Chapter 15
The stone walls of our cell had become depressingly familiar over the past week, but they couldn't contain the restless energy that had been building in my chest since the moment we'd arrived.
Knowing Livia was somewhere in this temple, probably no more than a few corridors away, and being unable to reach her was a special kind of torture I hadn't anticipated.
I pressed my palm against the cold stone and closed my eyes, trying to feel some echo of her presence through the severed bond.
The connection that had once blazed between us like a living thing was nothing more than a dull ache now, a constant reminder of what was missing.
When Tarshi had visited two days ago to assure us she was safe and well cared for, he'd mentioned that she was desperate to see us.
The knowledge that she was suffering the same separation we were somehow made it both better and worse.
"You're wearing a groove in the floor," Marcus observed from where he sat against the far wall, his voice gentle despite the teasing words.
I realized I'd been pacing again, my feet following the same path I'd traced countless times over the past week.
"Sorry," I muttered, but I didn't stop moving.
Standing still felt impossible when every instinct I possessed was screaming at me to find her, to hold her, to assure myself that she was truly unharmed.
The fear that had gripped me when we'd first been separated was unlike anything I'd experienced since Helga's death.
I thought I'd learned to live with loss, thought I'd built walls strong enough to protect what remained of my heart.
But Livia had slipped past every defence I'd constructed, and the possibility of losing her had nearly broken me.
I'd lost Helga to Imperial cruelty, forced to watch helplessly as soldiers destroyed everything I'd ever loved.
The memory of that night still haunted my dreams—her screams, her eyes finding mine in those final moments, the way the light had left them while I remained chained and powerless to help her.
The grief had been crushing, but more than that, it had been rage.
Rage at my own helplessness, at the Empire that had torn through our village like a plague, at a world that could allow such brutality to exist.
But this—the thought of Livia in danger, possibly hurt or worse while I sat powerless in a cell—this brought back every terrible emotion I'd thought I'd buried.
With Helga, I'd been forced to watch. With Livia, I'd been forced to imagine every terrible possibility, to wonder if she was calling for us while we remained beyond her reach.
The parallel was too close, too raw. After Helga, I'd sworn I would never again care for someone so deeply that losing them could destroy me. I'd planned to live alone, to fight alone, to die alone when my time came. Love was a luxury I couldn't afford, a weakness that could be used against me.
But Livia had changed everything.
"She's safe," Septimus said quietly, and I realized my distress must be written clearly across my face. "Tarshi wouldn't lie about something like that."
"I know," I replied, though knowing and feeling were two different things entirely. "It's just..."
"Hard to trust anything when you can't see for yourself," Marcus finished. "We know, brother. We're all feeling it."
That was what had kept me sane over the past week—the knowledge that I wasn't carrying this burden alone.
Septimus's steady presence, Marcus's quiet strength, even Jalend's nervous energy had reminded me that Livia's absence was a wound we all shared.
We'd supported each other through the uncertainty, taken turns talking the others down from the worst of their fears.
I'd never expected to find brothers in gladiator cells, never imagined that sharing a woman's love could create bonds this strong between men who'd once been strangers.
But somewhere between the arena and this hidden temple, we'd become family in ways that went deeper than blood.
We'd survived the arena, survived the battlefield, survived a week of interrogation and uncertainty.
We would survive this too, and we would do it together.
A sound in the corridor outside made us all freeze—footsteps, but not the measured pace of guards making their rounds. These were purposeful, multiple sets moving with the kind of authority that suggested important news.
"This is it," Jalend said quietly, rising from his position near the door. His face was pale but determined, and I felt a surge of affection for this young nobleman who'd risked everything to stand with us.
The door opened without ceremony, and a guard I didn't recognize stepped inside. Behind him stood a figure that made my heart leap—Tarshi, looking grim but determined.
"The council has reached a decision," the lead guard announced as he unlocked our shackles. "You will all come with me."
