Page 95 of Realms of Swords and Storms
"But why?" Octavia asked, confusion and fear mingling in her voice. "Why announce he would attend and then not come?"
I searched the crowd again, this time looking for resistance members. I spotted a few—faces I recognized from meetings, positioned near various platforms and balconies around the square, exactly as planned. Waiting to make speeches to an Emperor who would never arrive.
And still, imperial guards were pulling back rather than moving in. Still, families gathered in the centre of the square, directly in front of the empty stage.
The answer struck me with such clarity it took my breath away. "It's a trap," I said, the words barely audible over the festive noise surrounding us. "But not for the Emperor. For us. For the resistance."
Marcus's face had gone pale. "And for all these people," he added, gesturing to the innocents surrounding us, still laughing, still celebrating, utterly unaware of the danger. "But what's the trap? What's going to happen?"
I didn't know, but dread settled in my stomach like a stone. If Jalend had warned me away, if imperial guards were pulling back rather than moving in...
"We need to find the others," I said urgently. "Tarshi, Mira, anyone from the resistance. We need to warn them, stop whatever's planned before it’s too late."
“What if Tarshi’s involved, Livia?” asked Antonius gently. “From what I’ve heard, this Lord cares for you. He wouldn’t tell you to stay away if there was only going to be a demonstration. Something serious is going on, and I think people are going to get hurt.”
"No," I said firmly, rejecting the unspoken accusation. "Tarshi wouldn't be involved in anything that would hurt innocents. He's not like that."
"Maybe not normally," Antonius said quietly. "But if he was pushed too far…”
"We need to find him," I said again, more urgently this time. "Now. Before whatever is going to happen—"
A child's laugh cut through our tense conversation—a little girl with dark curls, perched on her father's shoulders, pointing excitedly at a performer who had begun juggling flaming torchesnearby. Her delight was so pure, so innocent against the backdrop of our growing fear.
"I'll check the north side of the square," Marcus decided, already backing away. "Antonius, take the east. Livia, you and Octavia stay central, look for Mira or any other resistance members you recognize. Tell them to get out, to get as many people out as they can."
I nodded, though I had no idea how we would convince people to leave a festival they had been eagerly anticipating, based on nothing but our vague suspicions.
"Be careful," I called after Marcus as he turned to go. "And if you find Tarshi..."
"I'll bring him to you," he promised, then disappeared into the crowd.
Antonius gave us a solemn nod before heading in the opposite direction, his height allowing him to move more quickly through the press of bodies.
"What do we do?" Octavia asked, her earlier joy completely vanished, replaced by tense wariness. "How do we warn people without causing a panic?"
I scanned the square again, desperately searching for Mira, for any familiar face among the crowd. "I don't know. But we have to try.”
My hand clamped around Octavia’s wrist. “Stay close. We’ll find Mira first.” We plunged into the throng, the festive sounds grating on my nerves, every cheerful shout a prelude to a scream. The sheer number of people made movement slow, a frustrating, sluggish wade through a sea of bodies oblivious to the current pulling them under. I tried to warn a man with a toddler on his shoulders. “You should move back,” I urged. “It’s not safe here.” He just laughed, assuming I meant the crush of the crowd, and tightened his grip on his child’s legs.
“There!” Octavia cried, pointing toward a stone balcony overlooking the north side of the square. I followed her gaze and saw Mira. She stood at the balustrade, pamphlets in hand, her expression resolute. Her eyes were fixed on the clock tower of the justice building, its hands about to strike noon.
“Mira!” I yelled, dragging Octavia in my wake. “You have to get out of here!”
She saw the raw panic on my face as I reached her, my fingers digging into her arm. “Livia? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s a trap,” I gasped, the words tumbling out. “The Emperor, he isn’t coming. They’re pulling the guards back. We have to leave. Now.”
Mira stared at me, her mouth opening to argue. But before a sound could pass her lips, the great bell in the city’s central tower began to toll the noon hour. One. Two. The deep, resonant chimes echoed across the square, a sombre counterpoint to the festival’s cheer. On the twelfth and final stroke, the world exploded.
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Dust rained down on me like bitter snow, coating my tongue and filling my lungs. I came to choking, each cough sending spikes of pain through my skull where Kalen had struck me. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was or why—then the cellar around me shuddered as if struck by a giant's hand, and memory returned in a flood of horror.
The first explosion. It had begun.
Screams filtered down from above, muffled by stone and earth but unmistakable in their terror. The air in the cellar was thick with dust now, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. The ropes around my wrists and ankles bit into flesh already raw from my earlier struggles.
I had minutes—maybe less—before the next explosion. And then the next. And the next. A carefully orchestrated symphony of destruction, with innocents as the unwitting audience.
