Page 26 of City of Secrets and Shadows
The next day, Octavia arranged what she called a ‘final examination’ of my noble persona. She transformed our small apartment into a mockery of a noble dining room, with the table set as formally as our limited resources allowed. Tarshi and Septimus were assigned roles as various nobles I might encounter, while Marcus played a sceptical Dragon Elite instructor.
“Lady Cantius,” he greeted me with a formality that felt strange after our whispered conversation the night before. “We are honoured by your interest in joining our ranks. Though I must admit, we rarely see candidates from such... remote lineages.”
I offered the curtsy Octavia had drilled into me, keeping my spine straight and my expression pleasantly neutral despite the insult embedded in his words. “The Eastern Provinces may be distant, sir, but our loyalty to the Empire is unwavering. As was my father’s before me.”
“Indeed?” Tarshi, playing a haughty court noble, interjected. “Strange that we’ve heard so little of House Cantius at court.”
“My father valued our lands and people above court politics,” I replied smoothly, taking the seat Septimus held out for me with practiced grace. “He believed nobility was demonstrated through service to the Empire, not through appearances at court functions.”
“A convenient belief for those lacking the bloodlines to be welcomed at court,” Tarshi pressed, his performance so convincing I had to remind myself this was merely practice.
I smiled thinly, reaching for my wine glass with perfect form. “Perhaps. Or perhaps a recognition that true nobility lies in actions, not ancestry.”
The mock dinner continued in this vein, with each of them challenging me in different ways — questioning my lineage, my education, my motives for joining the Dragon Elites. Octavia, observing from the corner, occasionally jotted down notes but otherwise remained silent.
By the end of the exercise, even Septimus seemed impressed. “You actually sounded like one of them,” he said as he helped clear the dishes. “That haughty tone, that way of insulting someone while smiling... perfect.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I retorted, though I was pleased by the compliment.
“You’ve made remarkable progress,” Marcus agreed. “But the real test will be maintaining it under pressure. When you’re tired, or angry, or afraid.”
“I don’t get afraid,” I said automatically.
The look he gave me was knowing. “Everyone gets afraid, Livia. The trick is not letting it show.”
That evening, while Octavia made final adjustments to my gowns, I found myself thinking about fear. I had known fear, of course — in the arena, during our escape, on the long journey to the capital. But it had always been the immediate fear of physical danger, of pain or death. What I felt now was different — a deeper, more insidious fear of failure, of letting down the people who had risked everything to help me.
“You’re miles away,” Octavia observed, pins held between her lips as she hemmed my sleeve.
“Just thinking about tomorrow,” I admitted.
She sat back on her heels, studying me with understanding eyes. “It’s normal to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I protested automatically. “I’m…” I trailed off, unable to name the emotion.
“Afraid?” she suggested gently.
I looked away. “Maybe.”
“Good.” She resumed her sewing. “Fear keeps you sharp. Makes you careful. Just don’t let it paralyze you.”
Later, as I packed the few items I would take with me to the trials — my forged documents, a small purse of gold, a change of clothes — Marcus appeared in the bedroom doorway.
“May I come in?” he asked, uncharacteristically hesitant.
I nodded, and he entered, closing the door softly behind him. In his hand was a small cloth-wrapped package.
“I wanted to give you this,” he said, holding it out. “Before tomorrow.”
I unwrapped it carefully to find a small bronze dagger, its blade gleaming in the lamplight. The hilt was simple but elegant, wrapped in dark leather with a single red stone set into the pommel.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, testing its weight in my hand. Perfect for concealment, light enough to be unnoticeable but sturdy enough to be lethal.
“The stone is fire agate,” Marcus explained. “The merchant I work for says it offers protection to warriors.” A hint of embarrassment crossed his face. “I’m not one for superstitions, but…”
“But it can’t hurt,” I finished for him, touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”
I tucked the dagger into my pack, then turned back to find Marcus watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
