Page 92 of Realms of Swords and Storms
The truth of his words pierced me like a blade. I had been used—my grief over Septimus, my rage at the Empire, my desperation to strike back at a system that had made me feel less than human. Kalen had seen it all, had manipulated those emotions with surgical precision, turning me into a weapon against the very people I wanted to protect.
"Listen to me," I said, changing tactics, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You don't have to do this. You can still stop it. Tell me where the other devices are. Let me help you disarm them."
For a moment—just a moment—I thought I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the same cold resolve.
"It's already in motion," he said. "The detonations are set. The witnesses are in place. The story is already being written." He glanced at his timepiece again. "The first device activates in forty-three minutes. By then, I need to be well clear of the square, establishing my alibi."
Panic surged through me, a tide of helplessness that threatened to drown rational thought. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, to think. Forty-three minutes. If I could break free, I might still have time to warn people, to save some of them at least.
I reached for the power inside me again, that core of Talfen strength that Sirrax had helped me find. I felt it stir, a warmth spreading through my limbs, a tingling sensation in my fingertips as scales began to form beneath my skin.
Kalen noticed the change immediately, his eyes widening in alarm as blue scales rippled across my forearms. "What are you—" He broke off, understanding dawning in his expression. "You're one of them. A shifter."
I didn't waste breath confirming what he could see with his own eyes. I focused on the transformation, willing it to progress faster, to give me the strength to break these ropes before it was too late.
"Fascinating," Kalen murmured, watching the scales spread up my arms. "I'd heard rumours, of course, but to see it..." His hand went to his belt, drawing a long knife from a concealed sheath. "I'm afraid I can't allow this to continue."
I snarled at him, feeling my teeth sharpen, my jaw beginning to elongate. The ropes creaked as my muscles swelled, my body growing larger, stronger. Just a little more time, a little more change, and I could break free.
Kalen's expression hardened. He stepped forward, the knife glinting dully in the dim light. "A shame," he said, his voice clinical now, devoid of emotion. "You truly could have been valuable to the Empire. The things we could have learned from you..."
I lunged against the ropes with renewed desperation, feeling them strain against my transformed strength. One of the bindings snapped, my right arm coming partially free.
Kalen's eyes widened in alarm. He moved with unexpected speed for a man his age, the knife flashing as he slashed at my partially freed arm. I jerked back, but not quickly enough—the blade opened a long gash from elbow to wrist, blood welling dark against the blue scales.
I roared in pain and rage, the sound no longer fully human. The transformation accelerated, fuelled by adrenaline and fear. More ropes strained, threads beginning to snap one by one.
"No," Kalen hissed, realizing I might actually break free. He reversed his grip on the knife, raising it high.
I braced myself for the killing blow, but instead of plunging the blade into my heart, Kalen brought the heavy pommel crashing down against my temple.
White-hot pain exploded through my skull. The world tilted, shadows crawling in from the edges of my vision. I fought to stay conscious, to maintain the transformation, but the blow had been too precise, too powerful.
"I'm truly sorry it came to this," Kalen's voice seemed to come from very far away. "But I can't risk you interfering now. Not when we're so close."
I tried to speak, to curse him, to plead one last time, but my tongue felt thick and useless in my mouth. The transformation faltered, scales receding as unconsciousness pulled at me.
The last thing I saw was Kalen's face, gazing down at me with that same expression of detached regret. Then darkness swallowed me whole, and I fell into a void where the screams of the innocent waited like ghosts of a future I had helped create.
25
The Storm Festival transformed the usually austere imperial square into a riot of colour and sound. Crimson and gold banners snapped in the gentle breeze, strung between buildings that normally exuded cold authority but today seemed almost festive. Stalls lined the perimeter, selling everything from honey cakes to carved wooden toys, their vendors calling out to passersby with practiced enthusiasm. Children darted between the legs of adults, their faces sticky with sweets, their laughter rising above the general din of the crowd.
"It's beautiful," Octavia breathed beside me, her eyes wide as she took it all in. "I never imagined it would be like this."
I nodded, trying to share her excitement while tamping down the guilt that churned in my stomach. I had promised Jalend I wouldn't come today. The memory of his face—the genuine concern in his eyes as he'd begged me to stay away—made my chest tight. But how could I have explained why I needed to behere? How could I have told him about the resistance's plans without endangering everything we'd worked for?
"Look at those puppets!" Octavia pointed to a small stage where a performer manipulated colourful marionettes for a crowd of delighted children. The wooden figures danced and twirled, acting out some traditional tale I didn't recognize. "And over there—I think those people are fire-eaters!"
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and despite my worries, I found myself smiling. Octavia had known so little joy in her life as a house slave; seeing her experience this simple pleasure felt like a gift.
"Let's explore a bit," I suggested, pushing my concerns aside for the moment. "We have time before the Emperor's speech."
We wandered through the stalls, sampling treats Octavia insisted on buying. Sweet fried dough dusted with cinnamon. Candied fruit on wooden skewers. Spiced wine that warmed my throat and loosened the knot of tension in my chest, if only temporarily.
"I had no idea there would be so many children here," Octavia remarked as we watched a group of youngsters chase each other around a maypole, colourful ribbons clutched in their small hands. "I always thought imperial festivals were more... formal."
"This is for the common people," I explained, remembering fragments of stories told by older gladiators who had seen festivals before their enslavement. "The nobility will have their own celebrations later, in private gardens and grand halls. But the Storm Festival has always belonged to everyone."
