Page 33 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

T he basement of The Sunken Ship tavern smelled of sour ale and unwashed bodies.

Sweat beaded on my forehead as I wedged myself between Antonius's massive frame and a sallow-faced man whose name I couldn't recall.

Too many new faces lately—a good sign for the resistance, perhaps, but it made me uneasy.

The more people who knew your name, the more who could betray you.

"Getting crowded," I muttered to Antonius, who merely grunted in agreement.

Our usual meeting place at The Crow's Coin had been deemed too risky after increased Imperial patrols in that district, so we'd relocated to this dockside tavern. The space was larger but stuffier, the low ceiling trapping heat and making it difficult to breathe.

I scanned the room out of habit, noting exits, potential weapons, faces I recognized and those I didn't. Tarshi and Livia sat across the room, heads bent close in conversation.

Something had changed between them recently—a new intensity, a shared secret.

Tarshi seemed different too, more centred somehow, despite the wound in his leg that still caused him to limp.

"They're late," Antonius said, his deep voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.

I nodded, checking the crude timepiece on the wall. Kalen and Mira were usually punctual to a fault. Their tardiness did nothing to ease the growing knot of tension in my gut.

"Maybe they were followed," I suggested, scanning the room again, this time looking for anyone who seemed too interested in our gathering, anyone whose eyes moved too precisely, whose posture was too controlled for a simple tavern patron.

Nothing obvious stood out, but the feeling persisted. We were too exposed here, too visible despite being underground. The Empire had eyes everywhere, especially in areas like the docks where foreign traders mingled with locals.

"You worry too much," Antonius said, though his own eyes were conducting the same careful scan of our surroundings.

"Someone has to," I replied with a half-smile.

The northern giant had become a steady presence at my side during resistance activities over the past weeks.

Though I would never have chosen him as a companion—he was too large, too visible, too foreign to blend in anywhere in the capital—I'd come to appreciate his quiet strength and shrewd assessment of situations.

Beneath that massive frame and stoic exterior lay a surprisingly keen mind.

The door at the top of the stairs finally opened, and Kalen appeared, followed closely by Mira. They descended quickly, Kalen's weathered face set in grim lines that deepened the furrows already carved by years of sun and struggle.

"Apologies for the delay," he said without preamble as he reached the centre of the room. "We had to take a circuitous route. Imperial presence in the city has increased again."

A ripple of unease passed through the gathered members.

Mira stepped forward, unrolling a map on the central table.

"Two more checkpoints have been established," she said, marking the locations with small red pins.

"Here at the western gate, and here where the merchants' road enters the noble district. "

"They're tightening the noose," someone muttered from the back.

Kalen nodded grimly. "It appears so. But this actually confirms what our sources have told us—the Emperor is nervous. These increased security measures aren't signs of strength, but of fear."

I exchanged a glance with Antonius, seeing my own scepticism mirrored in his expression. Checkpoints and patrols seemed less like fear and more like preparation to me. As if the Empire was expecting something.

Or perhaps planning something.

"The festival is ten days away," Kalen continued, his finger tracing the route of the imperial procession on the map.

"Our plans remain unchanged, despite these developments.

If anything, the increased security makes our message even more important.

The people need to see that even in the heart of imperial power, voices of dissent cannot be silenced. "

I shifted uncomfortably, the doubts I'd been harbouring for days pressing against my ribcage, demanding voice. Before I could speak, however, someone else beat me to it.

"Are we certain the Emperor will actually attend?

" The question came from a lean, scholarly-looking man I'd noticed at several recent meetings.

Elan, I thought his name was. A scribe or minor official in some imperial office—valuable for the information he could access, but still new enough to the resistance that I remained wary of him.

"Our intelligence is solid," Mira assured him. "The Emperor attends the Storm Festival every year. It's a tradition dating back generations, a symbol of imperial continuity and strength."

"But with the recent unrest," Elan pressed, "might he not decide the risk outweighs tradition?"

