Page 115 of City of Secrets and Shadows
After learning his whereabouts, I had watched his house. Excusing myself from academy meals or social events withfeigned illness or exhaustion, I had donned plain clothes and tracked his movements, learning his routine. He left for the palace each morning at dawn, returning after sunset. On his days off, he visited the bathhouse near the Forum, then drank at a tavern called The Gilded Laurel until late. His wife — a small, pretty woman with nervous hands — rarely left their home. They had no children.
Tonight would be the night. His shift rotation meant he would be off duty tomorrow, which gave me a full day to compose myself before returning to the academy. Marcus and Septimus had both fallen asleep hours ago, exhausted from their own day’s labour. Tarshi was still out — another resistance meeting, no doubt. I had pretended to sleep until their breathing deepened and steadied, then silently slipped from between them.
Now, dressed in dark breeches and a hooded tunic, I tucked the small knife Marcus had given me into my boot and a larger blade into the sheath at my hip. The weapons were familiar, comforting — extensions of myself after years in the arena. I applied a smear of ash beneath my eyes to reduce the reflection of moonlight on my face. Then, with one last look at the sleeping forms of my lovers, I slipped out the window and into the night.
The city was different after dark. The grand boulevards and marketplaces that teemed with life during the day lay quiet and abandoned. Only in certain quarters did activity continue — the wharves where ships were loaded regardless of the hour, the brothels and gambling dens where the city’s vices flourished in darkness, the temples where eternal flames were tended by devoted priests. I kept to the shadows, avoiding the occasional patrol of city watchmen and the rare nobleman’s litter carried by slaves.
The eastern quarter was well-patrolled, its residents protected by both city guards and private security. But I had learned the patterns of these patrols during my observations. I slippedbetween them easily, scaling a garden wall to avoid a checkpoint, then dropping silently into a courtyard fragrant with night-blooming jasmine.
The Gilded Laurel stood at the corner of two wide streets, its upper windows still blazing with light despite the late hour. Through the open shutters came the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the plucking of a lyre. I positioned myself in the shadow of a colonnade across the street, becoming as still as the marble columns themselves.
I didn’t have to wait long. Shortly after midnight, the tavern door opened, spilling golden light onto the cobblestones. A group of men emerged, their Imperial uniforms marking them as officers of the Palace Guard. They were drunk, laughing loudly as they clapped each other on the shoulder and made ribald jokes. I scanned their faces quickly, my heart thundering in my chest.
And there he was.
Lucius Arilius. He was older than in my memories, his hair now streaked with grey at the temples, lines etched around his eyes and mouth. But I would never forget that face. Not as long as I lived. My hand moved unconsciously to the hilt of my knife.
Not yet. Not here.
The group separated at the intersection, each heading in a different direction toward their homes. Arilius turned down a narrow street that I knew led to his house. I followed, keeping to the shadows, moving as silently as the cats that prowled the city’s rooftops. The street was empty, the houses on either side dark and quiet.
Halfway down the street, Arilius paused, swaying slightly from the wine. He fumbled with his belt, then relieved himself against a wall. I slipped closer, my hand now fully gripping my knife. It would be easy. So easy. A quick approach from behind, a blade across the throat, and it would be over.
But no. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to know who killed him, and why.
He finished and adjusted his clothing, then continued down the street. I followed. His house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, a modest but well-maintained two-story building with flower boxes in the windows. As he approached his door, I stepped out of the shadows.
“Lucius Arilius.”
He turned, squinting into the darkness. His hand moved instinctively to the sword at his hip. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”
I stepped forward, pushing back my hood. The moonlight would illuminate my face, though I doubted he would recognize me. I had been a child when he last saw me, and the arena had changed me in countless ways.
“Do you remember a village a few days from Veredus?” I asked, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
He frowned, his hand still on his weapon. “What?”
“Thirteen storms ago. A village in the northern province. Your unit was sent to make an example of traitors.”
A flicker of recognition crossed his face, quickly replaced by wariness. “Who are you?”
“My name is Livia.” I took another step forward. “You killed my brother. He was seventeen. He was trying to protect me.”
Arilius drew his sword, but the movement was sluggish from drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go home, little girl, before you get yourself in trouble.”
“You ran him through while I watched. You looked me in the eye afterward, and you smiled.” The memory burned white-hot in my mind. “I swore that day that I would find you. That I would make you pay.”
Understanding dawned on his face, followed by fear. He glanced around the empty street, knowing there was no one to help him. “Listen, girl. Whatever you think I did—”
“I don’t think. I know.” I drew my blade in one fluid motion. “You murdered an innocent boy who was trying to protect his sister.”
“I was a soldier following orders,” he protested, backing away. “There were rebels in that village. Traitors conspiring with the Talfen. We had to—”
“There were no rebels,” I spat. “No traitors. Just families. Children. Elders. And you slaughtered them all.”
He raised his sword, but his stance was poor, his balance compromised by alcohol. “Stay back. I’m warning you. I’m a warrior of the Palace Guard. If you harm me—”
“You’ll be dead,” I finished for him. “And I’ll be long gone.”
