Page 56 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)
Dawn found me pacing the confines of my chambers like a caged animal.
Sleep had eluded me entirely, my mind too full of Santius's revelations and my own tangled thoughts to find any peace.
The festival was due to begin in a matter of hours, and something terrible was going to happen—something my father had orchestrated, something I was powerless to prevent.
I paused at the window, watching as the first golden rays of sunlight spilled across the imperial city.
From this height, everything looked peaceful, orderly, the cobblestone streets already beginning to fill with citizens making their way toward the central square.
They were excited, happy, anticipating a day of celebration.
They had no idea they were walking into a trap.
And I had done nothing to warn them.
The realization sat like lead in my stomach.
I had spent the night convincing myself there was nothing I could do.
Any public warning would be dismissed as the ravings of a madman, or worse, as treason against the Empire.
My father's agents would silence me before I could reach more than a handful of people.
But I had warned one person. Livia.
The thought of her brought both comfort and fresh anxiety. She had promised to stay away from the festival, but the doubt in her eyes haunted me. Would she heed my warning? Would she be safe?
I needed to see her. To make sure. And perhaps.
.. perhaps to tell her the truth. Not just about today's danger, but about who I truly was.
The thought made my heart race with fear, but also with a strange, desperate hope.
If anyone could understand the impossible position I found myself in, it might be her.
Decision made, I dressed quickly, choosing plain clothes that would attract minimal attention. No Imperial insignia, nothing to mark me as the Emperor's heir. Today, I would be just a man, seeking the woman who had somehow become essential to my peace of mind.
The academy was quiet as I made my way through its corridors, most of its inhabitants already gone to the festival. I reached Livia's chambers and knocked softly, then more insistently when no answer came.
"Livia?" I called, pressing my ear to the door. Nothing but silence greeted me.
I tried the handle, finding it unlocked. The room beyond was empty, the bed neatly made, no sign of recent occupation. My stomach clenched with dread. She had gone to the festival after all, despite her promise, despite my warning.
Without conscious thought, I was running, tearing through the academy halls and out into the street beyond.
The central square was a good twenty-minute walk from here, but perhaps I could reach it in ten if I ran.
Ten minutes to find one woman in a crowd of thousands, before whatever my father had planned was set in motion.
The streets grew more crowded as I neared the festival, forcing me to slow, to weave between groups of families and friends making their leisurely way toward the celebration.
Their laughter, their casual conversation about what treats they would sample or which performances they would see, felt like a mockery of the fear churning inside me.
"Excuse me," I muttered, pushing past an elderly couple. "Pardon me." Shouldering between a group of young men carrying flagons of ale.
I had almost reached the square, was just turning the corner into the Street of Silversmiths which would lead directly to its western edge, when the world shook with a sound like the gods themselves rending the sky.
For a moment, I stood frozen, my mind refusing to accept what my senses told me. Then I saw the plume of smoke and dust rising from the direction of the square, heard the first screams cutting through the stunned silence that had followed the explosion.
It had begun.
I broke into a run again, no longer bothering with politeness as I shoved my way forward.
The crowd had changed direction now, people fleeing from the square rather than moving toward it, their faces masks of terror and confusion.
I fought against the tide, ignoring their shouts of warning, their attempts to pull me back from danger.
A second explosion rocked the ground beneath my feet, this one further away, followed shortly by a third and fourth. My father's plan was unfolding with brutal efficiency, each blast precisely timed to create maximum chaos, maximum casualties.
The street opened onto the square, and I stumbled to a halt, my mind struggling to process the scene before me.
The imperial records office was gone, reduced to a smoking crater.
The tax collector's office, the guard barracks, the justice building—all destroyed, their ancient stones scattered across cobblestones now stained with blood.
Bodies lay amid the rubble, some moving, many still.
People stumbled about in shock or ran blindly, seeking any escape from the nightmare the festival had become.
"Livia!" I shouted, my voice lost in the cacophony of screams and falling debris. "Livia!"
