Page 44 of Empire of Wrath and Ruin
I reached for a cloth from the washstand, dampening it with cool water before returning to the bed. Together, Tarshi and I cleaned her gently, our touches reverent now rather than demanding. She was barely conscious, floating in that hazy space between satisfaction and exhaustion.
"How do you feel?" I asked quietly, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
"Complete," she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. "For the first time in weeks, I feel complete."
The words hit me harder than they should have. I had tried so desperately to fill the void left by her severed bonds, to be enough, but I knew now without a doubt that she needed more. And not just Tarshi, but the other men. Her other men. I was one among many, but she was everything to me. The darkness stirred restlessly beneath my skin, feeding on the fear that was growing stronger with each passing moment. If I let her go back to them, would she choose to stay? Or would she realize that what we had was born of desperation and captivity rather than true love?
But watching her now, seeing the peace that had settled over her features for the first time since I'd brought her here, I knew I couldn't keep her caged. She was withering without her full bond, and my selfish need was slowly killing the very thing I was trying to protect.
Tarshi met my eyes over her head, and I saw understanding there. He knew what this was costing me, knew that every moment I held back from claiming her completely was a moment closer to losing myself entirely.
"She needs them all," he said quietly. "And they need her."
I nodded, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. Tomorrow, I would have to make the hardest decision of my life.
Tonight, I would hold her close and pretend we had forever.
15
The stone walls of our cell had become depressingly familiar over the past week, but they couldn't contain the restless energy that had been building in my chest since the moment we'd arrived. Knowing Livia was somewhere in this temple, probably no more than a few corridors away, and being unable to reach her was a special kind of torture I hadn't anticipated.
I pressed my palm against the cold stone and closed my eyes, trying to feel some echo of her presence through the severed bond. The connection that had once blazed between us like a living thing was nothing more than a dull ache now, a constant reminder of what was missing. When Tarshi had visited two days ago to assure us she was safe and well cared for, he'd mentioned that she was desperate to see us. The knowledge that she was suffering the same separation we were somehow made it both better and worse.
"You're wearing a groove in the floor," Marcus observed from where he sat against the far wall, his voice gentle despite the teasing words.
I realized I'd been pacing again, my feet following the same path I'd traced countless times over the past week. "Sorry," I muttered, but I didn't stop moving. Standing still felt impossible when every instinct I possessed was screaming at me to find her, to hold her, to assure myself that she was truly unharmed.
The fear that had gripped me when we'd first been separated was unlike anything I'd experienced since Helga's death. I thought I'd learned to live with loss, thought I'd built walls strong enough to protect what remained of my heart. But Livia had slipped past every defence I'd constructed, and the possibility of losing her had nearly broken me.
I'd lost Helga to Imperial cruelty, forced to watch helplessly as soldiers destroyed everything I'd ever loved. The memory of that night still haunted my dreams—her screams, her eyes finding mine in those final moments, the way the light had left them while I remained chained and powerless to help her. The grief had been crushing, but more than that, it had been rage. Rage at my own helplessness, at the Empire that had torn through our village like a plague, at a world that could allow such brutality to exist.
But this—the thought of Livia in danger, possibly hurt or worse while I sat powerless in a cell—this brought back every terrible emotion I'd thought I'd buried. With Helga, I'd been forced to watch. With Livia, I'd been forced to imagine every terrible possibility, to wonder if she was calling for us while we remained beyond her reach.
The parallel was too close, too raw. After Helga, I'd sworn I would never again care for someone so deeply that losing them could destroy me. I'd planned to live alone, to fight alone, to die alone when my time came. Love was a luxury I couldn't afford, a weakness that could be used against me.
But Livia had changed everything.
"She's safe," Septimus said quietly, and I realized my distress must be written clearly across my face. "Tarshi wouldn't lie about something like that."
"I know," I replied, though knowing and feeling were two different things entirely. "It's just..."
"Hard to trust anything when you can't see for yourself," Marcus finished. "We know, brother. We're all feeling it."
That was what had kept me sane over the past week—the knowledge that I wasn't carrying this burden alone. Septimus's steady presence, Marcus's quiet strength, even Jalend's nervous energy had reminded me that Livia's absence was a wound we all shared. We'd supported each other through the uncertainty, taken turns talking the others down from the worst of their fears.
I'd never expected to find brothers in gladiator cells, never imagined that sharing a woman's love could create bonds this strong between men who'd once been strangers. But somewhere between the arena and this hidden temple, we'd become family in ways that went deeper than blood. We'd survived the arena, survived the battlefield, survived a week of interrogation and uncertainty. We would survive this too, and we would do it together.
A sound in the corridor outside made us all freeze—footsteps, but not the measured pace of guards making their rounds. These were purposeful, multiple sets moving with the kind of authority that suggested important news.
"This is it," Jalend said quietly, rising from his position near the door. His face was pale but determined, and I felt a surge of affection for this young nobleman who'd risked everything to stand with us.
The door opened without ceremony, and a guard I didn't recognize stepped inside. Behind him stood a figure that made my heart leap—Tarshi, looking grim but determined.
"The council has reached a decision," the lead guard announced as he unlocked our shackles. "You will all come with me."
I flexed my wrists as the heavy iron fell away, the sudden lightness almost disorienting after days of constant weight. Beside me, Marcus rolled his shoulders, and Septimus stretched his arms overhead, all of us testing our newfound mobility with cautious relief.
"About time," Marcus muttered under his breath, but there was tension in his voice that matched what I was feeling. A decision could go either way, and we'd had a week to imagine all the unpleasant possibilities.
