Page 46 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

"I think," I said carefully, "that even the best of men can make rash decisions when they're hurting."

She shook her head firmly. "Not Tarshi. He wouldn't do anything stupid."

I wanted to believe her. But I had seen too much of humanity—at its best and at its worst—to be so certain. "He's a good man," I agreed. "But he's still a man. And men can be pushed to extremes, especially when protecting those they love."

"You're wrong," Livia insisted, though doubt flickered in her eyes. "He wouldn't risk everything we've worked for, everything we're fighting for."

I didn't argue further. There was no point in adding to her worries without concrete evidence. And perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Tarshi was simply discussing some innocuous aspect of tomorrow's demonstration.

"Are the plans finalized for tomorrow?" Livia asked, clearly eager to change the subject.

I nodded. "The festival square will be packed—it always is for the Summer Festival. Members of the resistance, protected by others positioned strategically throughout the crowd, will mount platforms and balconies around the square and address the people directly."

"In front of the Emperor himself," Antonius added, his voice grim with satisfaction. "Let him hear the truth of his rule spoken aloud, for all to witness."

"It's a bold plan," I acknowledged. "But if we succeed, it could change everything. The people need to hear that there are alternatives to the Empire's brutality, that resistance is possible."

Livia nodded, her eyes brightening with renewed purpose. This was what she had been fighting for since I had known her—a chance to strike back at the Empire that had destroyed our village, enslaved us, forced us to kill for sport. A chance for justice, not just vengeance.

"It might be safer," Antonius said carefully, "for you and Octavia to remain away from the festival tomorrow. Just as a precaution."

I shot him a grateful look. I had been thinking the same thing but hadn't known how to suggest it without igniting Livia's stubborn pride.

"I agree," Octavia said quickly. "I can stay with you, Livia. We can wait for news together."

But Livia was already shaking her head, that familiar determination hardening her features. "No. I need to be there. This is too important."

"Livia," I began, but she cut me off with a raised hand.

"The demonstration isn't going to be dangerous for people in the crowd," she insisted.

"It's a peaceful protest, remember? And this is important to all of us—to Tarshi, to me, to everyone who dreams of a different kind of world.

" Her voice softened, a rare vulnerability showing through.

"I want a life someday, Marcus. A real life, where I can be with the men I love without fearing they don't come home one night just because of their bloodline. "

I couldn't argue with that. It was the future I wanted for her too, even if I wasn't one of those men she would build that life with.

I had accepted long ago that Livia's heart was too vast to belong to any one person—it was one of the things that made her who she was, this capacity for loving deeply and without reservation.

"If Livia is going, then I'm coming too," Octavia declared, crossing her arms in a posture that brooked no argument.

"Octavia, no," Livia protested. "It's one thing for me to take the risk, but you—"

"What? I'm just a house slave, so my life matters less?" Octavia challenged, one eyebrow raised.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean? If it's safe enough for you to be in the crowd, it's safe enough for me. Unless you're admitting it might be dangerous after all?"

Livia's mouth opened, then closed, caught in the trap of her own logic. I suppressed a smile. Octavia might not have been trained in combat, but she was formidable in her own way.

"Fine," Livia conceded finally. "But you stay close to me, understand? If anything happens—anything at all—you run. Don't wait for me, don't try to help. Just run."

"I'm not completely helpless, you know," Octavia said, a hint of injured pride in her voice. "I may not be a gladiator, but I know how to take care of myself."

"I know you're not helpless," Livia said, softening. "I just... I couldn't bear it if something happened to you because of me."

The genuine affection between them made my heart twist with a complicated emotion—joy that Livia had found friendship in this harsh world, sadness that I had never been able to provide her with the simple companionship she clearly needed.

"Besides," Octavia added with a small smile, "how could I turn down the chance to watch history being made?"

"It will certainly be historic," Antonius agreed, though I noticed he didn't specify what kind of history it might be. The northerner had become increasingly cautious over the past weeks, his initial enthusiasm for the resistance tempered by a growing wariness that mirrored my own.

The conversation shifted to practical matters then—where to meet before the festival, what to wear to blend with the crowd, signals to watch out for from the resistance leaders.

Throughout it all, I kept glancing at Livia, noting the tension that still lined her face despite her engagement with the plans.

She was worried about Tarshi, about Septimus, about what tomorrow might bring.

And so was I.

As the evening wore on, Antonius eventually rose to leave, citing an early morning obligation. He paused beside Livia's chair, his massive hand resting briefly on her shoulder.

"I have great respect for Tarshi," he said quietly. "He is a man of honour, regardless of his bloodline. And I could never think less of you for seeing in him what others are too blind to recognize."

Livia looked up at him, relief and gratitude plain on her face. "Thank you, Antonius. That means more than you know."

He nodded, a slight flush colouring his weathered cheeks, then ducked out the door with surprising grace for a man of his size.

I watched him go, noticing how Livia's eyes followed him, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

She thought highly of him, that much was clear, but I doubted she realized the depth of his feelings for her.

Antonius had confided in me weeks ago, awkward and uncertain in a way that had been almost endearing from such a formidable warrior.

Octavia tactfully busied herself with clearing away the tea things, giving Livia and me a moment of relative privacy.

"I meant what I said," I told her, keeping my voice low. "I'll find Septimus, make sure he's not doing anything stupid."

"Thank you," she said again, her hand finding mine. "I'm sorry to drag you into this mess."

I smiled, squeezing her fingers. "If I recall correctly, I've been dragged into your messes since you barged into my room at the ludus and demanded I train you. Why stop now?"

Her answering smile was tired but genuine. "We've come a long way from the ludus, haven't we?"

"We have." I paused, considering my next words carefully. "I know you're worried about tomorrow, about Tarshi, about all of it. But whatever happens, we'll face it together. All of us."

"Even Septimus?" she asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice.

"Even Septimus," I confirmed. "He's an idiot, as Octavia so eloquently put it. But he loves you, in his own broken way. And I think... I think he might love Tarshi too, though he's too afraid to admit it, even to himself."

Livia's eyes widened slightly. "You think so?"

"Why else would he be so angry? Why go to such lengths to deny what's between them?" I shrugged. "Fear makes people do terrible things, especially to those they care about most."

She considered this, her face thoughtful. "I hope you're right," she said finally. "I hope there's still a chance for them, for all of us."

"There is," I assured her, with more confidence than I felt. "Tomorrow will be a new beginning. You'll see."

As she left a short while later, Octavia accompanying her back to the academy to ensure she arrived safely, I stood in the doorway watching them go. Two women, so different in temperament and experience, yet bound by a friendship that had grown strong in the face of shared adversity.

I closed the door, my mind already turning to the task of finding Septimus before he could do something we would all regret.

But beneath that immediate concern, a deeper worry gnawed at me.

Something about tomorrow's demonstration felt wrong—a subtle discord in the planning, a too-easy acceptance from the Imperial authorities, Kalen and Mira's increasing secrecy.

I had learned long ago to trust my instincts, and right now, they were screaming a warning I couldn't quite decipher. As I gathered my cloak and slipped out into the night to begin my search for Septimus, I could only hope I was being paranoid.

Because if I wasn't—if my fears about tomorrow were justified—we might be walking into something far more dangerous than any of us had anticipated.