Page 65 of Realms of Swords and Storms
Antonius's hand landed heavily on my shoulder. "Ready?"
I nodded, rising to my feet. As we made our way up the stairs and out into the cool night air, I couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that had settled over me. Ten days until the festival. Ten days to determine if we were indeed walking into a trap. Ten days to decide if loyalty to the resistance's cause outweighed the growing certainty that something was terribly wrong with the plan.
"You're quiet," Antonius observed as we walked through the darkened streets, keeping to shadows out of habit.
"Just thinking."
"About the spy?"
"Among other things." I glanced at him. "What would you do, if you were certain the demonstration was a trap? Would you still participate, knowing the risk?"
Antonius was silent for several paces, considering the question with his usual care. "In the North," he said finally, "we have a saying: 'A bear known is less dangerous than a viper hidden.' If I knew the trap existed, I might still walk into it—but on my terms, with my eyes open, and perhaps with a plan to turn the hunter into the prey."
I nodded, appreciating his perspective. "And if others would be endangered by your choice? Innocents who don't know about the trap?"
His expression grew sombre. "Then the calculation changes. No honourable victory is built on the sacrifice of the innocent."
"My thoughts exactly."
We walked in companionable silence for a time, each lost in our own thoughts. As we approached the point where our paths would diverge—Antonius to the small room he rented near the docks, me to my own modest lodgings in the artisans' quarter—he paused.
"Marcus," he said, his deep voice unusually hesitant. "About Livia..."
I held up a hand, stopping him. "You don't need my permission, if that's what you're asking for."
"Not permission. Advice." A rare, self-deprecating smile crossed his face. "I am not... skilled in matters of the heart. Especially not with women like her."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm not sure anyone is 'skilled' when it comes to Livia. She defies ordinary expectations." I considered for a moment, then offered what guidance I could. "Be honest with her. Direct. Don't play games or try to impress her with anything but who you truly are. She values authenticity above all else."
He nodded, absorbing this. "And her current... arrangements? With Tarshi and this Septimus?"
"That's for her to explain, if she chooses to." I clasped his massive shoulder. "Just talk to her, Antonius. The worst she can say is no, and Livia's never cruel in her refusals."
"Thank you," he said simply. "For your friendship, as well as your advice."
"We northerners must stick together," I replied with a small smile, adopting the formal tone he sometimes used.
His booming laugh echoed down the empty street, startling a cat from its perch on a nearby wall. "Until tomorrow, then."
"Until tomorrow," I agreed, watching as he continued on his way, his massive frame eventually disappearing into the darkness.
As I turned toward my own lodgings, my thoughts returned to the resistance, to the festival, to the growing certainty that something was very wrong with our plans. I had ten days to find proof, ten days to convince others of the danger, ten days to prevent what increasingly felt like an impending disaster.
I hoped it would be enough.
17
The setting sun bathed the olive grove in gold light, making the ancient trees seem to glow from within. I watched the young half-blood pace between the gnarled trunks, his movements betraying his nervousness despite his attempts to appear calm. Little Warrior sat cross-legged on a flat stone nearby, her bright eyes moving between us, alert and watchful as always.
I had chosen this place with care. Far enough from the city that curious eyes would not find us, yet close enough that we could return before dawn. The grove held meaning—it was here I had first revealed my true form to Livia, had first felt the bond between us strengthen into something that transcended mere rider and mount. The ancient trees had witnessed the beginning of our connection; now they would witness the birth of a new Talfen.
If the young one could overcome his fear.
"Ready now?" I asked, my voice still awkward with the human tongue. The sounds felt wrong in my mouth, too limited to express the complexity of my thoughts. In my own language—the old tongue of the Talfen—I could have composed poetry about the golden light filtering through silver-green leaves, could have named the specific scent of earth and bark and approaching night. But in the human speech, I was reduced to simple phrases, stripped of nuance.
Tarshi stopped pacing and faced me, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I don't know," he admitted. "What if I can't do it? What if I start to change but can't complete the transformation?"
I studied him, seeing the conflict in his eyes. He had potential—strong Talfen blood that had already manifested in partial shifts. But the mind was as important as the body in this process. If he could not overcome the fear the Empire had planted in him, the transformation would remain incomplete and painful.
