Page 53 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

Marcus looked like he wanted to argue, but his gaze drifted over my shoulder, his expression shifting subtly. I turned to follow his line of sight.

Near the centre of the square, a young family had spread a blanket, the mother unpacking what looked like a picnic while three small children danced around her, faces bright with excitement.

The father was lifting the smallest, a little girl with golden curls, onto his shoulders for a better view of the stage.

"There are so many families here," Marcus murmured, a new note of concern in his voice.

"It's a festival," Octavia replied, not understanding his concern. "Of course there are families."

"Yes, but..." Marcus frowned, still watching the scene. "In previous years, the security was much tighter. Families with young children were usually kept farther back from the stage, behind cordons of guards. For their safety, supposedly."

I scanned the square again, seeing it with new eyes. Children were everywhere, playing games, eating sweets, riding on their parents' shoulders. And there were no security cordons, no guards herding them away from what should have been the most secure area of the square.

"It's as if they're encouraging families to gather close to the stage," Antonius observed, his deep voice troubled.

A memory surfaced—my conversation with Tarshi just yesterday, his reassurance that today's demonstration would be peaceful but powerful. He had seemed so certain, so confident in the plan. But now, in light of everything we were seeing...

"When is the Emperor supposed to arrive?" I asked, the question directed at no one in particular.

"Noon," Antonius replied, glancing at the sun's position. "Less than half an hour from now."

"And where is the imperial procession?" I asked, the cold feeling in my stomach spreading, becoming a dread that crawled up my spine. "Where are the heralds? The ceremonial guards? The nobles who always gather to greet him?"

We all turned toward the imperial stage, erected at the far end of the square for the Emperor's opening speech.

It stood empty. No guards lined its perimeter.

No imperial attendants bustled about making last-minute preparations.

No sign at all of the pomp and ceremony that invariably accompanied any imperial appearance.

"Shouldn't there be... something happening by now?" Octavia asked, voicing what we were all thinking. "Preparations? Announcements?"

"Yes," Marcus confirmed, his voice hollow. "There should be a procession forming. Imperial guards clearing a path. Heralds announcing his approach. Nobles assembling to greet him."

I scanned the square again, this time with focused attention.

The crowd was thick with ordinary citizens—families with children, merchants, labourers enjoying a rare day of leisure.

But the usual contingent of nobility was conspicuously absent.

No finely dressed lords and ladies jostling for position near the stage.

No imperial officials supervising the proceedings.

"He's not coming," I whispered, the realization hitting me with the force of a physical blow. "The Emperor was never planning to attend."

Marcus nodded grimly. "Which means the resistance's plan to publicly address him..."

"It was doomed from the start," Antonius finished.

"But why?" Octavia asked, confusion and fear mingling in her voice. "Why announce he would attend and then not come?"

I searched the crowd again, this time looking for resistance members. I spotted a few—faces I recognized from meetings, positioned near various platforms and balconies around the square, exactly as planned. Waiting to make speeches to an Emperor who would never arrive.

And still, imperial guards were pulling back rather than moving in. Still, families gathered in the centre of the square, directly in front of the empty stage.

The answer struck me with such clarity it took my breath away. "It's a trap," I said, the words barely audible over the festive noise surrounding us. "But not for the Emperor. For us. For the resistance."

Marcus's face had gone pale. "And for all these people," he added, gesturing to the innocents surrounding us, still laughing, still celebrating, utterly unaware of the danger. "But what's the trap? What's going to happen?"

I didn't know, but dread settled in my stomach like a stone. If Jalend had warned me away, if imperial guards were pulling back rather than moving in...

"We need to find the others," I said urgently. "Tarshi, Mira, anyone from the resistance. We need to warn them, stop whatever's planned before it’s too late."

“What if Tarshi’s involved, Livia?” asked Antonius gently. “From what I’ve heard, this Lord cares for you. He wouldn’t tell you to stay away if there was only going to be a demonstration. Something serious is going on, and I think people are going to get hurt.”

"No," I said firmly, rejecting the unspoken accusation. "Tarshi wouldn't be involved in anything that would hurt innocents. He's not like that."

"Maybe not normally," Antonius said quietly. "But if he was pushed too far…”

"We need to find him," I said again, more urgently this time. "Now. Before whatever is going to happen—"

A child's laugh cut through our tense conversation—a little girl with dark curls, perched on her father's shoulders, pointing excitedly at a performer who had begun juggling flaming torches nearby. Her delight was so pure, so innocent against the backdrop of our growing fear.

"I'll check the north side of the square," Marcus decided, already backing away. "Antonius, take the east. Livia, you and Octavia stay central, look for Mira or any other resistance members you recognize. Tell them to get out, to get as many people out as they can."

I nodded, though I had no idea how we would convince people to leave a festival they had been eagerly anticipating, based on nothing but our vague suspicions.

"Be careful," I called after Marcus as he turned to go. "And if you find Tarshi..."

"I'll bring him to you," he promised, then disappeared into the crowd.

Antonius gave us a solemn nod before heading in the opposite direction, his height allowing him to move more quickly through the press of bodies.

"What do we do?" Octavia asked, her earlier joy completely vanished, replaced by tense wariness. "How do we warn people without causing a panic?"

I scanned the square again, desperately searching for Mira, for any familiar face among the crowd. "I don't know. But we have to try.”

My hand clamped around Octavia’s wrist. “Stay close. We’ll find Mira first.” We plunged into the throng, the festive sounds grating on my nerves, every cheerful shout a prelude to a scream.

The sheer number of people made movement slow, a frustrating, sluggish wade through a sea of bodies oblivious to the current pulling them under.

I tried to warn a man with a toddler on his shoulders.

“You should move back,” I urged. “It’s not safe here.

” He just laughed, assuming I meant the crush of the crowd, and tightened his grip on his child’s legs.

“There!” Octavia cried, pointing toward a stone balcony overlooking the north side of the square.

I followed her gaze and saw Mira. She stood at the balustrade, pamphlets in hand, her expression resolute.

Her eyes were fixed on the clock tower of the justice building, its hands about to strike noon.

“Mira!” I yelled, dragging Octavia in my wake. “You have to get out of here!”

She saw the raw panic on my face as I reached her, my fingers digging into her arm. “Livia? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s a trap,” I gasped, the words tumbling out. “The Emperor, he isn’t coming. They’re pulling the guards back. We have to leave. Now.”

Mira stared at me, her mouth opening to argue.

But before a sound could pass her lips, the great bell in the city’s central tower began to toll the noon hour.

One. Two. The deep, resonant chimes echoed across the square, a sombre counterpoint to the festival’s cheer.

On the twelfth and final stroke, the world exploded.