Page 80 of City of Secrets and Shadows
I glanced at him, a hint of amusement breaking through my fatigue. “Are you concerned for my welfare, Lord Northreach?”
“I’m concerned about unnecessary complications,” he replied, but something in his tone suggested the distinction wasn’t as clear as his words implied.
“I’m not afraid of Valeria or her friends.”
“No,” he said after a moment. “I believe that’s true.” There was something new in his voice — grudging respect, perhaps. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to find you holding Varin at knifepoint. He’s considered one of the better duellists among the cadets.”
“Is he?” I couldn’t keep the scepticism from my voice. “His form is sloppy. Too much aggression, insufficient control.”
Jalend shot me a sideways glance. “You speak like a professional.”
I caught myself too late, remembering that Lady Cantius should not assess combat skills with a gladiator’s precision. “My father believed in thorough training,” I said carefully.
“Indeed.” He didn’t press further, but I sensed his curiosity had only deepened. We had reached the corridor leading to my quarters, and he stopped, maintaining a respectful distance. “Will you report this incident?”
I considered the question. Reporting Varin would draw attention I couldn’t afford, invite scrutiny into my background that might reveal my deception. Yet letting him escape consequences entirely went against everything in me.
“Not officially,” I said finally. “But I suspect he’ll find his actions have consequences nonetheless.”
Jalend nodded, understanding the implied threat.
“A wise approach.” He gestured toward my door. “I trust you can manage from here?”
I nodded, slipping his cloak from my shoulders and holding it out to him. “Thank you for your intervention, though it seems I had the situation in hand.”
“So I observed.” He took the garment, his fingers brushing mine briefly in the exchange. “You’re full of surprises, Lady Cantius.”
“As are you, Lord Northreach. I wouldn’t have expected you to confront Valeria’s group on my behalf.”
A hint of that rare smile touched his mouth. “Perhaps I simply dislike seeing rules flaunted so blatantly. Relationships between cadets are discouraged after all.”
“Of course. Your sense of propriety, not concern for a fellow cadet.”
“Precisely.” But there was something in his eyes that contradicted his casual tone — a warmth that hadn’t been therebefore. “The Midwinter Ceremony is this evening. I assume you’ll be attending?”
The abrupt change of subject caught me off guard. “I... yes. It’s mandatory for all cadets.”
“Then perhaps I’ll see you there.” He inclined his head slightly, a gesture that managed to be both formal and inexplicably intimate. “Until tonight, Lady Cantius.”
Before I could respond, he turned and walked away, his steps measured and unhurried. I watched him go, trying to reconcile the arrogant nobleman I’d first met with the man who had just broken down a door to aid a cadet he barely knew.
Inside my quarters, I locked the door and sank onto the edge of my bed, the full weight of what had just happened finally crashing down on me. My hands began to shake — not during the confrontation, not while defending myself, but now, in the safety of solitude. I pressed my palms against my knees, trying to stop the trembling.
I’d thought I was beyond this. Beyond feeling violated, beyond the cold, sick dread that pooled in my stomach at unwanted hands on my body. In the ludus, it had been different — a horror I’d come to expect, to steel myself against like any other injury in the arena. It was simply another weapon the masters used to break us, to remind us we were property, not people.
But here, in the academy, I’d begun to believe I was free of that particular fear. That my false nobility and the rigidity of academy protocol would shield me from the same predatory treatment. That I could be seen as a fighter, a student, anything but a body to be used.
I was wrong. Varin’s eyes had held the same entitlement, the same casual cruelty as any ludus patron who’d purchased time with a female gladiator. Different clothes, different words, but the same hunger beneath. The realization made me feel simultaneously furious and desperately hollow.
A sound escaped me — not quite a sob, something harsher. I pressed my fist against my mouth, muffling it. Lady Cantius wouldn’t break down. Lady Cantius would maintain her composure, attend the Midwinter Ceremony with her head high, and navigate the political waters with careful precision.
But I wasn’t Lady Cantius. I was Livia, and Livia had endured enough.
Before I could reconsider, I was on my feet, changing out of my academy garments into the plainest clothes I owned — a simple tunic, dark enough to blend into the evening shadows. I slipped my knife into its hidden sheath at my thigh, threw a nondescript cloak over my shoulders, and left my quarters without a backward glance.
The academy gates were lightly guarded in the hours before the Midwinter Ceremony, most attention focused on preparations for the evening's festivities. I knew the patrol schedules by heart — another habit from the arena, always mapping exits, always planning escape routes. It was simple enough to time my departure between guard rotations, slipping through a service entrance used by kitchen staff.
The city sprawled below the academy’s hillside perch, lanterns beginning to flicker to life as twilight deepened into dusk. I made my way down the winding path, each step carrying me further from Lady Cantius and closer to the person I’d been — the person I still was beneath the carefully constructed facade.
