Page 85 of City of Secrets and Shadows
At the table, I paused to scrawl a quick note on a scrap of parchment: “Gone to get food. Rest. I’ll return soon.” A simple lie to prevent her worrying if she woke before I returned. I placed it where she would see it, weighted with my wooden cup.
Before leaving, I added another log to the fire, ensuring she’d stay warm in my absence. I stood for a moment, watching her sleep, committing to memory the sight of Livia at peace in my bed. Something inside me shifted, crystallized — a certainty I couldn’t articulate but felt bone-deep.
She was mine to protect, as I had been hers in the arena when she’d drawn attention to save me from a killing blow.
I slipped out the door, locking it behind me. The night air hit my face, cold and clarifying. The city sprawled below me, while above, the academy’s windows glittered with lamplight, the Midwinter Ceremony likely in full swing. I needed to find Tarshi and Septimus. Somewhere in those halls walked a man who believed his nobility made him untouchable, that his birth gave him the right to take whatever he wanted.
He was wrong.
22
Iknew something was wrong the moment Marcus appeared at our door. His knuckles were bloodless where they gripped the doorframe, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles straining beneath his skin.
“Let me in,” he said, his voice low and hard in a way I’d never heard before. “Now.”
Tarshi, who’d been sharpening his blades at the small table in our shared quarters, looked up with narrowed eyes.
“What happened?” I asked, stepping aside to let Marcus enter.
He closed the door behind him with deliberate care, the soft click more ominous than if he’d slammed it. “It’s Livia.”
Those two words sent ice through my veins. I grabbed his shoulder, fingers digging into muscle. “What about Livia? Is she hurt? She’s with Octavia isn’t she?”
“She’s alive,” Marcus cut me off. His eyes, when they met mine, burned with a cold fury that made me release my grip. “She’s at my place now. Sleeping.”
“What’s she doing there?” Tarshi’s voice held a dangerous edge. The knife he’d been sharpening caught the lamplight as he set it down with careful precision.
Marcus looked between us, seeming to weigh his words. “A nobleman here at the academy cornered her in the changing rooms after training. Tried to force himself on her.”
The room went silent. Even the constant sounds of the city beyond our walls seemed to fade away. All I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears and the scrape of Tarshi’s chair as he stood.
“Who?” I asked, the word barely audible through my clenched teeth.
“Lord Varin Mallistus,” Marcus said, the name clearly memorized. “She fought him off — had her knife. But she…” He hesitated, and the uncertainty in his expression cut deeper than his words. “She’s not hurt, but she’s shaken. More than I’ve ever seen her.”
“I’m going to kill him,” I said simply. Not a threat, not a declaration of intent — just a statement of inevitable fact.
“We’re going to kill him,” Tarshi corrected, sliding his freshly sharpened blade into its sheath. “Tonight.”
Marcus nodded, and in that moment, the three of us — who had spent months locked in a silent battle over Livia’s affections — found perfect understanding.
“I got his name from Livia,” Marcus said. “But we need to find him.”
“That won't be difficult.” I moved to the chest at the foot of my bed, pulling out my old gladiator’s blade — not the ornamental weapon I wore as Livia’s “bodyguard” at the academy, but the real one, pitted and worn from countless arena fights. “Varin has a slave who runs errands in the lower city. ‘ve seen him at the market.”
“You think this slave will tell us where to find his master?” Tarshi asked sceptically.
I allowed myself a grim smile. “Slaves always know where to find those who hurt other slaves. And they’re rarely loyal to masters who abuse them.”
The next hour passed in tense preparation. We dressed in dark, nondescript clothing — nothing that would draw attention or mark us as anything other than common labourers returning from a day’s work. I strapped my blade beneath a worn cloak while Tarshi concealed multiple smaller weapons about his person. Marcus carried only a simple dagger, but I’d seen him kill men with less.
As darkness fell, we slipped into the restless energy of the Imperial City’s night. The elite districts were aglow with lanterns and revelry — the Midwinter Ceremony celebrations would continue well into the early hours. It provided perfect cover, the streets packed with drunken revellers and distracted guards.
Finding Varin’s slave was easier than expected. The thin, wary-eyed man was exactly where I’d seen him before, waiting in an alley behind a merchant’s shop that served as a drop point for messages between the noble districts and the underground networks that serviced them.
“You,” I called out, my voice carrying just enough authority to make him freeze. “I have business with Lord Varin Mallistus.”
The slave’s eyes darted between the three of us, quickly assessing the danger. “My master receives petitioners at his family estate during designated hours.”
