Page 106 of Realms of Swords and Storms
He kissed me then, a desperate, hungry press of lips that spoke of years of longing, of the ache of separation, of a future suddenly, terrifyingly possible. I tasted salt—his tears or mine, I couldn't tell. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the feel of him against me, alive and whole despite everything.
The world around us seemed to recede—the ruined square, the smoke, the aftermath of destruction all fading to insignificance against the reality of Tarshi in my arms, his declaration still hanging in the air between us. For the first time in my life, I felt truly, completely seen. Accepted. Loved.
Then the world shattered. A wave of searing heat, the sensation of moving through the air at great speed. Pain spreading through my body. An emptiness where Tarshi’s body had been pressed against mine. Then there was nothing—not light, not sound, not pain, not love. Just an endless void.
29
Three days. Three days since fire and death had consumed the heart of the imperial city. Three days of searching lists of the dead and wounded, of combing through makeshift hospitals and morgues, of asking endless questions that no one seemed able to answer.
Three days of hoping, then fearing, then hoping again.
I stood outside the imperial palace, my body still aching from injuries barely healed, my mind exhausted from grief and worry. Marcus and Antonius flanked me, silent sentinels whose own suffering was etched into the lines of their faces. We were three where we should have been six—Octavia, Septimus, and Tarshi absent in ways that felt like physical wounds.
At least we knew what had happened to Octavia. Marcus and Antonius had found her remains the previous day, had carried her broken body from the ruins with a gentleness that had broken my heart anew. We would bury her tomorrow, outside the city walls in a meadow where wildflowers grew in profusion.
But Septimus and Tarshi remained missing—not on any list of the dead, not among the wounded, simply... gone. Vanished in the chaos of that terrible day. Hope told me they might still be alive, might have escaped the city, might even now be making their way back to us. Logic whispered crueller truths—that bodies were still being recovered, that many had been burned beyond recognition, that some might never be found at all.
"You should eat something," Marcus murmured, his voice pulling me from my dark thoughts. He offered a small bundle wrapped in cloth—bread and cheese he had somehow procured despite the food shortages gripping the city. "You've barely touched food since it happened."
I accepted the bundle but made no move to open it. "I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway," Antonius said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You'll need your strength for what's coming."
What's coming. The words hung between us, heavy with implication. The Emperor was due to address the city in less than an hour—his first public appearance since the attack. Rumours had been swirling through the streets, each more ominous than the last. Retaliation against the resistance. Military action against the Talfen territories. A final solution to the "Talfen problem" that had plagued the Empire for generations.
Jalend had made his excuses for not joining us—some meeting with fellow scholars he couldn't postpone. I hadn't pressed him, understanding his reluctance to be seen with known resistance sympathizers on a day like today. He had been kind these past three days, offering comfort, helping with the search for Septimus and Tarshi, even arranging for Octavia's burial outside the city where such things were typically forbidden.
But there was something in his eyes whenever the Emperor was mentioned—a shadow, a flinch—that made me wonder what he knew that he wasn't sharing.
I unwrapped the bundle mechanically, taking a small bite of bread that tasted like dust in my mouth. Around us, citizens gathered in increasing numbers, filling the plaza before the imperial palace. Guards watched from every corner, their faces impassive behind polished helmets, hands resting on sword hilts.
"Do you think they survived?" I asked suddenly, the question that had been circling in my mind for three days finally finding voice. "Septimus and Tarshi. Do you think they're still alive?"
Marcus and Antonius exchanged a glance, a silent communication born of years of friendship.
"I think," Antonius said carefully, "that they are two of the most stubborn, resourceful men I have ever known. If anyone could survive what happened in that square, it would be them."
"But you don't believe they did," I pressed, needing honesty more than comfort.
Another glance between them. Then Marcus sighed. "I believe that hope is never wasted, Livia. Even when logic argues against it."
It wasn't an answer, but it was as close to one as I was likely to get. I nodded, taking another bite of bread to please them, to maintain the illusion that I was holding myself together.
In truth, I felt hollow—scraped out, emptied of everything but grief and a rage that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for a target upon which to focus itself.
The crowd around us continued to grow, people pressing closer to the palace gates in anticipation of the Emperor's appearance. Most faces reflected fear, confusion, grief—the expected responses to the tragedy that had befallen the city. ButI noticed others, too—faces tight with hatred, with a thirst for vengeance that mirrored what I felt churning inside me.
"The resistance is being blamed," a woman nearby whispered to her companion. "They say the Talfen orchestrated the whole thing."
"Animals," her companion replied, her voice hard with conviction. "They should all be put down."
I felt Marcus stiffen beside me, saw Antonius's hand move to rest on the concealed dagger at his belt. I placed a calming hand on each of their arms, though my own anger flared at the casual cruelty of the words.
"Not here," I murmured. "Not now."
They subsided, but the tension remained—in their bodies, in mine, in the very air around us as more citizens gathered, more whispers circulated, more hatred found voice in the crowd.
A fanfare of trumpets silenced the murmurs, all eyes turning toward the palace balcony where the Emperor would soon appear. The imperial guard formed ranks before the gates, their armour glinting in the late afternoon sun.