A fair question, and one I'd been wondering myself. The Emperor was many things, but he wasn't foolish. With rebellions flaring across the provinces and discontent growing in the capital itself, placing himself in the midst of a crowded festival seemed unnecessarily risky.

Unless he had absolute confidence in his security. Or unless he wanted something to happen.

The thought had been nagging at me for days, a persistent whisper I couldn't quite silence. What if the Emperor knew about our plans? What if he was allowing them to proceed for reasons of his own?

"The Emperor cannot show weakness," Kalen said firmly. "Skipping the festival would be tantamount to admitting he fears his own people. His pride won't allow it."

It was a reasonable assessment. The Emperor's arrogance was legendary, his belief in his divine right to rule absolute. But still, the uneasy feeling persisted.

"Now," Mira continued, "let's review the positions and timing."

For the next hour, we went over the details of the planned demonstration—who would be stationed where, the sequence of events, contingency plans if imperial guards reacted more aggressively than anticipated.

I listened carefully, committing the information to memory while part of my mind continued to gnaw at the question of imperial foreknowledge.

When the meeting finally broke, people began to filter out in small groups, careful not to leave all at once and draw attention. I remained seated, nursing the dregs of my ale, Antonius a solid presence beside me.

"You're troubled," he observed once most of the others had departed.

I glanced at him, then across the room where Tarshi and Livia were speaking with Kalen in low, intense voices. "This doesn't feel right," I admitted.

"The plan?"

"All of it. The location change. The increased patrols. The expectation that the Emperor will still attend despite everything that's happening." I shook my head. "It feels like we're missing something important."

Antonius considered this, his massive hands wrapped around a tankard that looked like a child's cup in his grasp. "You think we're walking into a trap."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway. "I think it's a possibility we need to consider more seriously than we have been."

"Have you spoken to Kalen about these concerns?"

"Tried to. He's convinced the Emperor's pride will override his caution."

"And you disagree."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I don't know. Maybe Kalen's right. But what if he isn't? What if the Emperor knows exactly what we're planning and is allowing it to happen so he can make an example of us?"

Antonius's expression darkened. "A public execution of resistance members would certainly send a message."

"Exactly. And with the festival drawing crowds from across the city, including families with children..." I trailed off, the implications too grim to voice fully.

Antonius was silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting to where Livia stood. There was something in his expression—a softening, a subtle shift I might have missed if I hadn't been watching him closely.

"You're concerned for her," he said quietly, nodding toward Livia.

I followed his gaze. "For all of them. But yes, for her especially."

"You care for her." Again, not a question.

"We have history," I admitted. "Complicated history."

Antonius nodded, his eyes still on Livia. "She's... unusual. I've never met anyone quite like her."

Something in his tone made me look at him more carefully. "No, I suppose you haven't."

He must have sensed my scrutiny because he turned back to me, his expression once again impassive. "Tarshi mentioned something interesting the other day. About her relationship with a noble at the academy. And a gladiator named Septimus."

My eyebrows rose. "Did he now?"

"He said she's... open to having more than one man in her life." Antonius took a careful sip of his ale, his tone deliberately casual. "Is that common in the Empire?"

I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. So that was the direction of his thoughts. "Not common, no. But Livia has never concerned herself much with what's common or expected."

"And her men don't mind sharing her?"

I considered how to answer. My own complicated feelings for Livia—the history we shared, the bond that remained despite everything—were private. But I found I didn't mind discussing it with Antonius. There was something solid about him, something trustworthy that invited confidence.

"It's not about sharing," I said finally. "It's about accepting that she has enough love for more than one person, and that each relationship fulfils different needs." I shrugged. "At least, that's how she explained it to me."

Antonius nodded slowly, absorbing this. "In the North, such arrangements are not unheard of, though usually it's one man with multiple wives, not the reverse.

But there are exceptions. Among the Ice Tribes, where women are fewer due to a strange sickness that affects female infants, some women take multiple husbands. "

"And how does that work?"