Page 60 of City of Secrets and Shadows
“She’s very protective of Tarshi,” he pointed out. “More so than one might expect of a mere bodyguard.”
The suggestion sent a cold spike through me. “She pities him. Nothing more.”
“Are you sure? She defends him constantly, keeps him close. She trusts him with her life.”
“That doesn’t mean she’d lower herself to—” I couldn’t even finish the sentence, the very notion repulsive.
“Lower herself?” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “I’m simply suggesting that her feelings might be more complex than you assume. Livia has never cared much for Imperial prejudices, after all.”
The image of Livia and Tarshi together flashed through my mind — his dark hands on her golden skin, his lips on hers — and I felt bile rise in my throat.
“Impossible,” I said flatly. “She would never.”
Marcus shrugged, maddeningly calm. “As you say. I merely observe what I see.”
I drained the last of my beer and stood abruptly. “I should get back. Livia will be finishing her training soon.”
Marcus nodded, making no move to rise. “Tell her I miss her. And that my door is always open.”
“I’ll pass along the message.” I tossed a few coins on the table, more than the poor fare deserved.
As I turned to leave, Marcus caught my arm. “Septimus.”
I looked back, questioning.
“Be careful with this hatred you carry,” he said quietly. 2It blinds you to possibilities. And in our line of work, blindness gets you killed.”
I pulled my arm free without responding and pushed my way through the crowded tavern, eager for fresh air. Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the narrow street. The market was beginning to close up for the day, vendors calling out final discounts on their wares.
I set off toward the academy, my thoughts churning uneasily. Marcus’s words had planted a seed I couldn’t easily dismiss. Livia and Tarshi. The idea was absurd, repugnant — and yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Had I missed something? Those private training sessions on the journey to the capital. The whispered conversations that stopped when I approached. The way she defended him so fiercely against any criticism.
No. I was being paranoid. Livia would never betray me like that — betray her own kind like that. She might be rebellious, might scorn many Imperial traditions, but surely even she had limits.
And yet... the doubt lingered, growing with each step I took. By the time the academy’s white spires came into view, it had bloomed into something darker, more possessive. I would watch them more carefully now, note every interaction, every glance.
And if my suspicions proved correct? Well, there were ways to deal with half-breeds that required no assistance from Marcus. Ways I knew intimately from my years in the arena.
The thought should have brought me comfort. Instead, it left me feeling hollow as I passed through the academy gates, returning to the woman who held my loyalty — and, though I’d never admit it aloud, my heart — in her hands.
16
Iwoke to cold sheets beside me, Septimus already gone. A pang of disappointment mingled with relief — his absence spared me the awkward morning-after conversation neither of us was prepared for. The ghost of his touch lingered on my skin, awakening sensations I’d thought long buried beneath layers of revenge and ambition.
I stretched, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles — evidence of our night together. Septimus had unlocked something in me, something primal and dark that both frightened and exhilarated me. Unlike my gentler encounters with Marcus or the tender exploration with Tarshi, with Septimus I’d found a matching ferocity, a mirror to my own barely contained rage.
It complicated everything. I’d spent years seeing him as my protector, my soldier — never allowing myself to acknowledge the heat that flared between us. Now that line had been crossed, I doubted either of us could return to the careful distance we’d maintained before.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. Octavia entered carrying what appeared to be simple cloth bindings for the chest and a wrap-style loincloth that tied at the hip that she laid on the bed.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“The academy’s official swimming attire for the water trials today,” Tavi said. “Though I fear they’re rather... revealing.”
I touched the fabric with dismay. “These will show all my scars.” I looked up at her. “What am I going to do? Noble born women don’t have scars like mine.”
The marks from the arena, from training, from my escape — each told a story I couldn’t afford to have read. Noble-born women didn’t bear the evidence of combat on their bodies.
