Chapter 19 #2
His brow furrowed as he pondered my words. “It is not up to us to question our leader. He must have had his reasons. But you are right to notice, Vayren represents everything the Imperator wants in Caelora’s warriors. There is no hatred there. At least not anymore.”
The carriage rolled through the central square, curving wide around a grand marble statue of Lunara, the sun and moon balanced in her grasp.
We passed the Temple of Lunarion, and the night air shifted, carrying with it a sudden rise in noise—shouts, loud and panicked, rising above the steady hum of the evening.
“You—come out here!”
Marcus straightened. “Something’s amiss,” he said, then struck the ceiling of the carriage three times in quick succession. The response was immediate. The carriage slowed, wheels grinding to a halt as the horse whinnied, its hooves scraping against the stone.
“Stay inside,” he ordered me, already reaching for the door.
I nodded and remained still, though curiosity tugged at me. I parted the curtain just enough to see.
Marcus stepped into the street, moving toward a cluster of legionnaires standing with spears raised, their formation tight and disciplined.
“What is going on here?” he called, his voice carrying easily.
The legionnaires snapped to attention, saluting with precision. He was known here—respected. The kind of man the system made space for without question. Like Elion, he moved through Caelora with an authority that parted crowds and silenced doubt.
The contrast struck me. So different from how women like Livia, or our neighbor with their dull iron piercings, were treated.
“Lanista Valaryn,” one of the legionnaires replied. “Good evening, sir. No need for concern. Just a few servants suspected of involvement with the rebellion.”
I frowned behind the curtain. Servants? What could servants possibly have to do with the rebellion, aside from being easy to blame?
Two legionnaires dragged a woman and a man into the open, their hands bound behind their backs. Both stood defiant, chins lifted despite the iron grips on their arms.
Before they could be hauled any farther, the woman twisted and spat full in the face of the nearest legionnaire.
“You Praetor’s dogs,” she snarled. “Scum not worth the dirt you stand on!”
The spit slid slowly down his cheek. He wiped it away with deliberate calm.
Another legionnaire struck her hard across the face. Her head snapped to the side, the blow echoing through the night air. Blood split her lip, bright against her skin.
A raw, fearless laugh escaped her. “You’ll fall,” she said through the blood. “All of you. One day everyone will see the Imperator and his dog for what they are.”
In the same heartbeat, the man wrenched free. He drove his shoulder into the legionnaire, sending him crashing to the ground, and seized the woman by the arm.
They ran. For a moment—just one—they were free.
They reached the end of the street before my breath caught, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. I found myself rooting for them, desperate for them to make it. Their escape felt like my own, vivid enough to sting behind my eyes.
Then the commander moved.
He tore a spear from one of his subordinates and stepped forward with cold precision.
He aimed without hesitation—
and threw.
The spear struck true.
It pierced the woman clean through. Blood sprayed across the stone as her body hit the street with a sound I knew I wouldn’t forget. The man stopped short, screaming her name, dropping to his knees beside her.
“Get up,” he cried. “Please—get up.”
She didn’t move. The street gleamed wet with her blood, dark and shining in the firelight.
The legionnaires closed in. The man fought them with everything he had, sobbing, screaming for her to stand, to breathe, to live. It didn’t matter.
They overwhelmed him quickly, beating him down before dragging him away toward the outer streets of Caelora. I could guess what awaited him. The Praetor would want answers. And he would get them.
I stared, hollow and shaken, their failed escape settling in my stomach like stones. Hope—so close I had tasted it—curdled into something bitter. If they couldn’t make it, what chance did I have? And yet… how had I not known? How had Elion kept this from me?
There were people out there fighting the system. Fighting the piercings that marked them as lesser. Fighting for a future beyond obedience and blood.
The commander turned back to Marcus, wiping his hands on his cloak as if ridding himself of dirt. A grin split his face.
“Messy lot,” he said with a short laugh. “They squeal louder than pigs once you stick them. Almost makes you wonder why they bother running at all.”
A few of the legionnaires chuckled under their breath. Marcus clasped the commander’s shoulder, his expression composed, approving.
