Page 122 of City of Secrets and Shadows
“Promise me something,” she murmured, already half-asleep. “Promise you’ll tell me if I start to become a monster. If I lose sight of why we’re doing this.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “I promise. But only if you promise the same for me.”
She made a soft sound of agreement, then slipped into sleep, her breathing becoming deep and even. I lay awake, holding her, listening to the sounds of the city through the open window.
Dawn would come soon enough, bringing with it all the complications we’d set aside for this moment of honesty. Marcus would return from his night shift. Tarshi would slink back from wherever he’d gone, his knowing eyes meeting mine across the room, seeing through my pretence to the desire I couldn’t seem to extinguish. Livia would don her noble disguise and return to the Academy. And I would go back to pretending that my world wasn't falling apart at the seams.
But for now, in the darkness, with Livia’s warmth pressed against me and her confession of love still hanging in the air between us, I allowed myself to hope. Not for the simple future I’d once imagined — a cottage by the sea, children with Livia’s fierce eyes — but for something more complex and uncertain. A future where we all survived this mad venture. Where Livia found purpose beyond vengeance.
Where, perhaps, I reconciled the contradictions tearing me apart — the loyal imperial citizen and the traitor, the protector and the one who needed protection, the man who loved a woman and desired a man. Where I found the courage to face what I was becoming, whatever that might be.
It was a fragile hope, easily crushed. But as I finally drifted toward sleep, Livia safe in my arms, it was enough to keep thedarkness at bay. For tonight, at least, that would have to be enough.
31
“Hold still,” Tavi commanded, her fingers expertly weaving golden threads through my hair. “You’re worse than a fidgeting child.”
“It pulls,” I complained, wincing as she tugged a strand particularly tight.
“Beauty requires suffering, darling.” Her tone was imperious, but her eyes, reflected in the mirror before me, sparkled with amusement. “Especially when one is masquerading as nobility.”
I sighed, submitting to her ministrations. The woman staring back from the mirror was nearly unrecognizable — her skin smoothed with expensive creams, her eyes enhanced with subtle pigments, her lips tinted a soft rose. Lady Livia Cantius, scion of a distant noble house, rather than Livia the gladiator, the slave, the avenger.
“There,” Tavi said, stepping back to admire her work. “You’ll be the envy of every woman at the ball and the desire of every man. Not bad for a girl who spent most of her life covered in sand and blood.”
I turned my head, watching how the golden threads caught the light, woven through an elaborate arrangement of braids and curls. “It’s beautiful, Tavi. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to get you into that monstrosity of a dress.”
The “monstrosity” in question was hanging on a wooden frame nearby — an incredibly beautiful creation of crimson red silk and gold embroidery that had cost more than most people in the city earned in a year. Marcus had procured it through connections I didn’t dare ask about.
As Tavi helped me into the gown, lacing the complicated back with practiced hands, I studied her reflection. Her own beauty was effortless — tawny skin, cat-like amber eyes, a body that moved with the fluid grace of a dancer. Since gaining her freedom, she’d embraced life with a ferocity that sometimes left me breathless.
“How’s your man?” I asked, remembering the handsome date she’d had the week before she’d been seeing.
Tavi’s hands paused momentarily. “Ended it last night.”
“What? Why? I thought you liked him.”
“I did. He was sweet. Respectful.” She shrugged, resuming her lacing. “Too respectful, in the end.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Too respectful?”
“After the arena, after everything we’ve survived…” She met my eyes in the polished bronze mirror. “I need a man with some fire in him. Some danger. Decimus was too... tame.”
I laughed. “Only you would find an Imperial guardsman ‘tame.’”
“Says the woman who’s juggling two gladiators.” She gave the laces a final tug. “Some of us need a bit of a beast in our lovers. Someone who understands what we are.”
“And what are we, exactly?”
Her smile turned contemplative. “Survivors. Predators pretending to be pets.” She stepped back, surveying her work with satisfaction. “There. Turn.”
I did as instructed, the deep crimson stola falling in elegant folds around my body. The fine silk draped from gold clasps at my shoulders, gathered beneath my breasts with an embroidered belt that emphasized my waist. The fabric flowed to the floor in straight, dignified lines, concealing the muscled legs beneath while hints of gold thread caught the light with each movement. The neckline was modest enough for an official ceremony yet revealed just enough collarbone and throat to draw the eye. Over my shoulders, a matching palla of lighter weight silk could be drawn as a veil if needed. It was the perfect disguise — patrician, regal, and utterly unlike anything the gladiator Livia would have worn. I absolutely loved it.
“Perfect,” Tavi declared. “Those stuffy nobles won’t know what hit them.”
A knock at the door interrupted us. Tavi opened it to find Marcus, Septimus, and Tarshi waiting in the hallway. The expressions on their faces as they saw me were worth every minute of the tedious preparation.
