Page 2 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
“No, of course you’re not. Any news?” I asked, forcing my voice to steady. Antonius had been our eyes and ears in the city, using his connections among the merchants and labourers to gather information the palace wouldn't release.
He shook his massive head, his expression grim. “More of the same. The city guard is everywhere, rounding up anyone with Talfen features. They’re calling it a security sweep, but we know what it is. A purge.” The word hung in the cool air, ugly and sharp. “Anyone with even a hint of Talfen blood is being rounded up, imprisoned. Some are just... disappearing."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Disappearing?"
"Gangs roam the streets at night," Antonius said, his deep voice heavy with disgust. "They call themselves 'purifiers.' They hunt anyone who looks different—pointed ears, unusual eye colour, skin that's too dark or too pale. The city guard does nothing to stop them."
I felt sick. "How many?"
"Hundreds, maybe thousands," Marcus replied. "Families torn apart. Children taken from their parents. All in the name of 'protecting' the Empire from future attacks."
The rage that had been simmering beneath my grief flared to life, white-hot and consuming. This was what my failure had wrought—not just the deaths in the square, but a reign of terror that painted the streets with innocent blood. Every Talfen dragged from their home, every child orphaned by vigilante violence, every life destroyed in the name of the Emperor's lies... it all traced back to that terrible day when I'd failed to stop Kalen's manipulation.
"The resistance," I managed to ask through clenched teeth. "What's left of it?"
"Scattered. Broken. Those who weren't killed in the bombing are either in hiding or dead." Marcus's hand found my shoulder again, anchoring me. "Mira's gone. No one's seen her since that day. Most assume she died in the square."
Gone. Like Septimus and Tarshi, like Octavia, like so many others. The city was bleeding, and I was trapped here playing at being a noble while the Emperor carved his hatred into the flesh of innocents.
"I should be out there," I said, the words coming out in a growl. "Fighting. Protecting them."
"And do what?" Marcus asked gently. "Get yourself killed? Expose your identity?”
“I'm useless here, Marcus. Worse than useless—I'm complicit."
"You're surviving," Antonius said quietly. "And sometimes that's the most rebellious thing you can do."
I wanted to argue, wanted to rage at them both for their calm acceptance of an intolerable situation. But the fight went out ofme as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind only the hollow ache that had become my constant companion.
"They're still alive," I whispered, the words torn from some desperate place inside me. "Septimus and Tarshi. I know everyone says they're dead, but I can feel it. They're out there somewhere."
Marcus and Antonius exchanged a look I couldn't interpret. There was no judgment in it, no pity, but there was something that looked like gentle concern.
“I have this.”
Antonius held out a folded piece of coarse paper. “Another notice from the city guard. Posted less than an hour ago.” My stomach twisted into a cold knot. A list. It had to be another list of the identified dead. My hand wouldn’t move to take it. It was Marcus who reached out, his fingers sure as he accepted the paper and unfolded it. His eyes scanned the columns of names, his jaw tightening. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken dread, punctuated only by the distant sound of the city waking up.
“They’re not on it,” Marcus said finally, the words rough with a mixture of relief and frustration. “Neither of them.” The breath I’d been holding escaped in a rush, leaving me dizzy. Still missing. Not confirmed. It was a sliver of hope so thin it felt like a razor’s edge.
“It doesn’t mean they’re alive,” Antonius rumbled, ever the pragmatist. “Just that no one has put a name to their bodies.”
“Don’t,” I snapped, turning on him. “Don’t you dare take that away.” He held my gaze, his own dark eyes filled not with malice, but with a deep, aching pity that I hated. “Hope is all we have left. And I’m not letting it go. I know they're alive. I can feel it in my bones."
It was true, though I couldn't explain it rationally. Despite the official reports, despite the witness accounts of explosions andcollapsing buildings, despite the fact that no trace of them had been found in the rubble, something inside me insisted they had survived. It was a certainty that defied logic, but it was also the only thing keeping me functional.
Antonius’s gaze was gentle as he reached out and touched my hand. “I would never take your hope away, Livia. Never. I share it. They were good men, both of them. Are good men.”
"Then we hope," Marcus said simply. "And we prepare for whatever comes next."
Before I could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed across the training yard. We sprang apart, Marcus and Antonius stepping back to respectful distances as another figure emerged from the pre-dawn shadows.
But it wasn't another servant or early-rising student. It was Jalend.
He looked different than he had a month ago—thinner, with shadows under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. His usually immaculate appearance was rumpled, his dark hair dishevelled as if he'd been running his hands through it. When his gaze found mine, there was something in his blue eyes I couldn't name—pain, perhaps, or guilt, or simply exhaustion.
"Livia," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I didn't expect to find you here so early."
"Couldn't sleep," I replied, echoing my earlier words to Marcus. The lie came easily now, a reflexive defence against unwanted scrutiny.
