Page 2 of City of Secrets and Shadows
“Be quick,” she finally said, turning to lay her hand on the dragon’s massive neck. “And both of you come back. Alive. Understand?”
I nodded, meeting Septimus’s gaze over her head. For just a moment, I thought I saw something like an understanding pass between us — both of us bound to her, willing to die for her, though we shared nothing else.
The shared moment shattered as quickly as it had formed, his face settling back into familiar lines of disdain as he turned away.
“Let’s go,” he said coldly. “Before the Talfen burn what we need.”
The way he said ‘Talfen’ — like a curse, like something filthy in his mouth — reminded me of everything that stood between us. Of everything I was to him: animal, enemy, monster.
I felt the phantom pressure of his arms around my waist, the desperate grip of a man who’d rather embrace his enemy than face death. How quickly he forgot when survival was no longer at stake.
We headed back toward the burning town, leaving Livia with her dragon. Neither of us looked back, though I felt her eyes following us, watching as we walked side by side toward danger — united in purpose if nothing else.
The outer edges of the town were already in ruins, buildings reduced to smouldering frames and collapsing walls. We moved like shadows through the destruction, taking advantage of the chaos. Smoke hung thick in the air, stinging my eyes and throat, but it offered concealment as we navigated the narrow alleys between structures.
“This way,” Septimus whispered, nodding toward a row of merchant storehouses near the eastern wall. “They keep the caravan supplies there.”
I paused, raising my hand to halt him. My head tilted slightly as I closed my eyes, focusing on the sounds beneath the crackling fires and distant screams. The steady rhythm of armoured footsteps approached from the adjacent street – imperial soldiers on patrol.
“Wait,” I murmured, barely audible. “Five men, coming from the east. They’ll pass directly in front of us.”
Septimus’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How could you possibly—”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the shadow of a collapsed doorway just as the patrol rounded the corner. Thesoldiers moved in tight formation, weapons drawn, scanning the destruction around them with hard eyes. We pressed deeper into the darkness, barely breathing until they passed.
When they were gone, Septimus pulled his arm from my grip with a look of distaste, but there was also something new in his expression – grudging curiosity.
“You could hear them from that distance?” he asked, voice low.
I shrugged. “The Talfen blood that makes me so disgusting to you has its advantages. Better hearing, better sense of smell.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “Would you prefer to be captured?”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, just gestured for me to lead on. I suppressed a bitter smile – the mighty Septimus, arena champion, forced to follow a half-breed through the burning remnants of civilization. How that must gall him.
We reached the storehouses with only one more close call, ducking behind a cart as a group of looters ran past. Most of the buildings were untouched by fire here, though the doors of several had been broken open, their contents already ransacked.
“Third from the end,” Septimus said. “The merchant Crassus keeps his supplies there. He outfits the desert caravans.”
The heavy wooden door was still intact, secured with an iron lock. I glanced at Septimus, who was already pulling a thin metal tool from his boot. He worked the lock with practiced precision while I kept watch, ears straining for any approach.
“Arena champion and lockpick,” I observed quietly. “Interesting skills for a man so devoted to imperial law.”
His hands never faltered on the lock, but his voice was cold. “Slaves develop many skills to survive.”
The lock clicked open before I could retort, and we slipped inside the darkened storehouse. The air was cooler here, heavy with the scent of leather, oil, and dried foodstuffs. Septimusfound a small oil lamp and struck it to life, casting a warm glow over rows of shelves and stacked supplies.
We worked efficiently despite our animosity, filling packs with the essentials – water skins, dried meat, hard biscuits, flint for fire-starting. I found a set of maps and rolled them carefully into a leather tube, while Septimus gathered lengths of rope and a small cooking pot.
As I moved deeper into the storehouse, seeking weapons to replace those we’d lost, I noticed Septimus pause by a shelf of medicinal supplies. His fingers skimmed over various jars and packets before selecting several – burn salve, powdered willow bark for pain, bandages. A crash from outside startled us both. I extinguished the lamp instantly, plunging us into darkness.
“Back door,” I whispered, already moving. My eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, another gift of my mixed blood. I could make out Septimus’s form as he stumbled slightly, unable to see as well.
Without thinking, I reached back and gripped his wrist, guiding him through the cluttered space toward the rear exit. He stiffened at my touch but didn’t pull away, necessity overriding revulsion.
The back door opened onto another alley, narrower than the first. We could hear voices from the front of the building now – more looters, probably, drawn by the unbroken storehouse.
“There,” I pointed to a stack of crates that formed a makeshift stairway to the adjacent rooftop. “We can cross above the streets, avoid the patrols.”
For once, Septimus didn’t question or argue. He simply nodded and followed my lead, climbing swiftly despite the heavy pack now strapped to his back. I went first, testing each crate for stability, then reached down to help him up the final step to the flat clay roof.
