Page 123 of City of Secrets and Shadows
Marcus stepped forward first, his eyes wide with wonder. “Livia, you’re... breathtaking.”
Septimus merely stared, something raw and unguarded in his expression that made my heart ache. Only Tarshi maintained his composure, though a slow smile spread across his face.
“Our very own noble lady,” Marcus said, executing a perfect courtly bow. “The deception is complete.”
“Not quite,” Tarshi said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box. “To complete the look.”
Inside the box lay a delicate gold necklace with a pendant shaped like a dragon in flight. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the dragon’s tiny scales catching the light as I lifted it.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
“And appropriate,” Septimus said. “The symbol of your supposed house.”
Septimus took the necklace, moving behind me to fasten it around my neck. His fingers were warm against my skin, lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary. Our eyes met in the mirror, and something passed between us — an acknowledgment of the confession we’d shared nights ago, the love we’d finally spoken aloud after thirteen years of silence.
“There,” he said softly. “Now you’re ready.”
I turned to face my three companions — the men who had become my family, my strength, my reason for surviving. “Thank you. All of you. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”
“Just remember why we’re doing this,” Septimus said, his voice low. “Don’t get caught up in the glamour of it all. These people — they’re the enemy.”
“I know exactly who they are,” I assured him, the weight of my purpose settling over me like armour. “I haven’t forgotten.”
How could I, when the memory of Arilius’s blood on my hands was still so fresh? When each night I dreamed of Tarus dying in my arms? When the purpose that had driven me for thirteen years was so close to fulfilment?
“The bells are ringing,” Marcus reminded us. “You should go.”
I nodded, gathering my skirts in one hand. At the door, I paused, looking back at them — my protectors, my lovers, my fellow conspirators. “I’ll see you all afterward. Don’t wait up.”
“Be careful,” Septimus called after me.
As I descended the stairs, I steeled myself for the evening ahead. Tonight would be a test — not just of my acting abilities, but of whether my weeks of preparation had been enough. The acceptance ceremony would officially reveal if I’d earned my place at the academy, the crucial next step in my long-planned vengeance.
I would smile and dance and make polite conversation with Imperial nobility who had no idea of my true identity. I would play the part of the eager, honoured initiate, grateful for the opportunity to serve the very Empire I had sworn to bring down.
And all the while, beneath the silk and jewels, beneath the practiced courtesies and demure smiles, I would be counting the days until I could finally fulfil the promise to my family I’d made over my brother’s broken body thirteen years ago.
The academy’s Grand Hall had been transformed for the evening, its austere military character softened by garlands of laurel and golden banners bearing the Imperial eagle. Hundreds of oil lamps illuminated the vast space, their flames reflecting in the polished marble floor that had known the footsteps of generations of dragon riders. Carriages lined the avenue leading to the academy’s imposing gates, disgorging nobles in their finery as uniformed cadets stood at attention, serving as honour guards for the occasion.
My own arrival passed without particular notice — I was, after all, merely a minor noble from a distant province, presumably just one among many new initiates. The real spectacle would come later, when the Emperor himself arrived to bestow his blessing on the newest class of Dragon Riders who would serve his realm.
Inside, the Hall struck an impressive balance between military grandeur and ceremonial elegance. The high ceiling with its exposed timber beams had been festooned with the banners of famous dragon squadrons. The usual training equipment had been replaced with dining tables covered in fine linens and laden with silver. Around the perimeter, display cases highlighted historic artifacts of the academy — ancient saddles, ceremonialweapons, and portraits of legendary riders. Everything was designed to remind us of the privilege and responsibility of our position, of the lineage we were about to join — and the Empire we were sworn to serve.
Pages announced the names of arriving guests, their voices carrying over the music and conversation: “Lord and Lady Ventidius of the Eastern Province.” “Patrician Erelian of Nemea.” “Lady Livia Cantius, of the Southern Province.”
Heads turned briefly at my announcement, a few curious glances appraising the newcomer before returning to their conversations. I descended the marble staircase with careful grace, remembering Octavia’s lessons on deportment. Back straight. Chin up. Small steps. The picture of noble breeding.
I scanned the crowd as I reached the bottom of the staircase, maintaining my practiced smile. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I was hoping Jalend would be there. The evening seemed a lot less daunting if I could hope for his company.
My eyes caught a familiar figure across the room – Valeria, standing among her circle of sycophants like a queen among peasants, her face partially concealed behind an elaborate golden mask that couldn’t quite hide the bandages beneath. Our gazes locked, and the hatred in her eyes could have melted steel. I allowed my smile to widen ever so slightly, inclining my head in a gesture that was just short of mockery.
“You know,” came a cynical voice from behind me. “Most initiates try to avoid making enemies of well-connected nobles before they even get accepted to the academy.”
I smiled, turning to find Jalend standing beside me, two glasses of clear golden liquid in his hand. He passed one to me, and I took a sip. The wine was cool and sweet, with an undertone of something sharper that prickled my tongue. Expensive. I savoured it before answering.
“I find life is more interesting with a few well-chosen enemies,” I replied, meeting his eyes over the rim of my glass. “Besides, she made her choice when she attacked me.”
Jalend’s eyes travelled over me, taking in the crimson silk, the golden threads in my hair, the dragon pendant at my throat. His gaze was different from the others — not leering or calculating, but appreciative in a way that sent warmth through me despite myself. Something in his gaze changed, darkened, and I felt a flush rise to my cheeks that had nothing to do with the wine.
