Page 3 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
Jalend's gaze flicked to Marcus and Antonius, taking in their servant's garb, their protective positioning around me. Something flickered in his expression—not jealousy, exactly, but a recognition of intimacy that he was excluded from.
"I see you've acquired new... attendants," he said, the slight pause before the word making it clear he understood exactly what Marcus and Antonius were to me.
"Marcus and Antonius have been kind enough to serve in my household," I replied stiffly. "I needed the help after..." I couldn't finish the sentence. After Octavia died. After my world fell apart. After you stopped speaking to me without explanation.
"Of course," Jalend said. "Well, I don't want to interrupt your training. I was just..." He gestured vaguely toward the practice dummies. "Couldn't sleep either."
An awkward silence stretched between us, full of all the things we weren't saying. A month ago, Jalend would have joined me for morning practice, would have teased me about my form or challenged me to a sparring match. Now he stood apart, maintaining a distance that felt both physical and emotional.
"There are rumours," I said finally, unable to bear the tension. "About conscription orders."
Jalend's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Rumours have a way of becoming reality in times like these."
"Is it true? Will they really conscript students?"
For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. Then he nodded, his expression grim. "The orders will come today. All dragon riders, regardless of training status, are to report for active duty within the week."
The confirmation hit me like a blow, even though I'd been expecting it. "The northern campaign."
"Yes." His voice was flat, emotionless. "The Emperor clearly believes overwhelming force is the only language the Talfen understand."
The Emperor. The words hung in the air between us, another reminder of the gulf that separated us. Jalend was nobility, connected to the very power structure I'd sworn to destroy. Even if he disagreed with imperial policy—and I wasn't entirely sure he did—his loyalty would ultimately lie with his family, his class, his Empire.
"And you?" I asked, meeting his gaze directly. "Do you believe that?"
Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of the man I'd thought I'd known beneath the careful nobleman's mask. "I believe a lot of things have become... complicated since the bombing."
It wasn't an answer, not really. But it was more honesty than he'd offered me in weeks, and I found myself clinging to it like a lifeline.
"Jalend," I began, then stopped, not sure what I wanted to say. That I missed him? That his distance hurt almost as much as losing Octavia? That I needed his friendship now more than ever?
"I should go," he said before I could find the words. "There will be meetings today. Preparations to make." He glanced once more at Marcus and Antonius. "Take care of yourself, Livia. War is... different from training."
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the pre-dawn light with a hollow ache in my chest that had nothing to do with grief. Whatever had existed between us—friendship, attraction, the possibility of something more—it felt as dead as the bodies still being pulled from the rubble of the festival square.
"He's afraid," Marcus observed quietly once Jalend was out of earshot.
"Of what?"
"Of caring too much. Of letting himself get close to someone he might lose." Marcus's expression was thoughtful. "The bombing changed everyone, Livia. Some people retreat when they're hurt."
"And some people attack," I said, thinking of the gangs roaming the streets, of the Emperor's speeches calling for Talfen blood. "Which am I?"
"You're you," Antonius said simply. "And that's enough."
But as we walked back toward the academy buildings, as I prepared to face another day of lies and performance and careful distance from the man I'd thought I was falling in love with, I wasn't sure it was enough anymore. The rage burning in my chest demanded action, demanded blood, demanded justice for all the wrongs that had been done.
And soon, very soon, I would have a dragon beneath me and weapons in my hands and the chance to finally, finally make someone pay for what had been taken from us.
The thought should have frightened me. Instead, it was the only thing that made me feel alive.
2
The academy was quiet at this hour, settled into the deep stillness that came only in the small hours before dawn. I lay on the narrow bed that had once belonged to Septimus, staring at the ceiling and listening to the familiar sounds of an old building breathing around us. Somewhere down the hall, Marcus would be doing the same—neither of us slept well these days, not with the weight of grief and worry pressing down on all of us like a physical thing.
It had been my idea to move into the academy, to take on the roles of Livia's personal servants. Marcus had been reluctant at first, concerned about the risk of exposure, but I'd convinced him it was necessary. She was drowning, our fierce little warrior, pulled under by currents of loss and rage that threatened to tear her apart. Someone needed to be close enough to catch her when she fell.
And she was falling, though she fought against it with every stubborn bone in her body.
