Page 88 of Realms of Swords and Storms
"Good night, Livia," I said, reluctant to part from her but knowing I had no legitimate reason to linger.
"Good night, Jalend." She turned toward the dormitories, then paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Be careful."
Before I could ask what she meant by that—what danger she thought I might face—she was gone, her slender figure disappearing into the shadows of the academy grounds.
I stood there for a long moment, the night air cool against my face, my thoughts a tangled mess of worry, relief, and lingering anger at my father and the Empire he represented. I had warned Livia, at least. She would be safe tomorrow, whatever happened at the festival.
But what of the countless others who would attend, unknowing, unwary? What of the resistance members walking into a trap, or the innocent bystanders who might be caught in the violence that would surely follow? Could I truly stand by and let it happen, knowing what I knew?
My father's voice echoed in my mind—cold, pragmatic, unyielding. "A ruler must sometimes sacrifice the few for the many. Sentiment is a luxury the throne cannot afford."
I had accepted that teaching once, had believed it necessary for effective governance. But standing alone in the night, with Livia's trust still warm in my memory, I found I could no longer embrace such cold calculation.
The question remained: what could I do? What action could possibly make a difference in the face of Imperial machinery so vast and implacable?
I had no answer. But as I finally turned toward my own quarters, one thing became clear—I could not, would not, stay safely ensconced in the academy while blood was shed in the streets tomorrow. My father's command be damned.
If there was to be violence at the festival, I would be there. Not as the Emperor's son, not as the heir to a blood-soaked throne, but simply as a man who could no longer stomach standing idle while innocents suffered.
What that decision might cost me, I did not yet know. But for the first time in my life, I found myself unconcerned with the price of defying my father. Some principles, it seemed, were worth any cost.
24
The first light of dawn found me in Kalen's cellar, checking the contents of the heavy canvas bag one last time. Six explosive devices, each no larger than a wine bottle but packed with enough power to bring down a building. I ran my fingers over the simple timing mechanisms—Kalen's own design, he'd explained with pride. Twist the brass cap, count thirty breaths, and get as far away as possible.
Simple. Effective. Devastating.
My hands trembled slightly as I rewrapped each device in cloth and returned it to the bag. I told myself it was anticipation, not fear. Not doubt. I had made my choice two nights ago, when I'd walked away from Livia's bed with Septimus's devastating rejection still burning in my ears.
The memory of his face—the disgust, the hatred, the absolute revulsion—hardened my resolve. This was what the Empire did. It poisoned minds, turned love into self-loathing, taught men todespise what they desired most. And the only way to end it was to strike so hard the entire rotten structure would crumble.
"Ready?" Kalen's voice came from the doorway, startling me from my dark thoughts.
I looked up at him—this weathered, grey-haired man who had become the architect of today's violence. Three nights ago, I had thought him a visionary. Now, in the cold light of morning, doubt gnawed at the edges of my certainty.
"Yes," I answered, securing the bag and slinging it over my shoulder. The weight of it seemed to pull at something deeper than my muscles—my conscience, perhaps, or whatever remained of it. "Let's go over the plan once more."
Kalen's eyes narrowed slightly—he'd explained it three times already—but he nodded, moving to the rough wooden table where a map of the festival square lay open.
"Six targets," he said, his finger tracing the locations we'd marked. "The guard barracks on the north side. The tax collector's office to the east. The imperial records hall. The justice building. The garrison commander's residence. And the reviewing stand where the local officials will gather."
I studied the map, the knot in my stomach tightening. "And you're certain they'll be empty? The buildings, I mean."
"As empty as they ever get," Kalen confirmed. "Most government functions cease during the festival. Skeleton crews at most."
"And the timing?" I pressed, though I knew the answer.
"The first device at noon, when the square is filled but before the main ceremony begins. The rest at five-minute intervals thereafter." His finger traced an invisible path across the map. "Your device will be the third. By the time the last device activates, you should be well clear of the area."
I nodded, forcing my expression to remain neutral despite the sick feeling spreading through me. The plan was efficient,calculated for maximum impact with minimal risk to resistance operatives. But something felt wrong—had felt wrong since that first meeting, if I was honest with myself.
My mind drifted back to that night, the memory rising unbidden...
"I'm in," I had said, standing in Kalen's doorway, my heart cold with resolve after Septimus's rejection. "Whatever you need me to do for the festival. Whatever it takes. I'm in."
The resistance leader had studied me for a long moment, then nodded, admitting me to his home with a gesture that felt strangely ceremonial. Inside, maps and diagrams covered his table, and what looked like small clay pots wrapped in cloth lined one shelf.
"We've been working on something," he said, his voice low despite the privacy of his home. "Something more direct than speeches and pamphlets. Something they can't ignore."
