Page 94 of Realms of Swords and Storms
Octavia, who had been listening quietly, spoke up hesitantly. "Does this have to do with what you were saying last night? About a spy in the resistance?"
Marcus nodded grimly. "I'm more convinced than ever. But Antonius raised a good point—if the Empire knew about our plans, wouldn't they be sending more troops in, not pulling them out?"
"Unless they want something to happen," Antonius said quietly, the implication hanging heavy in the air between us.
The unease in my stomach grew stronger, a cold sensation that had nothing to do with the pleasant spring breeze. I thought again of Jalend's warning, of the urgency in his eyes as he'd begged me to stay away.
"Jalend warned me," I said, the words coming out before I could consider the wisdom of sharing them. "Last night. He told me to stay away from the festival. Said something dangerous would happen."
Marcus's eyes narrowed. "Jalend? The nobleman's son who's been courting you?"
I nodded, ignoring the slight emphasis he'd placed on "courting." Now wasn't the time for that particular discussion.
"How would he know?" Marcus pressed, suspicion evident in his tone. "I've never seen him at any resistance meeting."
"I don't know," I admitted. "When I asked, he said he couldn't tell me, just begged me to trust him."
"And yet here you are," Octavia observed, her voice gentle rather than accusatory.
I didn't have a good answer for that. How could I explain that despite trusting Jalend's warning, I couldn't abandon the resistance's plans? That I needed to be here to support Tarshi, to witness what we had worked so hard to achieve?
"I had to come," I said simply.
Marcus looked like he wanted to argue, but his gaze drifted over my shoulder, his expression shifting subtly. I turned to follow his line of sight.
Near the centre of the square, a young family had spread a blanket, the mother unpacking what looked like a picnic while three small children danced around her, faces bright with excitement. The father was lifting the smallest, a little girl with golden curls, onto his shoulders for a better view of the stage.
"There are so many families here," Marcus murmured, a new note of concern in his voice.
"It's a festival," Octavia replied, not understanding his concern. "Of course there are families."
"Yes, but..." Marcus frowned, still watching the scene. "In previous years, the security was much tighter. Families with young children were usually kept farther back from the stage, behind cordons of guards. For their safety, supposedly."
I scanned the square again, seeing it with new eyes. Children were everywhere, playing games, eating sweets, riding on their parents' shoulders. And there were no security cordons, no guards herding them away from what should have been the most secure area of the square.
"It's as if they're encouraging families to gather close to the stage," Antonius observed, his deep voice troubled.
A memory surfaced—my conversation with Tarshi just yesterday, his reassurance that today's demonstration would be peaceful but powerful. He had seemed so certain, so confident in the plan. But now, in light of everything we were seeing...
"When is the Emperor supposed to arrive?" I asked, the question directed at no one in particular.
"Noon," Antonius replied, glancing at the sun's position. "Less than half an hour from now."
"And where is the imperial procession?" I asked, the cold feeling in my stomach spreading, becoming a dread that crawledup my spine. "Where are the heralds? The ceremonial guards? The nobles who always gather to greet him?"
We all turned toward the imperial stage, erected at the far end of the square for the Emperor's opening speech. It stood empty. No guards lined its perimeter. No imperial attendants bustled about making last-minute preparations. No sign at all of the pomp and ceremony that invariably accompanied any imperial appearance.
"Shouldn't there be... something happening by now?" Octavia asked, voicing what we were all thinking. "Preparations? Announcements?"
"Yes," Marcus confirmed, his voice hollow. "There should be a procession forming. Imperial guards clearing a path. Heralds announcing his approach. Nobles assembling to greet him."
I scanned the square again, this time with focused attention. The crowd was thick with ordinary citizens—families with children, merchants, labourers enjoying a rare day of leisure. But the usual contingent of nobility was conspicuously absent. No finely dressed lords and ladies jostling for position near the stage. No imperial officials supervising the proceedings.
"He's not coming," I whispered, the realization hitting me with the force of a physical blow. "The Emperor was never planning to attend."
Marcus nodded grimly. "Which means the resistance's plan to publicly address him..."
"It was doomed from the start," Antonius finished.
