Page 42 of Realms of Swords and Storms
"I won't keep you from your studies any longer." He moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing, Lord Jalend."
"Yes?"
"I understand discretion is important here. It wouldn't do to create panic or suspicion where none is warranted. This conversation should remain between us."
"Of course," I agreed.
With a final nod, he departed, leaving me alone with a half-empty wine glass. I moved back to the window, watching the dragons still performing their aerial exercises. My mind was racing, trying to process everything Santius had told me. Unrest throughout the empire. An organized resistance. Potential sympathizers even here at the academy.
And now I was expected to report on my fellow students, to watch for signs of disloyalty among people I'd studied with, trained with, lived alongside. The wine turned bitter in my mouth. I set the glass down.
This was the part of my life I had come to the academy to escape—the politics, the paranoia, the expectation that I view everyone as either a pawn or a threat. Here, as Jalend, I had found a semblance of normalcy. I had friends, rivals, instructors. I had… Livia.
And now my father, through Santius, had reached into my carefully constructed world and reminded me that it was all a facade. That I was not Jalend, son of a minor noble. I was Jalius, the heir, and my duty was not to my classmates but to the stability of the throne.
The empire had always taught that our rule was benevolent, necessary—that without imperial governance, the continent would descend into tribal warfare and chaos. But what if there was another perspective? What if the unrest Santius described wasn't simply barbarian savagery but a response to genuine grievances? On my few excursions into the city, I had seen those with Talfen blood, seen them going about daily work, chores, saw mothers walking the streets with their babes bound to their backs, holding the hand of their other children. The more I saw, the more I became convinced that the Talfen weren’t the animals my father had always insisted they were.
Such thoughts bordered on sedition themselves. I pushed them aside, reminding myself of my duties, my position, my future. I was heir to the Western Territories, future member of the Imperial Council, potential future Emperor. My path was clear, had been since birth. And yet, as I headed down to meet Livia in the eastern courtyard, I couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted—in the empire, in the academy, or perhaps just in me.
11
At first, I thought I'd dreamed it—a dull thud followed by a muffled curse. The moonlight cut through the shutters in thin silver blades across my small chamber. I'd been sleeping here for weeks now, avoiding Livia's bed, avoiding her questions. Avoiding myself.
Another sound—something scraping against wood.
I rose, reaching for the dagger I kept beneath my sleeping pallet. The stone floor was cold against my bare feet as I moved silently toward the door. Three years of military training had taught me how to move without making a sound.
When I opened my door, I saw a shadow staggering across the main room of the apartment. Moonlight caught on something wet on the floor—droplets that gleamed like black pearls in the dim light. Blood.
"Who's there?" I hissed, dagger raised.
The shadow froze, then turned. Moonlight caught the planes of a face I knew too well.
"Tarshi?" I lowered the blade slightly.
He was leaning heavily against the wall, one hand pressed to his thigh. Even in the darkness, I could see the dark stain spreading there.
"Go back to bed, Septimus," he said through gritted teeth.
I stepped closer, eyes adjusting to the gloom. "You're bleeding."
"Very observant," he snapped, then winced as he tried to put weight on his leg.
That's when I saw it—the broken shaft of an arrow protruding from his thigh. My stomach tightened.
"What in the gods' names have you done?" I demanded, though I already knew. The resistance. It had to be. He'd been doing their dirty work, risking not just his own neck but all of ours.
"I'm looking for bandages," he said, ignoring my question.
I moved closer, watching him struggle to remain upright. "Sit down before you fall down, you fool."
"I don't need your help."
As if to contradict him, his leg gave way, and he began to slide down the wall. I moved without thinking, catching him before he hit the floor. His body was hot against mine, feverish.
"What happened?" I asked, helping him to a chair.
"What do you think happened?" he snarled. "I was careless."
