Page 13 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

T he familiar scent of stale ale and wood smoke greeted me as Tarshi and I entered The Crow's Coin.

After several visits, I'd grown accustomed to the tavern's atmosphere—the dim lighting designed to hide patrons' faces, the strategic placement of tables to allow for quick exits, the careful eyes of the barkeeper who remembered every face that crossed his threshold.

"Busier than usual tonight," I observed, keeping my voice low despite the ambient noise.

Tarshi nodded, scanning the room with practiced vigilance. "The Emperor's latest proclamation has people scared. More are seeking answers—or allies."

Two weeks had passed since the Emperor had announced stricter registration requirements for citizens with Talfen heritage, including mandatory examinations to determine the "degree of contamination.

" Anyone with more than a quarter Talfen blood would be relocated to designated districts— glorified ghettos, in truth.

Those who resisted would face imprisonment or worse.

We'd barely taken two steps into the tavern when a familiar voice called out over the din.

"Livia? Tarshi?"

I turned, surprised to see Marcus seated at a table near the wall, a mug of ale in his hand. His eyebrows were raised in obvious shock at our appearance.

"Marcus?" I made my way to his table, Tarshi following close behind. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he replied, his gaze moving between us with growing suspicion. "This isn't exactly academy territory."

"We needed a break from Imperial pomposity," Tarshi said smoothly. "What's your excuse?"

Before Marcus could answer, a large figure emerged from behind the bar—a barrel-chested man with a thick, grey-streaked beard and arms like tree trunks. He slammed down a fresh mug of ale in front of Marcus with enough force to slosh some over the sides.

"Your ale's getting weak, Marcus. Need to build your tolerance if you're going to drink with real men," the newcomer boomed, his voice carrying despite the tavern's noise.

My heart leapt with recognition. "Antonius?"

The big man turned, his weathered face breaking into a broad grin beneath his bushy beard. "Little Livia! By the gods, is that really you?"

I stood to embrace him, finding myself engulfed in a bone-crushing hug that smelled of ale and wood smoke. After the Talfen attack on Veredus and the destruction of the arena, I'd assumed he'd perished with the others.

"We thought you were dead," I said as he finally released me, my voice thick with emotion.

"Been moving ever since. Ended up here last month, convinced Garus to give me work."

"He's the new assistant barkeeper," Marcus explained. "Found me last week—nearly fell over when he recognized me hauling pig carcasses in the street. I was going to tell you all when we met up next. Though I'm still curious what brings you two here, of all places."

I exchanged a glance with Tarshi, a silent question passing between us. How much should we reveal?

Before we could decide, the tavern door opened again, admitting a group of people who immediately caught Tarshi's attention. He nodded subtly toward them—a mix of humans and half-Talfen moving with purpose toward the back of the tavern.

Marcus's eyes narrowed as he followed Tarshi's gaze. "You're not just here for the ale, are you?" he asked quietly. "Those people... they're heading to the back room."

"Yes," I admitted, seeing no point in deception. "We've been attending meetings."

"What kind of meetings?" His voice had dropped even lower, tension evident in his posture.

"The kind that question Imperial authority," Tarshi replied bluntly. "The kind that seek truth behind Imperial propaganda."

Marcus's expression darkened. "You've brought Livia to resistance gatherings? Are you mad? Do you know the penalty for treason?"

"I wanted to come," I interjected before Tarshi could respond. "It was my choice, Marcus. And it's not the first time."

"Not the first—" He broke off, visibly struggling for control. "How long has this been going on?"

"A few weeks," I said. "Tarshi's been coming longer. He's earned their trust, become part of their inner circle."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" There was hurt beneath his anger.

"I was going to, when the time was right," I explained. "It's not exactly something to discuss in passing."

Marcus turned to Tarshi, anger flashing in his eyes. "And you thought it wise to involve Livia in this? To risk everything we've worked for?"

"I involved myself," I said firmly. "There's so much the Emperor hides from his citizens, Marcus. Things you need to see, need to hear."

"We're not citizens," he reminded me, his voice bitter. "We're slaves in hiding. Fugitives. One misstep away from the cross or worse."

