to feel this.

.. whatever it was... for Jalend Northreach?

He was nobility, the real kind, not my fabricated version.

Any relationship beyond friendship would be impossible even if I were truly Lady Livia Cantius.

But I wasn't. I was Livia of nowhere, former slave, impostor, and spy.

"Foolish girl," I muttered to myself, pressing harder against the whetstone. It wasn’t like I didn’t have enough attention to be dealing with, and I knew I’d been neglecting some of my men.

It was just so hard with many, I wasn’t sure how I could keep them all happy, and it was starting to get exhausting.

I couldn’t encourage Jalend any more than I already had, as sad as that made me feel.