Page 6 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

What I felt for Tarshi was something altogether different.

Darker. Wilder. When I was with him, reduced to nothing but sensation and need, I felt a kind of reckless freedom I'd never known before.

No duty, no vengeance, no past or future.

Just the present moment and the shameful pleasure I couldn't resist.

I slipped down the alley after Tarshi, more careful now.

The chaos with the merchant had cost me precious time, and I'd nearly lost sight of him.

The narrow street curved sharply, then opened into a small courtyard hidden between buildings.

A stone fountain stood dry in the centre, its basin cracked and overgrown with moss.

Tarshi was right at the end, his back to me, and he slipped through a sagging doorway beneath a faded sign. I couldn't make out the words, but the crude painting of a woman's silhouette told me enough. A tavern, but also a brothel. Something twisted in my gut—jealousy? Disgust? Both, perhaps.

I waited, counting to twenty before approaching the door.

The wood was warped from years of rain, and when I pushed it open, it creaked loud enough to wake the dead.

No one turned to look. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sweat and cheap perfume.

Talfen and humans mingled in the dim light, their features blurred by the haze.

A woman approached me, her dress cut low to reveal generous breasts. "Looking for company, soldier?" she purred, running a finger down my chest.

I brushed her hand away. "I'm looking for someone."

"Aren't we all?" She laughed, the sound hollow. "Coin first, then I'll help you find whoever you're seeking."

I pressed a denarius into her palm, my eyes scanning the room. "Talfen male. Dark hair, about my height. Came in just before me."

Her smile faltered. "Oh. Him." She jerked her chin toward a curtained doorway at the back. "Through there, down the hall. But it's not what you think."

I pushed past her, ignoring the wary look in her eyes, and headed up the stairs behind the curtain.

Another bar in a smaller room. But something felt different.

The patrons were too attentive, their conversations too measured.

No drunken brawls, no loudmouthed braggarts.

Tarshi nodded to the barkeep and headed straight for a door at the back.

I waited for a few moments before following.

The room beyond was not the bedroom I’d been expecting in a place such as this but had been converted into some kind of meeting room.

Wooden benches formed a semicircle around a small platform.

Oil lamps cast a warm glow over the two dozen or so people gathered there.

I positioned myself behind a stack of wine barrels near the stairs, where I could observe without being seen. Tarshi sat near the front, his broad shoulders unmistakable even from behind.

My body responded to the sight of him, remembering his hands on my skin, his weight pressing me down. I forced the thoughts away, focusing instead on the gathering before me.

A man stepped onto the platform—human, from what I could tell, though his face bore scars that suggested he'd seen his share of Imperial justice.

"Friends," he began, his voice low but carrying. "Welcome to those joining us for the first time. I'm Kalen. We gather here in the spirit of truth and hope for a better future."

I rolled my eyes. Pretty words for treason.

"The Emperor would have you believe the Talfen are demons bent on our destruction. He would have you believe this war protects you. But ask yourselves: After centuries years of fighting, are any of us safer? Are any of us freer?"

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

"Tonight, we have someone who can speak to the truth of the northern border. Elara, would you share your story?"

A woman stood—fully human, with the weathered look of a farmer.

"My family had land near the Cursed Mountains for generations.

My grandfather told me that when his grandfather was a boy, we traded with the Talfen villages.

They brought furs and healing herbs; we gave grain and tools. There was peace."

She paused, her voice tightening. "Then the Emperor's men came. They burned the Talfen village near us. Said it was to protect us. When my great great grandfather protested, they took our land, called him a sympathizer."

The room had gone utterly silent.

"They're not demons," she continued. "They're people with families, customs, a way of life. This war serves only the Emperor and the noble houses that profit from it."

I shifted uncomfortably. Her words contradicted everything I'd been raised to believe. No. I pushed the thought away. The Talfen were monsters. Half-demons. They attacked our borders. This war was their fault.

I glanced at Tarshi, studying the sharp angles of his profile in the lamplight.

If they were demons, what did that make my unwanted desire for him?

What did it say about me that last night, as he'd fucked me against the wall of his chamber, his hand around my throat, I'd come harder than ever before?

Livia didn't know. Couldn't know. She believed I hated Tarshi, tolerated him only for her sake. What would she think if she knew the truth? That while she slept, I was on my knees for her Talfen lover, begging for the touch I publicly claimed to despise?

The shame of it burned through me. I was betraying her—not just with my body but with my silence. Every day I didn't tell her deepened the deception.

But how could I tell her? How could I admit that I, who'd spent years calling the Talfen demons and monsters, now craved the touch of one? The hypocrisy of it made me sick.

The meeting continued. A half-Talfen man spoke of discrimination getting worse in the city. How those with Talfen attributes were afraid for their lives.

