Page 57 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

The blast came from directly beneath the commander's residence, the building erupting in a fountain of flame and splintered stone. The force of it knocked us backward, Livia falling to the cobblestones beside me as I twisted to shield Miri with my body.

When I could see again, could think again, the doorway where Octavia and Miri's mother had stood was gone, replaced by roaring flames and billowing smoke.

"Tavi!" Livia's scream tore through the air, raw with a grief too profound for words. "OCTAVIA!"

She was on her feet in an instant, lurching toward the burning building, toward where her friend had been standing moments before. I scrambled up, still clutching Miri to my chest, and lunged after her.

"Livia, no!" I caught her arm with my free hand, trying to pull her back from the inferno. "You can't go in there!"

"Let me go!" she cried, fighting against my grip with a strength born of desperation. "Octavia! I have to find her!"

"She's gone," I said, the brutal truth like ashes in my mouth. "Livia, please. There's nothing you can do for her now."

Miri was sobbing against my shoulder, her cries adding to the cacophony of horror surrounding us. I struggled to hold onto both her and Livia, who continued to fight me, to try to reach the flames that had consumed her friend.

"Livia!" A new voice cut through the chaos—deep, authoritative, familiar. Septimus pushed through the smoke toward us, his face streaked with blood, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. "What happened?"

"Octavia," Livia sobbed, still straining toward the burning building. "She was in there. With this child's mother. They were waiting for us, and now..."

Understanding dawned in Septimus's eyes. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and scooped Livia into his arms, ignoring her struggles, her protests. "We need to get out of here," he said to me, already turning toward one of the alleys leading away from the square. "Now, before the next one."

I followed, still cradling Miri, whose sobs had quieted to a stunned, hiccupping silence against my chest. The alley was narrow, choked with people fleeing the devastation, but Septimus moved through them with grim efficiency, Livia still fighting weakly in his arms.

We made it several streets away before Septimus finally stopped, setting Livia down in the shelter of a small courtyard where a fountain still played, obscenely peaceful amid the sounds of distant screams and crumbling stone.

Livia collapsed against the fountain's edge, her face a mask of grief and shock. "Octavia," she whispered, the name a prayer, a lament. "She was right there. Right there."

I looked down at Miri, who stared back at me with eyes too old for her young face. What could I possibly say to her? How could I explain that her mother was gone, consumed in flame and rubble?

A family hurried past the courtyard entrance—a man and woman with three children in tow, all of them wild-eyed with fear but uninjured. I made a swift decision.

"Wait," I called to them, stepping forward. The man turned, wariness and fear in his expression. "Please, this child..." I gestured to Miri. "Her mother... she didn't make it. Can you take her with you? Just until she can be placed with proper authorities?"

The woman stepped forward immediately, compassion overriding caution. "Of course," she said, holding out her arms to Miri. "Come, little one. You can stay with us for now."

Miri hesitated, looking up at me with those too-old eyes. "My mama's not coming back, is she?" she asked, her voice small but steady.

I couldn't lie to her. "No," I said gently. "I'm so sorry, Miri. But these people will take care of you until we can find your family."

She nodded, a tiny, solemn movement, and allowed herself to be transferred to the woman's arms. As they hurried away, I felt something inside me crack—a fissure in whatever remained of my faith in the Empire, in my father, in the order I had been raised to uphold.

I turned back to find Livia trying to rise, trying to return to the square, to the inferno that had claimed Octavia. Septimus blocked her path, his hands firm on her shoulders.

"She's gone, Livia," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle for such a hard man. "Octavia is gone. There's nothing you can do for her now."

"I have to try," Livia insisted, though her voice was weak, her struggles feeble. "I can't just leave her there."

"You'll die too," Septimus said bluntly. "Is that what she would want?"

I moved to them, placing a hand on Livia's back, feeling the tremors that ran through her body. "He's right," I said softly. "We can't go back there. Not now."

Something broke in her then. She let out a sound—not quite a scream, not quite a sob, but something primal and wounded that seemed to come from the deepest part of her. Her legs gave way, and she would have fallen if Septimus and I hadn't caught her, lowering her gently to the cobblestones.

She curled in on herself, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I knelt beside her, stroking her hair, murmuring nonsense words of comfort that I knew could never touch the depth of her grief.

Septimus stood over us, his face a rigid mask that couldn't quite hide his own pain. "The resistance," he spat, the words like venom. "They did this. All of this."

"No," Livia's voice was muffled against her knees, but the vehemence in it was unmistakable. "It wasn't the resistance. It was a setup, designed to look like the resistance. It was the Emperor. The Empire."

Septimus stared at her, disbelief warring with something else in his expression—something that looked almost like hope. "How could you possibly know that?"

I spoke before I could consider the wisdom of it, before I could weigh the consequences of revealing what I knew.