"All the more reason to fight back," Tarshi countered. "To change a system that makes slaves of free people, that demonizes those with Talfen blood, that burns villages in the name of 'security.'"

At the mention of burning villages, Marcus's anger seemed to falter, replaced by something more complex—pain, remembrance, the weight of our shared past.

Antonius, who had been listening intently, leaned in. "Is it true what they say? That these meetings discuss how the Empire lies about the war? About the Talfen?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "And more. They share real accounts from the border, stories the Imperial censors would never allow to circulate."

Antonius's weathered face hardened. "I'd like to hear that. Been wondering all these years why our village was really targeted."

"You should come with us," I suggested, seeing an opportunity. "Both of you. Tonight's meeting is important—they're discussing plans for the Storm Festival."

Marcus hesitated, conflict evident in his expression. His instinct to protect me warred visibly with his own curiosity, his own need for answers.

"It's dangerous," he finally said, though I could tell his resistance was weakening.

"So is doing nothing while the Emperor tightens his grip," I countered. "While he creates new ways to persecute those with Talfen blood, while he sends soldiers to burn more villages like ours."

Those last words struck home. I saw the shift in Marcus's eyes—the moment personal caution gave way to something larger.

"Fine," he conceded. "But we stay alert, we stay together, and at the first sign of trouble, we leave. Agreed?"

I nodded, relief washing through me. Having Marcus with us felt right somehow—completing our small circle, adding his perspective to what was becoming a broader cause.

"First round's on me," Antonius declared, pushing back from the table. "Can't attend a treasonous meeting without proper fortification."

Despite the tension of the moment, I found myself smiling at his familiar bluster. Some things, it seemed, never changed.

As Antonius returned to the bar, Tarshi leaned closer to Marcus. "Thank you," he said quietly, surprising me with the sincerity in his voice. "She values your opinion, your support."

Marcus seemed equally taken aback by Tarshi's tone. He nodded stiffly, the usual animosity between them momentarily suspended. "I go where she goes," he said simply. "Always have."

By the time we'd finished our drinks and made our way to the back room, several more resistance members had arrived. We followed the familiar path to the hidden staircase, Marcus and Antonius trailing behind us with varying degrees of wariness and curiosity.

The cellar room was more crowded than I'd ever seen it, every bench filled, people standing along the walls. Mira and Kalen were already at the front, heads bent in serious discussion. They'd become trusted allies over the past weeks, though I still kept some details of my own plans private.

Mira spotted us and nodded in recognition before her gaze settled questioningly on Marcus and Antonius. Tarshi moved forward to explain their presence while I found us spaces on a bench near the middle of the room.

"Quite the gathering," Marcus murmured, his eyes scanning the diverse crowd. "More organized than I expected."

"It's grown," I confirmed. "More join every week, especially since the new registration requirements."

Antonius was staring openly at the half-Talfen attendees, many displaying their heritage proudly—pointed ears uncovered, black eyes unhidden by the coloured drops some used to pass as human.

"Never seen so many in one place," he commented. "In our village, there was only old Merina with her Talfen grandfather, and she kept her ears covered."

"The Empire has lied about many things," I said quietly. "Including the nature of the Talfen."

Before he could respond, Kalen called the meeting to order, his strong voice cutting through the murmurs of conversation.

"Friends, allies, welcome," he began, his grey hair gleaming in the lamplight. "For those joining us for the first time, I am Kalen. We gather in search of truth and justice in an Empire built on lies and oppression."

I watched Marcus's reaction carefully—the slight tensing of his shoulders at such open treasonous talk, followed by the deliberate relaxation that told me he was keeping an open mind.

"Tonight we must finalize our plans for the Storm Festival," Kalen continued. "In five days, the Emperor will process through the city, expecting our adulation. Instead, we will show him—and all of Imperial City—that his reign of terror cannot continue unchallenged."

Mira stepped forward, her slender frame somehow commanding despite her diminutive height. "We've divided the city into five sectors, each with its own cell leader. When the Emperor's procession reaches the central plaza, our demonstrations will begin simultaneously across all sectors."