Page 24 of City of Secrets and Shadows
I wanted to ask more — about Drusus, about their escape, about everything — but the sound of movement from the bedroom interrupted us. Octavia emerged, wrapped in a shawl against the morning chill, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.
“Planning without me?” she asked, her tone light but her eyes sharp as she assessed the scene before her.
“Just warming up,” I replied, raising my cup.
She hummed sceptically, moving to the cooking area to start preparations for breakfast. The domestic normalcy of it all struck me again — how easily we fell into these rhythms of shared living, as though we’d been doing it for years rather than mere hours.
By the time the others woke, Octavia had arranged a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and dried fruit on the table. We gathered around it, the earlier awkwardness somewhat diminished in the light of day.
“So,” Septimus said around a mouthful of bread, “we need to turn our gladiator into a noble. Where do we start?”
Octavia immediately took charge. “First, we establish her identity. Every detail needs to be consistent, memorized, and believable.”
She pulled a scrap of parchment toward her and began writing. “Livia, fifth daughter of Lord Cassius Cantius of the Eastern Provinces. Mother died in childbirth — Lady Serena Valerian, formerly of House Drelius.”
“Raised in isolation due to her father’s overprotective nature,” Marcus added. “Following his recent death, she has come to the capital to honour his memory by pursuing entry to the Dragon Elites.”
Tarshi leaned forward. “She’ll need to explain her skills. Nobles don’t fight like gladiators.”
“Many provincial nobles employ weapons masters to train their children,” Octavia supplied. “We’ll say Lord Cantius hired a retired legionnaire to instruct Livia — that explains her martial skills while justifying any roughness in her technique.”
I watched, impressed, as they constructed my false life piece by piece. Septimus took up his charcoal again, sketching various family crests until we settled on one featuring a serpent entwined around a sword — subtle homage to my past that no one would recognize.
“What about her dragon?” Tarshi asked. “They’ll question where she acquired it.”
This had been a concern of mine as well. While dragons weren’t unheard of among the nobility, they were rare and expensive.
“A gift from her father,” Marcus suggested. “Purchased from traders at great expense when she was a child, and raised alongside her.”
“That explains the bond between them,” Octavia agreed. “And her unusual skill at riding.”
By midday, we had constructed an entire history for Livia Valerian — her education, her family connections, even the name of her childhood nurse and the location of the family estate. Octavia had me recite it again and again until the details became as familiar as my own past.
“Now,” she said when she was satisfied with my recitation. “We move on to deportment.”
What followed was the most gruelling training I’d experienced since my early days in the ludus. Octavia was a merciless instructor, correcting everything from my posture to my table manners to the way I held my cup.
“No, no,” she chided for the dozenth time. “A lady does not stride; she glides. Small steps, Livia. And your shoulders — back, but not rigid. You look like you’re preparing to charge into battle.”
“Maybe I am,” I muttered, earning a sharp rap on my knuckles with a wooden spoon.
“Ladies do not mutter,” she said primly. “They either speak clearly or remain silent.”
From his position against the wall, Marcus failed to suppress a smile. I shot him a glare.
“Something amusing?” I demanded.
“Just remembering how you looked the first time you walked into the arena,” he replied. “Same expression. Like you wanted to commit murder.”
Despite my irritation, I found myself returning his smile. He was right — learning to be a noble was not unlike learning tofight. Both required a mastery of oneself, a careful control of body and mind.
“Again,” Octavia insisted, and I resumed my painfully slow circuit of the small room, balancing a book on my head as I attempted to ‘glide’ rather than walk.
The days that followed fell into a rhythm. Mornings were devoted to my education in noble etiquette and history under Octavia’s exacting tutelage. Afternoons were spent acquiring the necessary items for my disguise — clothing, jewellery, documents — or practicing my role in various settings around the city.
To my surprise, Marcus proved an invaluable ally in these preparations. Although he worked as a butcher during the day, at night he’d quickly accustomed himself to the more seedier citizens of the imperial city. His networking had already given him a few connections throughout the city, including a skilled forger who provided us with convincing documentation of my noble lineage.
“How did you find this man?” I asked as we left the forger’s dingy shop, precious papers tucked safely in an inner pocket.