"She's right," I said, still stroking Livia's hair, feeling her lean into my touch like a wounded animal seeking comfort.

"The soldiers were ordered to pull back from the festival.

Noble families were quietly warned to stay away.

It was engineered to make the resistance look like terrorists, to turn public opinion against them and against the Talfen. "

Septimus's eyes narrowed, suspicion replacing disbelief. "And how do you know this, nobleman's son?"

I held his gaze steadily. "I have contacts in the military," I said, the half-truth coming easily to my lips. "I heard things. Rumours. Enough to piece it together, enough to know something terrible was planned for today."

I looked down at Livia, who had gone still against me, her sobs quieting though tears still tracked through the soot on her face. "That's why I asked you not to come," I said, unable to keep the anger from my voice. "Why I begged you to stay away. Why you promised me you would."

She lifted her head, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, but clear with a terrible understanding. "I had to come," she whispered. "For Tarshi."

The name meant nothing to me, but it clearly meant something to Septimus. He straightened, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking between them, sensing undercurrents I didn't understand. "Who is Tarshi?"

Neither answered me directly. Livia pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly until I steadied her with a hand at her elbow. "Where are you going?" she asked Septimus, who had turned toward the alley leading back to the square.

"To find him," he replied, his voice gruff with an emotion I couldn't identify. "To bring him home to us."

"I'm coming with you," Livia said immediately, taking a step forward.

"No." Septimus's refusal was absolute, brooking no argument. "You stay here with your... friend." He glanced at me, a flicker of something—assessment, perhaps, or warning—in his eyes. "Keep her safe," he told me, the words an order despite his lack of authority over me. "Don't let her follow me."

Before either of us could protest, he was gone, disappearing back into the smoke-filled streets with the purposeful stride of a man who knew exactly what he was seeking.

Livia moved to follow him, but I tightened my grip on her arm. "You heard him," I said. "You're staying here."

"I can't," she said, turning to me with pleading eyes. "Jalend, you don't understand. Tarshi is... he's important to me. And if what Septimus implied is true, if he was somehow involved in this..."

"All the more reason for you to stay clear," I insisted. "Livia, please. I've already watched you nearly run into a burning building today. I can't bear to see you put yourself in danger again."

She stared at me, something shifting in her expression—a softening, a recognition of the emotion I had inadvertently revealed. "You really do care for me," she said, sounding almost surprised.

"Of course I do," I replied, the admission easier than I had expected. "Why else would I have warned you away from the festival? Why else would I have come looking for you when I realized you'd gone anyway?"

She leaned into me then, her body suddenly boneless with exhaustion and grief. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, feeling her tears soak into my shirt. We stood like that for a long moment, finding brief solace amid the sounds of a city tearing itself apart in panic and confusion.

"Who is he?" I asked finally, my voice soft against her hair. "This Tarshi that Septimus has gone to find?"

She was silent for so long I thought she might not answer. When she did, her voice was muffled against my chest, but clear enough. "He's a gladiator. A Talfen. A friend." She paused, then added, "More than a friend."

“You have a Talfen lover?” I asked her, shock freeing my mouth more than I would have wished.

She nodded, her guard down, drained of any kind of pretence or hope. “I did. I do. Others too. I’m sorry.”

The admission shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. I had no claim on her heart, no right to the jealousy that flared briefly in my chest. I pushed it away, focusing instead on her pain, on her need.

"And Septimus thinks he was involved in the bombings?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

She nodded, then pulled back slightly to look up at me, her eyes haunted. "But if he was, it wasn't knowingly. He wouldn't... he was desperate and he couldn't have known what would happen. He thought they were going to get the people out first."

The conviction in her voice was absolute, leaving no room for doubt.

Whoever this Tarshi was, she believed in him completely.

Loved him, perhaps. The thought should have pained me more than it did, but in that moment, seeing her grief, her fear, all I wanted was for her to be spared any further suffering.

"Then I'm sure Septimus will find him," I said, with more confidence than I felt. "And bring him back safely."

She nodded, though doubt lingered in her eyes. She rested her head against my chest again, her breathing gradually steadying as exhaustion took its toll. I held her, offering what comfort I could, as the sounds of the city's agony continued around us.

In the distance, imperial horns began to sound—the signal for the city guard to mobilize, for emergency measures to be enacted. Soon, the streets would be flooded with soldiers, with imperial officials taking control of the chaos, shaping the narrative to suit my father's purposes.

I needed to get Livia somewhere safe before that happened. Somewhere she wouldn't be questioned about her presence at the festival, about her connections to the resistance, about this Tarshi who might or might not have been involved in the bombings.

But for now, I simply held her, this woman who had somehow become the still point in my spinning world.

And I wondered, with a dread that settled bone-deep, what would happen when she discovered who I truly was—and the part my blood, my name, my inheritance had played in the destruction of everything she held dear.