Page 73 of Realms of Swords and Storms
I squeezed his hands, surprised to find I wasn't angry. A bit hurt that he hadn't trusted me with the truth, perhaps, but not angry. After all, hadn't I asked both men to accept my relationship with the other? And with Marcus before them? And now with Sirrax?
"I'm not upset that you're with Septimus," I said carefully. "It would be deeply hypocritical of me to demand exclusivity when I've asked you to accept my other relationships."
Relief flooded his face, followed quickly by a more complex emotion. "It's not just physical between us," he admitted, his voice dropping lower. "At least, not for me. I've developed... feelings for him that I've been struggling to hide."
Now that was unexpected. I studied Tarshi's face, seeing the vulnerability there, the pain. This wasn't just about sex—he genuinely cared for Septimus. Perhaps even loved him.
"Does he know how you feel?"
Tarshi's bitter laugh was answer enough. "No. And he never will. To Septimus, what we do together is something shameful, something that disgusts him even as he craves it."
"Disgusts him?" I frowned. "Why would it disgust him?"
"Because it's me." The raw hurt in Tarshi's voice made my chest ache. "He hates what I am—or what he thinks I am. A mongrel. Half-breed. Demon-touched. When we're together, it's like he's punishing himself for wanting me. And afterward, he can barely look at me."
Understanding dawned, bringing with it a surge of protective anger. "That's why he's been avoiding me? Because he's been with you and thinks you'll somehow... what? Contaminate me?"
Tarshi nodded miserably. "He said as much, once. That he was staying away from you to keep you pure, unsullied by his... transgression."
"That bastard," I muttered, anger flaring bright before I tamped it down. Getting angry at Septimus wouldn't help Tarshi right now. "Why didn't you tell him we were already together? That I clearly don't share his prejudices?"
Tarshi's gaze dropped to our joined hands. "Several reasons. At first, I wasn't sure how he'd react. I was worried he might hurt you with his rejection if he knew. And later..." He hesitated, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I was afraid he might make you choose between us. And I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, even if it meant sharing your affection in secret."
My heart broke a little at the vulnerability in his confession. I reached up, cupping his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. "Listen to me, Tarshi. I have loved you from the beginning—from that first day in the practice arena when you refused to be intimidated by me. Nothing will pull us apart. Not Septimus, not the Empire, nothing." I stroked my thumb across his cheekbone. "If Septimus can't handle the reality of who and what you are, and who and what I love, then as much as it would break my heart to let him go, I won't let his prejudices ruin our happiness."
Tarshi leaned into my touch, his eyes closing briefly. When they opened again, they shimmered with unshed tears. "I don't want you to have to choose. I know you care for him deeply."
"I do," I admitted. "But love isn't about possession or exclusivity for me. It never has been. And anyone who truly loves me has to accept that about me." I smiled gently. "Besides, you've accepted Sirrax in my life—in our lives—without hesitation. You've embraced a part of yourself that terrified you because you trusted me. That kind of courage, that kind of love, deserves the same in return."
He kissed me then, a desperate, grateful kiss that spoke volumes about his relief. When we parted, I could still see the sadness lingering in his eyes—not for us, but for what he believed he could never have with Septimus.
"We should tell him," I said decisively. "About us.”
Tarshi recoiled as if I’d struck him. “Tell him? Livia, no. He’ll be disgusted. He’ll hate me even more for… for tainting you.”
“He doesn’t get to decide who I am or who I love,” I countered, my voice hardening. “And he certainly doesn’t get to make you feel like you’re some kind of disease. Secrets are poison, Tarshi. They’re what’s allowing him to treat you this way, to keep you in the shadows while he tortures himself with guilt. I won’t have it.”
“But what if he leaves?” Tarshi asked, his voice barely a whisper. “What if he can’t accept it and walks away from you? I couldn’t bear to be the reason for that.”
I sighed, my anger at Septimus softening into sorrow for them both. “Then he leaves,” I said gently. “His prejudice is a cage, Tarshi. One he’s locked himself in. But I will not let him lock you in there with him. You are Talfen. You are my mate. You are magnificent. And you will not hide one single part of who you are, not for him, not for anyone.”
I stood, pulling him to his feet. The wound on my shoulder throbbed, a dull ache that anchored me to the reality of the night, to the bonds that had been forged.
“I will not stand by and let him use you to punish himself while treating you like something shameful. He needs to see the truth. He needs to see us.” My own anger was a low burn now, directed entirely at Septimus and his stubborn, self-destructive pride. He was hurting Tarshi, and my protective instincts—now amplified by the fresh Talfen bond—roared at the injustice.
“We face him together. As mates. He can accept the truth of us, or he can reject it. But the choice will be his, and the secret will be out in the open. We have enough enemies outside these walls. We can’t afford to have them within.”
“I can’t tell him… about the way I feel. Not yet. Not when I’m sure he’ll throw it back in my face.”
My anger flared again, hotter this time. "And yet you still have feelings for him? When you think he would do this to you?”
Tarshi's laugh was hollow. "Trust me, I've asked myself the same question. But yes. Despite everything, despite how much he clearly despises what I am, I can't seem to stop caring about him." His voice dropped to a pained whisper. "Pathetic, isn't it?"
"No," I said firmly, pulling him into my arms. "It's not pathetic. It's human. And Talfen too, I suppose." I stroked his hair, feeling his body relax incrementally against mine. "Love isn't always convenient or sensible. Sometimes it's messy and painful and doesn't make any logical sense. But that doesn't make it any less real."
We sat like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms beneath the flowering arbour. I thought about Septimus—his ferocity in the arena, his tenderness in private moments, the walls he maintained between himself and the world. How much of his hatred toward Tarshi was really self-hatred? How much of his cruelty was fear?
"I told Marcus about us," I said eventually, breaking the comfortable silence. "About you and me. He was... surprisingly understanding."
