Page 103 of Realms of Swords and Storms
"Of course I do," I replied, the admission easier than I had expected. "Why else would I have warned you away from thefestival? Why else would I have come looking for you when I realized you'd gone anyway?"
She leaned into me then, her body suddenly boneless with exhaustion and grief. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, feeling her tears soak into my shirt. We stood like that for a long moment, finding brief solace amid the sounds of a city tearing itself apart in panic and confusion.
"Who is he?" I asked finally, my voice soft against her hair. "This Tarshi that Septimus has gone to find?"
She was silent for so long I thought she might not answer. When she did, her voice was muffled against my chest, but clear enough. "He's a gladiator. A Talfen. A friend." She paused, then added, "More than a friend."
“You have a Talfen lover?” I asked her, shock freeing my mouth more than I would have wished.
She nodded, her guard down, drained of any kind of pretence or hope. “I did. I do. Others too. I’m sorry.”
The admission shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. I had no claim on her heart, no right to the jealousy that flared briefly in my chest. I pushed it away, focusing instead on her pain, on her need.
"And Septimus thinks he was involved in the bombings?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
She nodded, then pulled back slightly to look up at me, her eyes haunted. "But if he was, it wasn't knowingly. He wouldn't... he was desperate and he couldn't have known what would happen. He thought they were going to get the people out first."
The conviction in her voice was absolute, leaving no room for doubt. Whoever this Tarshi was, she believed in him completely. Loved him, perhaps. The thought should have pained me more than it did, but in that moment, seeing her grief, her fear, all I wanted was for her to be spared any further suffering.
"Then I'm sure Septimus will find him," I said, with more confidence than I felt. "And bring him back safely."
She nodded, though doubt lingered in her eyes. She rested her head against my chest again, her breathing gradually steadying as exhaustion took its toll. I held her, offering what comfort I could, as the sounds of the city's agony continued around us.
In the distance, imperial horns began to sound—the signal for the city guard to mobilize, for emergency measures to be enacted. Soon, the streets would be flooded with soldiers, with imperial officials taking control of the chaos, shaping the narrative to suit my father's purposes.
I needed to get Livia somewhere safe before that happened. Somewhere she wouldn't be questioned about her presence at the festival, about her connections to the resistance, about this Tarshi who might or might not have been involved in the bombings.
But for now, I simply held her, this woman who had somehow become the still point in my spinning world. And I wondered, with a dread that settled bone-deep, what would happen when she discovered who I truly was—and the part my blood, my name, my inheritance had played in the destruction of everything she held dear.
28
Ifound Tarshi in what remained of the eastern section of the square, half-buried in rubble as he struggled one-handed to free a woman trapped beneath fallen debris. His face was a mask of soot and blood, his clothing torn, and his left arm hung at an unnatural angle—clearly broken, yet he fought through the pain with a desperate determination that caught at something in my chest.
"Tarshi!" I called, making my way across the broken cobblestones toward him.
He looked up, shock flashing across his face before it settled into grim resolve. "Help me," he said simply, returning his attention to the woman. "Her leg is pinned. I can't lift this beam alone."
No accusations. No explanations. Just a plea for help that cut through all the chaos surrounding us. I moved to him without hesitation, bracing myself against the heavy wooden beam that had the woman trapped.
"On three," Tarshi said, his voice strained with effort and pain as he positioned himself to lift with only his good arm. "One. Two. Three!"
We heaved together, muscles burning as we lifted the massive timber. The woman whimpered, trying to drag herself free, but her leg was clearly broken, making movement nearly impossible.
"A little more," Tarshi gasped, his face contorted with the strain, sweat mingling with blood on his forehead. "She's almost—"
The beam was heavier than it looked, and without Tarshi's full strength, we struggled to hold it high enough. I adjusted my grip, putting my back into it, feeling tendons strain as I took more of the weight.
"Pull yourself out," I urged the woman, who was inching backward on her elbows, dragging her injured leg. "Quickly!"
With one final effort, she managed to free herself from beneath the beam. We lowered it carefully back to the cobblestones, both of us breathing hard from the exertion.
Tarshi immediately knelt beside the woman, checking her leg with his good hand. The other arm he held close to his body, protecting it from further injury. The break was bad—I could see the unnatural bulge beneath the skin where bone pressed against flesh, threatening to tear through.
"Multiple fractures," he murmured, focused on the woman rather than his own injury. "But she'll walk again, with proper care."
I stared at him, unable to reconcile this gentle voice with the man I had accused of being a monster just hours before. The man who, by his own admission, had helped plant the devices that had destroyed the Imperial square.
"Your arm," I said, gesturing to the obvious break. "What happened?"
