“He’s dead?” I felt numb. Jalend nodded.
“The Watch found him, and the bodies of his personal guard. They think it was some kind of street brawl, but one of the guards told me that Varin himself looked like he’d been ripped apart by some wild beast. I’m sure that’s just a rumour though.”
I kept my expression neutral, though my thoughts tumbled over each other. He’d died late in the night after he’d attacked me. After I’d been to see Marcus. But Marcus couldn’t have dealt with Varin and his bodyguards on his own. I smiled as I realised the three of them must have worked together to bring justice to the man who had tried to hurt me, and my heart seemed to swell in my chest.
Jalend noticed my smile, and misunderstanding its meaning, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
“I would have gotten him out of your life one way or another, but it seems I had no need. At least he can’t hurt another woman again.”
I nodded, trying to mask the complex emotions swirling within me. Relief, guilt, a dark satisfaction — all tangled together in a knot I couldn’t unravel.
“No, he can’t,” I agreed softly. “Though I can’t say I expected such... finality to his departure.”
Jalend’s arm remained around my shoulders, warm and solid. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to lean into him, to draw comfort from his touch. But I couldn’t afford such weakness. Not if it meant him discovering my true identity. Imoved away, disguising my withdrawal by reaching for another glass of wine as the server passed nearby.
“Some men deserve whatever end finds them,” Jalend said, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. “And Varin had clearly made enemies of far more dangerous people than me.”
Before I could respond, the sound of a bell rang through the hall, three clear notes that silenced all conversation. Master Varius stood on the dais, a scroll in his hands.
“Initiates, the moment has arrived,” he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. “The Emperor has reviewed the results of your trials and will now announce those who have been accepted into the Imperial Dragon Academy.”
My heart began to pound, not with fear of rejection — I knew Sirrax had chosen me, and that bond was unbreakable — but with the realization that this was another step closer to my goal. To justice. To vengeance.
The Emperor stepped forward, his black robes gleaming in the lamplight. From this distance, he looked almost human — not the monster of my nightmares but simply a man, middle-aged and powerful, with cold eyes that surveyed the crowd like a falcon studying prey.
“The strength of our Empire rests upon the wings of our dragons and the valour of those who ride them,” he began, his voice strong and clear. “Tonight, we welcome a new cohort of riders into our ranks — men and women who have proven their courage, their skill, and their loyalty to the Imperial cause.”
He unrolled the scroll, holding it before him with a practiced ceremony.
“When I call your name, approach the dais to receive your dragon pin and take your place among the honoured ranks of the academy.”
The room fell utterly silent as he began to read.
“Drusilla Seneca.”
“Valeria Nemean.”
Valeria glided forward, her golden mask catching the light, her movements deliberately graceful to disguise the lingering effects of her injuries. Beneath my composed expression, I allowed myself a moment of bitter triumph. She may have been accepted, but everyone in this room knew what had happened between us.
One by one, the names continued. Each new cadet approached the dais, received their pin — a bronze dragon in flight — and joined a growing line of accepted initiates.
“Cassia Metilius.”
Great. Valeria and both her attendants would be at the academy. I rolled my eyes and saw Jalend grin at me.
“Jalend Northreach.”
Jalend squeezed my hand once before stepping away. Unlike the others, he didn’t seem surprised or elated — merely resigned, as though his acceptance had been a foregone conclusion rather than an honour. The Emperor’s eyes lingered on him longer than they had on the others, something passing between them that I couldn’t decipher.
More names were called. The line of accepted initiates grew longer. With each passing moment, the tension in my chest wound tighter. I thought I might break and scream from the suspense.
“Livia Cantius.”
Relief flooded through me, so intense I nearly staggered. I steadied myself, lifted my chin, and walked forward with the measured pace Octavia had drilled into me. The Emperor’s eyes met mine as I approached, and for one heart-stopping moment, I feared he might recognize something in me — some echo of the village he had ordered destroyed, some flicker of the hatred I had nurtured for thirteen years.
But his gaze moved on, disinterested. I was just another noble initiate to him, unremarkable and insignificant.
“Lady Cantius,” he said, pinning the bronze dragon to my stola. “May you bring honour to the Empire.”
