Page 11 of Realms of Swords and Storms
I'd believed it without question my entire life. Repeated it to myself whenever Tarshi's black eyes met mine across a room. Whispered it like a prayer as he thrust into me in darkened alleys.
But now I was starting to wonder, could a demon feel pity? Love?
And if the Empire lied about the nature of the Talfen, what else had they lied about?
I pushed the dangerous thoughts aside and continued following Tarshi, the pamphlet burning against my skin like a brand of treason. Whatever he was involved in, the stakes were clearly higher than I'd imagined.
At the thought of danger surrounding him, my chest tightened. It was one thing for me to hate him, to call him demon and monster in the daylight. It was another entirely to imagine Imperial guards doing to him what they'd just done to that merchant. Or worse.
The conflict that had been tearing me apart these past weeks intensified. Livia was my whole life—had been since we were children. I'd sworn to her brother I'd protect her with my last breath. My devotion to her was pure, unwavering. The foundation of my existence.
What I felt for Tarshi was something altogether different. Darker. Wilder. When I was with him, reduced to nothing but sensation and need, I felt a kind of reckless freedom I'd never known before. No duty, no vengeance, no past or future. Just the present moment and the shameful pleasure I couldn't resist.
I slipped down the alley after Tarshi, more careful now. The chaos with the merchant had cost me precious time, and I'd nearly lost sight of him. The narrow street curved sharply,then opened into a small courtyard hidden between buildings. A stone fountain stood dry in the centre, its basin cracked and overgrown with moss.
Tarshi was right at the end, his back to me, and he slipped through a sagging doorway beneath a faded sign. I couldn't make out the words, but the crude painting of a woman's silhouette told me enough. A tavern, but also a brothel. Something twisted in my gut—jealousy? Disgust? Both, perhaps.
I waited, counting to twenty before approaching the door. The wood was warped from years of rain, and when I pushed it open, it creaked loud enough to wake the dead. No one turned to look. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sweat and cheap perfume. Talfen and humans mingled in the dim light, their features blurred by the haze.
A woman approached me, her dress cut low to reveal generous breasts. "Looking for company, soldier?" she purred, running a finger down my chest.
I brushed her hand away. "I'm looking for someone."
"Aren't we all?" She laughed, the sound hollow. "Coin first, then I'll help you find whoever you're seeking."
I pressed a denarius into her palm, my eyes scanning the room. "Talfen male. Dark hair, about my height. Came in just before me."
Her smile faltered. "Oh. Him." She jerked her chin toward a curtained doorway at the back. "Through there, down the hall. But it's not what you think."
I pushed past her, ignoring the wary look in her eyes, and headed up the stairs behind the curtain. Another bar in a smaller room. But something felt different. The patrons were too attentive, their conversations too measured. No drunken brawls, no loudmouthed braggarts. Tarshi nodded to the barkeep and headed straight for a door at the back. I waited for a few moments before following. The room beyond was not thebedroom I’d been expecting in a place such as this but had been converted into some kind of meeting room. Wooden benches formed a semicircle around a small platform. Oil lamps cast a warm glow over the two dozen or so people gathered there.
I positioned myself behind a stack of wine barrels near the stairs, where I could observe without being seen. Tarshi sat near the front, his broad shoulders unmistakable even from behind.
My body responded to the sight of him, remembering his hands on my skin, his weight pressing me down. I forced the thoughts away, focusing instead on the gathering before me.
A man stepped onto the platform—human, from what I could tell, though his face bore scars that suggested he'd seen his share of Imperial justice.
"Friends," he began, his voice low but carrying. "Welcome to those joining us for the first time. I'm Kalen. We gather here in the spirit of truth and hope for a better future."
I rolled my eyes. Pretty words for treason.
"The Emperor would have you believe the Talfen are demons bent on our destruction. He would have you believe this war protects you. But ask yourselves: After centuries years of fighting, are any of us safer? Are any of us freer?"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"Tonight, we have someone who can speak to the truth of the northern border. Elara, would you share your story?"
A woman stood—fully human, with the weathered look of a farmer. "My family had land near the Cursed Mountains for generations. My grandfather told me that when his grandfather was a boy, we traded with the Talfen villages. They brought furs and healing herbs; we gave grain and tools. There was peace."
She paused, her voice tightening. "Then the Emperor's men came. They burned the Talfen village near us. Said it was to protect us. When my great great grandfather protested, they took our land, called him a sympathizer."
The room had gone utterly silent.
"They're not demons," she continued. "They're people with families, customs, a way of life. This war serves only the Emperor and the noble houses that profit from it."
I shifted uncomfortably. Her words contradicted everything I'd been raised to believe. No. I pushed the thought away. The Talfen were monsters. Half-demons. They attacked our borders. This war was their fault.
I glanced at Tarshi, studying the sharp angles of his profile in the lamplight. If they were demons, what did that make my unwanted desire for him? What did it say about me that last night, as he'd fucked me against the wall of his chamber, his hand around my throat, I'd come harder than ever before?