I flexed my wrists as the heavy iron fell away, the sudden lightness almost disorienting after days of constant weight. Beside me, Marcus rolled his shoulders, and Septimus stretched his arms overhead, all of us testing our newfound mobility with cautious relief.
"About time," Marcus muttered under his breath, but there was tension in his voice that matched what I was feeling. A decision could go either way, and we'd had a week to imagine all the unpleasant possibilities.
Jalend walked close behind me as we made our way through the temple corridors, his nervous energy practically radiating off him in waves.
The frequent questioning sessions had worn on all of us, but he seemed particularly on edge today, constantly glancing around as if expecting threats to emerge from the shadows.
Following Tarshi's advice, I had been completely honest about my involvement with the resistance during my interrogations.
Every mission, every piece of intelligence I'd gathered, every Imperial weakness I'd helped exploit—I'd laid it all out for the Talfen interrogators, hoping that my willingness to share information would shift their opinion of us from enemy spies to potential allies.
The council chamber looked exactly as it had when we'd first been brought here after our capture, but the atmosphere felt different now.
Less hostile, though still cautious. The tiered seats were full, council members in their dark robes watching our entrance with expressions that ranged from curiosity to resignation.
Aytara sat in the high seat, her silver hair catching the light from the torches mounted along the walls. Beside her stood Taveth, his pale eyes scanning our group with an intensity that made me wonder what he was seeing that we couldn't.
The revelation that Tarshi had a twin brother had been shocking enough but seeing them together over the past week had been surreal.
They were identical in every way that mattered, though Taveth's shadow magic marked him as clearly Talfen while Tarshi remained recognizably one of us.
The family resemblance was impossible to deny, and it had certainly complicated the council's deliberations about what to do with us.
But it was the figure standing near the centre of the chamber that made me stop in my tracks.
Mira.
She looked exhausted, her usually immaculate appearance replaced by travel-stained clothes and wind-tangled hair.
Dust covered her from head to toe, and there were dark circles under her eyes that spoke of hard riding and little sleep.
But she was unmistakably the resistance leader I knew, the woman who had coordinated countless operations against Imperial forces.
And more importantly, a highly respected Talfen warrior who knew us and could speak for us.
Hope flared in my chest at the sight of her, as well as relief that she hadn’t been killed since we’d left.
"Antonius," she said, nodding in my direction. "Marcus. Septimus. Good to see you're all still breathing."
"Mira," Marcus replied, his voice carefully neutral. "This is... unexpected."
"I imagine it is." She turned toward Aytara, her posture shifting into something more formal. "High Priestess, these men are exactly who they claim to be. I can personally vouch for their commitment to the resistance and their value as allies."
Aytara studied Mira for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Your word carries considerable weight with this council, Mira of the Imperial City. It was, in fact, the deciding factor in our deliberations."
Relief flooded through me so suddenly that I felt lightheaded. We were going to be released. Whatever that meant in practical terms, it had to be better than rotting in cells while Livia remained out of reach.
"However," Aytara continued, and my relief faltered slightly, "your freedom comes with conditions.
You will be confined to the city—any attempt to leave will be considered an act of hostility.
You will share any intelligence you possess about Imperial forces and strategies.
And you will place yourselves under the protection and authority of Taveth, as Livia's acknowledged mates. "
The formal acknowledgment of our bond with Livia sent a thrill through me, even though I knew it was largely a political necessity. If we were to be kept in the city, we needed official status that explained our presence and value.
"We accept," I said quickly, speaking for all of us. "Gratefully."
"Then let this be done," Aytara said, gesturing to the council, who all nodded their agreement.And then I heard footsteps running down the corridor, light and quick and achingly familiar.
"Livia," Septimus breathed, and I turned toward the sound just as she burst through the chamber doors.
She looked healthy, thank the gods. Tired, perhaps, and thinner than I remembered, but whole and unharmed. Her eyes swept over our group frantically, as if she couldn't quite believe we were real, and then she was moving.