Page 48 of City of Secrets and Shadows
The thought sickened me as soon as it formed. Self-hatred was a luxury my people couldn’t afford. Not when the Empire worked so diligently to make us hate ourselves already.
I turned away from the fountain, disgusted by my moment of weakness.
A commotion down a nearby alley caught my attention — raised voices, the sound of something falling. I moved toward it without conscious thought, drawn by the aggressive tone of the voices.
Four Imperial guards had cornered a young half-breed vendor against his cart. They were dressed in the simplified uniforms of city watchmen, but their bearing betrayed their military training. The vendor couldn’t have been more than sixteen, his white hair falling around his shoulders in tight braids, his human eyes wide with fear.
“—tax for selling after dark,” one guard was saying, his hand resting conspicuously on his sword hilt.
“Please, I’ve paid all required fees,” the boy responded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have documentation—”
“Are you calling me a liar?” The guard stepped closer. “That’s a serious offense, Talfen.”
“No, sir, I just—”
The guard shoved the cart, sending carefully arranged textiles tumbling to the dirty ground. “Clumsy of you,” he observed with a smirk. “Now they’re soiled. Who would buy them?”
I should have walked away. That’s what any sensible Talfen would do. Keep your head down. Don’t draw attention. Survive today so you can fight tomorrow.
But I thought of Livia sending me away to protect me. Of Septimus waiting for her. Of my own reflection in the fountain and that moment of shameful weakness.
“That’s enough,” I said, stepping into the alley.
All five heads turned toward me — four guards with expressions ranging from surprise to anticipation, and one terrified Talfen boy whose eyes widened further at the sight of me.
“Another one,” said the guard who had been speaking. “Friend of yours?” he asked the boy.
“No, I—” the boy began.
“Go,” I told him, not taking my eyes off the guards. “Now.”
He hesitated for only a moment before gathering what he could salvage and darting past the guards, who were now fully focused on me.
“That’s interference with city watch business,” said the leader, a heavyset man with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow. “Serious offense.”
“Four armed men against a boy selling scarves? What kind of business is that?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
“The kind that teaches discipline,” said another guard, younger than the rest, eager to prove himself. “Something your kind needs regular reminders of.”
I smiled thinly. “Why don’t you teach me, then?”
The first punch came from the youngest one, telegraphed so clearly I could have dodged it in my sleep. I side-stepped and struck back, my fist connecting with his jaw hard enough to send him stumbling backward.
That was the last clean hit I managed.
The other three converged on me at once. I blocked the first few blows, landed a solid kick to one guard’s knee that drew a satisfying howl of pain. But they had numbers, weapons, and the weight of Imperial authority behind them.
A baton struck my ribs, driving the air from my lungs. A fist connected with my temple, sending my vision swimming. I fought back as best I could, but each time I focused on one attacker, another would strike from behind or from the side.
“Enough,” said the leader eventually, watching as I struggled to rise from the cobblestones. “I think he’s learned his lesson.”
The youngest guard, the one whose jaw I’d struck, disagreed. His boot connected with my side, once, twice, three times. Each impact sent fresh waves of pain through my already battered body.
“I said enough,” the leader repeated, with more authority. “We’re not killers. Just teaching a lesson about knowing your place.”
They left me there, bleeding onto the cobblestones, every breath a new exploration in pain. I tried to push myself up but fell back, my arms trembling too badly to support my weight.
“Lie still,” said a voice from the shadows. “You’ll only make it worse.”
