“I didn’t realize—” the instructor began, but I pushed past him, unable to bear another moment of scrutiny.
I stumbled away from the trial grounds, breaking into a run as soon as my trembling legs would carry me. Tears mixed with the water on my face as I fled, shame burning through me like fire. How could I face Septimus? What would I tell him? That I’d failed at something children could do? That I’d exposed a weakness that could unravel everything we’d worked for?
Behind me, Valeria’s laughter echoed, the sound following me like a shadow I couldn’t outrun. But it was the memory of Jalend’s momentary connection — and its swift withdrawal — that haunted me most. For one brief instant, someone had seen past my disguise, not to expose me, but to recognize something kindred.
In that moment, I knew the truth that I’d been fighting since arriving at the academy: I didn’t belong here. I never had. And now everyone knew it too.
17
Istaggered through the academy corridors, water still dripping from my hair and clothes, leaving a trail of shame behind me with every squelching step. My lungs burned — not from the near-drowning, but from the effort of holding back tears. Each breath came ragged and shallow as I fought to maintain composure, even with no one to witness my breakdown. The weight of dozens of eyes still clung to me, heavier than my sodden tunic — Valeria’s smirk cutting deeper than any gladiatorial blade, the instructors’ disappointed frowns, and worst of all, the fleeting moment when Jalend had looked at me with something that wasn’t quite pity before his face closed off again. My fingers trembled as I pushed open the door to my chambers, the sound of whispers still echoing in my ears like the cruel laughter of ghosts.Desert rat. Fraud. Imposter.They weren’t wrong.
My chambers felt hollow and empty when I entered. No Septimus waiting to lecture me about caution. No Tarshi to offer quiet comfort. I hadn’t seen him since the night before when I’d chosen Septimus over him — again. The hurt in his eyes hauntedme now, adding another layer to my shame. I’d wounded someone who cared for me, and for what? To please a man who couldn’t decide if he wanted to protect me or control me?
I peeled off my wet tunic and let it fall to the floor, too exhausted to care about the puddle it created on the polished stone. My body ached from the struggle in the water, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the weight of failure pressing down on my chest.
“What was I thinking?” I whispered to the empty room, sinking onto the edge of my bed. “A provincial slave playing at being a noble. A desert girl who can’t even swim.”I’d failed. They’d never let me in now. I’d failed the trials, and it had all been for nothing. I would never get my vengeance now. How was I going to tell them all? After everything they’d done, everything they’d all gone through to help me. I’d failed them, and somehow that felt the worst of it.
The worst part was that I couldn’t even blame anyone else. My inability to swim wasn’t something the nobles had done to me — it was simply a gap in my education, a product of growing up in a desert province where water was too precious to waste on swimming lessons. I was the impostor they all suspected me to be.
A soft knock at the door startled me from my spiral of self-recrimination.
“Just a moment,” I called, fumbling for a simple tunic to cover myself.
When I opened the door, Octavia stood there, a basket of linens in her arms — her standard excuse for visiting my chambers. One look at my face and her practiced servant’s smile vanished.
“Gods’ breath, what happened to you?” She pushed past me into the room, setting down her basket and closing the door firmly behind her.
“I failed,” I said simply. “The water trial. Turns out slaves from desert provinces don’t typically learn to swim.”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “Are you alright? Physically, I mean.”
“Wet. Humiliated. My pride is mortally wounded, but the rest of me will survive.”
She took in my damp hair, the puddle on the floor, and the defeated slump of my shoulders. Then she sighed, a determined glint entering her eye that I recognized from our days training together. It was the look she got right before she decided something had to change.
“Right. You’re taking the rest of the day off.”
I laughed bitterly. “I don’t think the academy allows days off for humiliation recovery.”
“I wasn’t asking permission.” She began rummaging through my clothing chest. “Where’s that plain stola I helped you mend last week? The one without all the ridiculous embroidery that nobles seem to think necessary?”
“Octavia—”
“Don’t ‘Octavia’ me.” She emerged triumphant with the simple garment. “You need a day away from this place. From being Livia Cantius, the noble dragon rider candidate. Just a few hours to remember who you really are.”
“And who is that, exactly?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, heavy with all my doubts.
Octavia paused, her expression softening. “My friend. A survivor. A woman who’s gone through worse than a little water and lived to fight another day.” She tossed the stola at me. “Now get dressed. And find something to cover that hair — it’s too distinctive.”
“Where are we going?”
“Out. Into the city. Somewhere no one will recognize the great Lady Cantius.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “When was thelast time you just walked through a market without worrying about assassination plots or maintaining a cover?”
I couldn’t remember. Perhaps never.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in the plain stola with my hair covered by a simple linen wrap, I followed Octavia through the servants’ entrance at the rear of the academy grounds. The guards barely glanced at us — just two more domestic slaves on errands for their masters.
The moment we stepped beyond the academy walls, I felt something loosen in my chest. The weight of pretence, of constant vigilance, eased slightly. Here, I wasn’t the failed noble candidate or the vengeful gladiator. I was just another woman in the crowded streets of the Imperial City.