A former soldier described atrocities he'd witnessed at the border, sanctioned by Imperial commanders.

With each testimony, my certainty wavered. These weren't the ravings of zealots or the propaganda of enemies. These were ordinary people sharing lived experiences.

"The Storm festival approaches," Kalen announced, returning to the platform. "The Emperor plans a grand display of Imperial might—a reminder of who holds power. But we will send our own message that day."

Tarshi leaned forward. "What kind of message?"

"One that cannot be ignored," Kalen replied cryptically. "The Emperor's pride will fall, and with it, the illusions he's built. And we’ll need volunteers, but it’ll be dangerous."

The room hummed with energy—anticipation, fear, determination. For a moment, I almost understood the appeal of their cause. To fight for truth, for justice. To believe in something larger than survival.

Then I remembered Tarus, my murdered brother. The Talfen raid that had destroyed everything I loved. My hatred was the only thing that had kept me alive in those early days as a slave. I couldn't surrender it now, not even in the face of these compelling stories.

And yet... what if everything I believed was built on lies? What if the hatred that had sustained me was misplaced?

The questions threatened to unravel me. It was easier to hate Tarshi, to blame his kind for everything I'd lost, than to consider the alternative. Easier to call what was between us nothing but shameful lust than to examine the confused tangle of feelings that grew more complex with each encounter.

The meeting concluded, and people began to disperse. I needed to leave before Tarshi spotted me. I backed toward the stairs, but as I turned, I collided with someone coming down.

"Watch it!" she hissed, dropping the stack of papers she carried.

Pamphlets—identical to the one I'd picked up earlier—scattered across the floor. I cursed under my breath, dropping to gather them before anyone noticed the commotion.

The woman crouched opposite me. In the dim light, I could see her features clearly now—skin the colour of mine but eyes blacker than midnight, and the unmistakable pointed ears of Talfen heritage under her greying hair.

But there was something else, something in the curve of her mouth or the arch of her brow, that was strikingly human.

I shoved the thought aside, focusing on collecting the pamphlets. "Keep these covered," I muttered. "I just saw someone arrested for carrying one of these in the market."

She studied me, suspicion evident in her gaze. "You're not one of us."

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

I glanced toward Tarshi, who was deep in conversation with Kalen. "Just... curious."

She followed my gaze, understanding dawning in her expression. "Ah. You're here for him."

The way she said it made heat rise to my face.

"Not like that," I snapped, though the lie tasted bitter. "We have mutual... interests."

She smiled, a knowing look that made me want to disappear into the shadows. "If you say so." She took the pamphlets from my hands, our fingers brushing briefly. "Thank you for the warning."

I nodded curtly and turned to leave, eager to escape before Tarshi spotted me.

I made it halfway up the stairs before a strong hand grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. Tarshi's black demonic eyes blazed with fury, his grip painfully tight.

"What in Inferi are you doing here?" he snarled, voice low enough that only I could hear.

I tried to wrench free, but his strength far exceeded mine—another reminder of his inhuman nature. "Let go of me."

"Answer the question, Septimus."

The way he said my name—part growl, part caress—sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I hated him for it. Hated myself more.

"I saw you sneaking off again. Thought you might be planning something that would endanger Livia."

His lip curled. "So you're her personal guard dog now?"

“You’re the only beast here,” I spat back. “But someone has to look out for her, especially now it seems you’re busy playing revolutionary with your half-breed friends."

His grip tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might strike me. I almost wished he would. Physical pain would be easier to bear than this confusing mix of hatred and desire.

Instead, he leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll rip your throat out."

"Is that the demon in you talking?" I taunted, though fear prickled along my skin.

A dangerous smile spread across his face. "Would you like to find out exactly what the demon in me is capable of?"

I didn’t answer, refusing to give in as my emotions warred inside me. Gods, I fucking hated this man.

His hand shifted to my throat, not squeezing but resting there, a reminder of his power over me. My pulse quickened beneath his fingers.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Septimus," he murmured, his thumb tracing my jawline. "These people would kill you if they knew who you really are."

"And what am I?" I challenged, hating how my voice betrayed me with its slight tremor.

He leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing mine. "A coward. A hypocrite. A man who hates what he desires."

I wanted to deny it, to throw his words back in his face. But the truth of them burned.

"Fuck you," I whispered, the words lacking their usual venom.

"Again?" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "I thought that's what you were following me for."

Before I could respond, he flipped a coin at the bartender and grabbed my wrist, dragging me through a different door.

This one led to a narrow hallway lined with rooms for the brothel's usual business.

My pulse quickened as he kicked open the last door and shoved me inside, locking it behind us. Oh shit.