Page 86 of Realms of Swords and Storms
"Of course I'll follow my father's orders," I said smoothly, fabricating a reassuring smile. "I appreciate the warning, Legate. Better safe than sorry, as they say."
Relief flickered across Santius's face. "Good. Very good." He took a long draught of his ale, then set the mug down with a decisive thud. "There's another matter. This conversation—our meeting tonight—must remain between us. Completely confidential."
"May I ask why?"
He hesitated, then apparently decided I deserved at least a partial truth. "We're hoping to apprehend the ringleaders of the resistance during tomorrow's festival. If word were to spread of increased security measures..."
"You're using the festival as bait," I said, the realization striking me like a physical blow. I quickly modulated my tone,ensuring it sounded like approval rather than the horror I actually felt. "A clever strategy."
"Precisely." Santius nodded, clearly relieved I understood. "The resistance has grown bold of late. Too bold. They need to be reminded of the consequences of challenging Imperial authority."
A cold knot formed in my stomach. "And the civilians attending the festival? Are they worth the risk, just to catch a few resistance leaders?"
Santius's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing me. "We're at war, Lord Jalend. A shadow war, perhaps, but a war nonetheless. There are always casualties in such conflicts."
"Of course," I agreed, though bile rose in my throat at the casual dismissal of civilian lives. "The greater good must be served."
"Exactly." He drained his ale and stood, clearly considering the conversation concluded. "Remember, my lord—stay away from the festival tomorrow. And speak of this to no one."
"You have my word, Legate." The lie came easily, born of years of court training. "I'll remain at the academy all day."
He clasped my forearm in the traditional soldier's farewell, his grip firm. "Your father will be pleased to hear of your cooperation. He worries for your safety, more than you perhaps realize."
I doubted that very much. The Emperor worried about his legacy, his bloodline, the continuation of his dynasty. My actual wellbeing had never been high on his list of concerns.
"Please convey my gratitude for his concern," I said, the courtly platitude automatic.
Santius nodded once more, then pulled his own cloak tighter around his shoulders and slipped out the tavern's back entrance, leaving me alone with my troubled thoughts.
I remained seated for several minutes, turning our conversation over in my mind. The Empire was deliberately allowing a potentially dangerous situation to unfold, using ordinary citizens as bait to draw out resistance leaders. And my father was ensuring I would be safely distant from whatever bloodshed might result.
Anger coiled in my gut, hot and venomous. This was the Empire I was destined to inherit—an Empire built on lies, on sacrifice, on the expendability of its own people. An Empire that saw its citizens as a means to an end, as pieces on a game board to be positioned and sacrificed at will.
I had been raised to believe in the righteousness of Imperial rule, in the necessity of harsh measures to maintain order and prosperity. But sitting there in that grimy tavern, with the taste of Santius's casual cruelty still bitter on my tongue, I found my faith in that teaching crumbling further.
What kind of ruler would I be, inheriting such a legacy? What kind of man was I now, sitting silent while innocent people were placed in danger?
I left a few coins on the table and departed, my mind in turmoil. The night air was cooler now, a welcome relief from the stifling interior of the tavern. I walked blindly, letting my feet carry me while my thoughts raced ahead, exploring and discarding possible courses of action.
I could warn people—spread word that the festival might be dangerous. But who would believe a nameless warning? And even if they did, the resulting panic might cause more harm than good.
I could try to identify the resistance leaders myself, warn them that they were walking into a trap. But I had no way of knowing who they were or how to contact them. And if I were caught doing so, the consequences would be... severe. Treason was nottaken lightly in the Empire, especially not from the Emperor's son.
I could go to the festival anyway, position myself to help if violence erupted. But would one man—even one trained as I was—make any difference in the chaos that might ensue?
Every option seemed inadequate, impotent. For all my supposed power and privilege, I was as helpless as any common citizen against the machinations of the Empire. More so, perhaps, because I knew what was coming and could do nothing to stop it.
I was so absorbed in these bleak thoughts that I almost collided with two figures turning onto the academy grounds from the main road. I stepped back, an apology ready on my lips, when the smaller of the two figures looked up, moonlight illuminating a familiar face.
"Jalend?" Livia's voice carried surprise and a hint of wariness. "What are you doing out so late?"
I recovered quickly, years of court training once again serving me well. "I could ask you the same question," I replied, injecting a teasing note into my voice. "The hour is rather advanced for proper young ladies to be wandering the streets."
She rolled her eyes at the implication that she was a "proper young lady," a gesture so characteristic of her that it made something in my chest ache. Standing beside her was the quiet servant girl who often accompanied her—Octavia, I recalled.
"We had business in the city," Livia said vaguely, then turned to her companion. "Octavia, would you mind going ahead? I'll catch up in a moment."
Octavia nodded, though I caught the concerned glance she directed at Livia before she continued on toward the academy buildings. Interesting. Whatever "business" they had conducted seemed to have left Livia in a state that worried her friend.
