She hesitated, and in that moment I knew whatever she said next would be a lie. We’d known each other too long, survived too much together. I could read her silences as clearly as her words.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said finally. “I went to see Sirrax.”
A partial truth, then. “Dressed like that? With wet hair?”
Her hand went to her damp locks, a tell she’d never managed to eliminate. “I used the baths afterward. The dragon pens are filthy.”
“Livia,” I said, taking a step toward her. “What have you done?”
Something in my tone must have told her the game was up. Her shoulders sagged and she sank onto the nearby settle.“Ikilled him,” she said quietly. “Arilius. The soldier who murdered Tarus.”
The words struck me like a blow to the chest. “By the Gods, Livia. Alone? You went after an Imperial Captain alone?”
“He was drunk. It wasn’t difficult.”
“That’s not the point!” I hissed, struggling to keep my voice down. “We had a plan. We were going to do it together—”
“No, you had a plan,” she interrupted. “I never agreed to it.”
“You could have been killed! Or worse, captured. Do you have any idea what they do to people who murder Imperial officers?” The images that flashed through my mind made me sick — Livia on the execution block, Livia being tortured for information, her screams as she refused to give us up. Because she would, I knew that without a doubt.
“It’s done, Septimus,” she said, her voice flat with exhaustion. “He’s dead. My brother’s killer is dead.”
I paced the small room, trying to contain the storm building inside me. I wanted to shake her, to make her understand the recklessness of what she’d done. But there was something in her eyes — something broken and raw — that held me back.
“Did it help?” I asked finally. “Killing him. Did it bring you peace?”
She looked down at her hands. “No.”
That single word contained so much pain that my anger faltered. I sat beside her on the settle, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching.
“Tell me,” I said.
And she did. In a quiet, steady voice, she described following Arilius, confronting him, his pathetic attempt to defend himself, his final moments. As she spoke, I realized she wasn’t the same woman who had left our bed hours ago. Something fundamental had shifted within her.
“He didn’t even remember Tarus,” she said, her voice breaking. “All these years, I’ve carried the memory of my brother’s murder like a burning coal in my chest, and the man who did it couldn’t even remember his face.”
I reached for her hand then, unable to keep my distance from her pain. “Livia—”
“His wife found the body,” she continued. “I heard her scream. It was... it was the same sound I made when Tarus died in my arms.” She looked at me, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What have I become, Septimus? What kind of monster am I?”
“You’re not a monster,” I said fiercely. “You’re a survivor. We both are.”
“Is that enough? To just survive?” She shook her head. “I thought killing him would fill this emptiness inside me, but it’s only made it deeper.”
I understood then why she’d gone alone. This wasn’t about revenge — not entirely. It was about confronting the ghost that had haunted her since childhood. About facing the man who had transformed her life and seeing if his death could transform it back.
It hadn’t, of course. Nothing could undo what had been done to us. The village we’d lost, the years in the ludus, the blood on our hands — these things were woven into the fabric of who we were. Cut them out, and we might unravel completely.
“You should have told me,” I said, the last of my anger giving way to hurt. “You promised after the incident with Varin — no more secrets. No more solo missions.”
“I know.” She squeezed my hand. “But this wasn’t about our mission or our plan for the Emperor. This was about Tarus. About me. I needed to do it myself.”
“Why? Don’t you trust me?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, exposing a vulnerability I usually kept buried.
“Of course I trust you.” She turned to face me fully. “Septimus, you’re the only constant I’ve had for thirteen years. Through everything — the ludus, the arena, this insane plan — you’ve been there. I trust you with my life. I just couldn’t trust you with this.”
“Why not?”
