Page 51 of City of Secrets and Shadows
I slipped the token into my pocket, the weight of it heavier than its small size warranted. “I’ll consider it,” I said, not committing but not refusing either.
Suura smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “That’s all anyone can ask.” She stood, gathering her supplies. “You should resthere tonight. Those ribs need time, and the streets aren’t safe for you right now.”
The thought of returning to the academy, of lying in my narrow bed in the servants’ quarters while imagining Livia with Septimus, made my stomach clench. “Thank you,” I said.
She showed me to a small back room with a simple pallet. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean, and when I lowered myself onto it, my body practically sang with relief.
“Sleep,” Suura said, placing a small vial beside the pallet. “Take this if the pain wakes you.”
After she left, I lay in the darkness, listening to the distant sounds of the city. My fingers found the dragon token in my pocket, tracing its contours. The tea had dulled the pain in my ribs, but my thoughts remained sharp, cutting.
I thought of Livia — her fierce intelligence, her passion, the way her eyes lit when she spoke of justice. She wasn’t cruel, not intentionally. She was trapped by the same empire that enslaved my people, just in different chains. Golden chains now, perhaps, and bloody ones, but chains nonetheless.
14
The quiet of the room felt oppressive, expectant. Octavia had retired to Marcus’s apartments for the night — her absence leaving me vulnerable in ways I didn’t want to examine. And Tarshi... I had practically pushed him out the door earlier, and the guilt twisted inside me as I pictured his expression. It had been for the best, I told myself. The look Septimus had given me as he’d left earlier had been unmistakable, dark with promise and threat intertwined, and I knew he was coming back. If he’d found Tarshi and me together, I didn’t dare think of what might have happened. No, it was best Tarshi had left.
My hands trembled slightly as I seated myself at my dressing table and began removing pins from my elaborate hairstyle, watching dark curls tumble down around my shoulders in the polished bronze sheet before me. I had left on my stola, loving the deep red colour against my skin, despite knowing it would offer no protection against him. I’d already had to sheepishly hand my ripped tunic to Octavia, and beg her to get me another, though thankfully I had a spare in the dresser. He would not be deterred by an expensive stola, I knew that.
Every sound from the corridor outside made my heart stutter. Each passing moment stretched into eternity as I waited, knowing he would come. Wanting him to come, despite everything.
The sound of footsteps finally came — measured, deliberate, unmistakably his. I froze as the door opened without a knock. Of course. He would never announce himself, never ask permission. I could feel Septimus’s presence even before I saw his reflection appear in my mirror — a dark silhouette hovering at my bedroom threshold, watching me with the patient hunger of a predator. I turned slowly to look at him.
Septimus filled the doorframe, darkness clinging to him like a second skin. His eyes found mine, and the hunger there made my breath catch.
“Octavia is with Marcus tonight,” he said, his voice lower than usual, rougher around the edges.
“I know.” My own voice sounded strange to my ears — too calm, belying the rapid flutter of my pulse.
The click of the door closing behind him felt like a trap springing shut.
“Tarshi?” he asked, though the curl of his lip suggested he already knew the answer.
“Out.” I forced myself to meet his gaze steadily. “He needed air, apparently.”
Septimus moved into the room with deliberate steps, each one bringing him closer with predatory intent. My body tensed, caught between the urge to retreat and the shameful desire to close the remaining distance between us.
“Convenient,” he murmured, the word carrying accusation.
“Is it?” I fought to keep my voice level, aware of the betraying heat creeping up my neck, the too-fast rhythm of my breathing.
“You know why I’m here, Livia.” He circled the room with predatory grace, trailing his fingers along the edge of my bedbefore coming to stand behind me. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, but not touching. Not yet. He stopped before me, towering and imposing, forcing me to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “We have unfinished business.”
Something stirred low in my belly at his words — memory and anticipation tangling together. I reached for safer ground. “The feast went well. Marcus made the connections we needed. The mission progresses as planned.”
“I’m not here to discuss the mission.” His finger traced my jawline, sending unwelcome sparks of sensation radiating from his touch. “And neither are you.”
I caught his wrist, needing some semblance of control even as I felt it slipping away. “What makes you so certain of my intentions?”
He leaned down, his face hovering inches from mine. His breath smelled of wine and something darker, more primal. My heart hammered against my ribs as he invaded my space, making me acutely aware of how much larger he was, how much stronger.
“Because I know you, Livia Arelius,” he said, his voice a rumble I could almost feel against my skin. “I know what you want, even when you’re too stubborn to admit it.”
“You know nothing,” I managed.
“I know you sent him away tonight.” His voice dropped to a near-whisper that somehow felt more threatening than a shout. “I know you’ve been thinking about what happened earlier — what almost happened. I know you’re wet for me right now, just from this conversation.”
Heat surged through me, shame and desire mingling in equal measure. I fought to keep my expression neutral, though I could feel control slipping with each passing second. “Arrogance was always your most prominent feature, Septimus.”