“You did well,” he said evenly. “You honor the system and the Imperator. He relies on men who understand that order must be preserved, no matter the cost.” He inclined his head, a gesture of respect. “Rebels invite chaos. And chaos must be cut out at the root.”
The commander nodded. “Aye. Best to burn it out before it spreads.”
Marcus offered a final word of thanks, then strode toward me. And just like that, the street was cleared. The blood remained, dark against the stone, but the city carried on as if nothing had happened.
He stepped back into the carriage, and I hastily let the curtain fall, folding my hands in my lap. The door shut with a dull thud, sealing us inside once more as the carriage shifted and began to move.
“What happened?” I asked.
He exhaled through his nose, adjusting his cloak. “A necessary correction. Nothing more.”
I waited.
“The system exists because men left to their own devices invite ruin,” he continued, his voice calm. “The Imperator understands that. Order must be honored at all costs. Chaos is the fastest road to death—of cities, of people, of purpose.”
The wheels rolled steadily beneath us, their rhythm grounding.
“Structure allows life to thrive,” he went on. “Without it, strength becomes cruelty and freedom becomes lawlessness. What you witnessed was unfortunate, but necessary. Rebellion rots from the inside if left unchecked.”
I hesitated, then spoke carefully. “And those who live beneath the weight of it? Those who never chose their place within it?”
His gaze hardened, though his tone remained even.
“Choice is a luxury, Valentina. One most cannot afford.” He leaned forward.
“You are being given a purpose. By becoming a Bondward in full—by following in Elion’s footsteps, by respecting the rules of the Ludaryn—you contribute to something greater than yourself.
Your life will have meaning because it serves order.
Because it strengthens the system that protects us all. It is what I strive to do every day.”
I absorbed his words, then lifted my eyes to meet his. “And you don’t believe there could be another way? A system that allows for more freedom. More choice.”
“No. Lunara demands order. Freedom without restraint is an illusion,” he said. “It breeds instability. Instability breeds suffering. What you are suggesting has been tried, time and again. It ends the same way. Blood in the streets and cities burned to ash.”
The carriage rolled on through the dark.
He settled back, the conversation closed as firmly as a gate. “You would do well to remember this. Especially if you wish to thrive.”
I nodded, outwardly compliant. But his certainty didn’t convince me. The image of the blood-soaked street refused to leave me, the woman’s laughter, the way hope had flared and died in the span of a breath.
Order, I realized, always found a way to justify itself.
And if this was the only future the Imperator allowed—one built on obedience, blood, and silence—then there had to be another way.
I would plan with Elion. Carefully. And perhaps…
I would finally ask the question that had been lingering since I first heard whispers of the rebellion.
Had he been unaware of it? Or had he chosen to hide it from me, knowing exactly what I would do if I learned there were others who refused to bend?
He’d always tried to shield me. Maybe this had been one truth he believed too dangerous for me to carry. There were people out there who still fought for a different future—for the right to choose their own path, even if the cost was steep.
I felt it now, steady and unyielding beneath my ribs.
I wouldn’t spend my life lending meaning to a system that stripped it from others.
If there was a rebellion, I would find it.
And when I did, I would help in any way I could—fight in my own way.
For freedom. For a future that didn’t demand breaking oneself to survive.
The carriage slowed, then came to a gentle stop. Marcus stepped out first and offered me his hand. I accepted it, letting him steady me as I descended, my slippered feet touching stone still warm from the day’s heat.
His villa rose before us, set back from the street behind wrought iron gates and pale stone walls. Firelight flickered along carved columns and wide steps, catching on polished marble and carefully tended greenery. It was elegant without excess, power made orderly, contained. Unmistakably his.
“Be careful with Elion,” he said as we walked. “Do not agitate him. His body has healed well enough, but his mind…” He paused, choosing his words. “The blow to his head, the time he spent exposed in the forest—it left its mark. Too much strain could do more harm than good.”
“Of course. I won’t stress him. I promise.”
That part, at least, would be no performance.
We passed beneath the archway, servants already moving to greet us. Their heads bowed, their steps measured. They took our cloaks and murmured greetings as we entered.
The interior of the villa was cool and hushed, carrying the faint scent of clean water and incense.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, my gaze lifting to the high ceilings and open roof beyond.
“Function has its own beauty,” he replied.