Page 34 of City of Secrets and Shadows
He parried efficiently. “I find flourishes inefficient.”
“How practical of you. Hardly the noble approach.”
“Perhaps I’m as much an outsider as you appear to be.” There was no self-pity in the statement, merely fact.
“I doubt that very much,” I said, noting the quality of his practice sword — custom-made, perfectly balanced, the kind only serious wealth could procure. “You fight like someone who’s never had to worry about the consequences of losing.”
Something hardened in his expression. “And you fight like someone who’s never had the luxury of treating combat as a game.”
We had established a rhythm now, our exchanges flowing with a natural counterpoint. Neither of us was fighting at full capacity — I was concealing my arena training, and I suspected he was holding back for reasons of his own.
“The nobility do enjoy their games,” I said, executing a complex manoeuvre that required precise footwork.
He matched it perfectly. “Games with rules that change depending on who’s playing.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Observation,” he replied, though something in his tone suggested otherwise.
The signal sounded, ending our match. We stood at a perfect draw, neither having gained significant advantage. Around us, other pairs were still engaged, some performing elaborate finishing flourishes for the judges’ benefit.
“Traditional salute to conclude,” Jalend said, assuming the formal stance.
I mirrored him, and we completed the ritual closing movements in unison.
“You’re more interesting than I expected,” he said afterward, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
“I wasn’t aware you had expectations regarding me,” I replied.
“I didn’t. That’s what makes it interesting.” Without another word, he gave me a curt nod and walked away, leaving me both irritated by his arrogance and intrigued by his direct manner.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of assessments. The combat trials were followed by examinations of riding equipment, brief interviews with academy legates, and preliminary discussions of the training schedule. Throughout it all, I maintained my carefully constructed persona — deferential but dignified, knowledgeable but not exceptional, exactly as Septimus had coached me.
By evening, exhaustion had settled into my bones — not from physical exertion, which I was well accustomed to, but from the constant vigilance required to maintain my disguise. Every interaction was a potential trap, every question a test of my fabricated background.
“Lady Cantius.”
I turned to find one of the academy legates approaching — a middle-aged woman with shrewd eyes and a formal bearing.
“Legate,” I acknowledged with a respectful inclination of my head.
“Your performance today was noted,” she said. “Particularly your match with Corvus. Clean technique, good adaptability.”
“Thank you,” I replied, uncertain whether this was mere courtesy or something more significant.
“Your dragon is exceptional,” she continued. “The bond between you is evident, even at this early stage. That will serve you well in the coming trials.”
I offered a modest smile. “Sirrax and I understand each other.”
“Indeed.” She studied me with an appraising gaze. “The provincial houses often produce unexpected talents. Less... conventional training sometimes yields interesting results.”
Before I could respond, she handed me a sealed parchment. “Your quarters assignment and tomorrow’s schedule. The servants’ wing has accommodations for your staff.” With a nod, she departed, leaving me to wonder exactly what had been “noted” about my performance.
As candidates and spectators streamed from the academy grounds, I stood for a moment, taking in the full scope of what I had undertaken. The massive structures around me represented everything I had been taught to hate — imperial power, aristocratic privilege, the system that had destroyed my life and countless others.
Yet here I stood, wearing their colours, speaking their language, playing their game. In the arena, I had always known who my enemies were and what weapons they carried. Here, smiles concealed daggers, and words could wound more deeply than steel.
I thought of Tarshi and Septimus somewhere in the crowds, maintaining their own disguises, risking everything to support this dangerous gambit. I thought of Octavia and Marcus, who had given us the tools to attempt this infiltration. And I thought of my family, long dead but still driving me forward, demanding justice.