I pushed forward into the square, searching frantically for any sign of her among the wounded and the fleeing. An elderly man lay pinned beneath a heavy wooden beam, his feeble attempts to free himself growing weaker by the moment. Without thinking, I moved to him, grabbing one end of the beam.
"Help me!" I called to a passing man, who hesitated only briefly before joining me. Together, we lifted the beam enough for the old man to drag himself free, his legs clearly injured but not crushed.
"Thank you," he gasped, clutching my arm briefly before limping toward the edge of the square, toward safety.
I turned back to the chaos, still calling Livia's name, still searching for a glimpse of her face among the survivors. The smoke was thicker now, making it difficult to see across the square, difficult to breathe.
And then I saw her.
She and Octavia were supporting a woman between them, her arms draped over their shoulders as they made their way slowly toward the edge of the square. Livia's face was streaked with blood and soot, her clothing torn, but she was alive, moving with purpose through the destruction.
"Livia!" I shouted, starting toward them. "Livia!"
She looked up at the sound of my voice, her eyes widening with recognition. "Jalend!" she called back, relief evident even through the strain in her voice. "Help us!"
I reached them quickly, moving to take the unconscious woman's weight from them. But as I touched her, her eyes flew open, and she began to struggle, to scream.
"My daughter!" she shrieked, fighting against our hold. "Miri! Where is she? My daughter!"
"Please," Livia tried to calm her, "you're injured. Let us get you to safety first, then—"
"No!" The woman's hysteria gave her strength, and she nearly broke free from our grasp. "She's only six! She was right beside me when... when..." She dissolved into sobs, her legs buckling beneath her.
From somewhere in the centre of the square, amid the rubble of the fallen buildings, came a child's cry—high, terrified, unmistakable even amid the chaos.
"There!" the woman gasped, pointing toward the sound. "That's her! Miri!"
Livia turned to Octavia, her face set with determination. "Can you manage her on your own?"
Octavia nodded, though the strain was evident in her posture as she took the woman's full weight. "Go," she said. "Find the child. I'll get her to safety."
"This way," Livia said to me, already moving toward where the cry had come from. I followed without hesitation, scrambling over fallen stones and splintered timbers, the heat from still-burning sections of the buildings searing against my skin.
The child's cries led us to a partially collapsed stall, its colourful awning now serving as a makeshift tent over a small space among the rubble. Livia dropped to her knees, pulling back the fabric to reveal a little girl huddled beneath, her face tear-streaked but miraculously unharmed.
"Mama?" she sobbed as she saw us. "I want my mama!"
"She's safe," Livia assured her, reaching out a hand. "She sent us to find you. Come on, we'll take you to her."
The child hesitated, then took Livia's offered hand, allowing herself to be drawn out from her shelter. I knelt beside them, offering what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
"What's your name?" I asked, trying to distract her from the horror surrounding us.
"Miri," she whispered, her eyes huge in her soot-stained face.
"I'm Jalend," I told her. "And this is Livia. We're going to take you to your mother now, Miri. Would you like me to carry you?"
She nodded, raising her arms to me. I lifted her carefully, cradling her against my chest as I stood. Her small body trembled against mine, a fragile reminder of all the innocence shattered in this square today.
"Let's go," Livia said, already turning back the way we had come. "Octavia was heading for the commander's residence. It's still standing, and the doorway looked stable enough to provide some shelter."
We picked our way back through the debris, Miri's face buried against my shoulder, her tiny hands clutching at my shirt. Livia moved ahead of us, navigating the safest path through the destruction with the instincts of someone who had seen battlefields before.
The commander's residence came into view, its stone facade still intact despite the devastation surrounding it. I could see Octavia in its doorway, supporting Miri's mother, both watching anxiously for our return.
"There they are," I said to the child in my arms. "There's your mother, just as we promised."
Miri lifted her head, a smile breaking through her tears as she caught sight of her mother. She waved, a small gesture of relief that cut through the horror of the day like a knife through darkness.