The academy was quiet as I made my way through its corridors, most of its inhabitants already gone to the festival. I reached Livia's chambers and knocked softly, then more insistently when no answer came.
"Livia?" I called, pressing my ear to the door. Nothing but silence greeted me.
I tried the handle, finding it unlocked. The room beyond was empty, the bed neatly made, no sign of recent occupation. My stomach clenched with dread. She had gone to the festival after all, despite her promise, despite my warning.
Without conscious thought, I was running, tearing through the academy halls and out into the street beyond. The central square was a good twenty-minute walk from here, but perhaps I could reach it in ten if I ran. Ten minutes to find one woman in a crowd of thousands, before whatever my father had planned was set in motion.
The streets grew more crowded as I neared the festival, forcing me to slow, to weave between groups of families and friends making their leisurely way toward the celebration. Their laughter, their casual conversation about what treats they would sample or which performances they would see, felt like a mockery of the fear churning inside me.
"Excuse me," I muttered, pushing past an elderly couple. "Pardon me." Shouldering between a group of young men carrying flagons of ale.
I had almost reached the square, was just turning the corner into the Street of Silversmiths which would lead directly to its western edge, when the world shook with a sound like the gods themselves rending the sky.
For a moment, I stood frozen, my mind refusing to accept what my senses told me. Then I saw the plume of smoke and dust rising from the direction of the square, heard the first screams cutting through the stunned silence that had followed the explosion.
It had begun.
I broke into a run again, no longer bothering with politeness as I shoved my way forward. The crowd had changed direction now, people fleeing from the square rather than moving toward it, their faces masks of terror and confusion. I fought against the tide, ignoring their shouts of warning, their attempts to pull me back from danger.
A second explosion rocked the ground beneath my feet, this one further away, followed shortly by a third and fourth. My father's plan was unfolding with brutal efficiency, each blast precisely timed to create maximum chaos, maximum casualties.
The street opened onto the square, and I stumbled to a halt, my mind struggling to process the scene before me. The imperial records office was gone, reduced to a smoking crater. The tax collector's office, the guard barracks, the justice building—alldestroyed, their ancient stones scattered across cobblestones now stained with blood. Bodies lay amid the rubble, some moving, many still. People stumbled about in shock or ran blindly, seeking any escape from the nightmare the festival had become.
"Livia!" I shouted, my voice lost in the cacophony of screams and falling debris. "Livia!"
I pushed forward into the square, searching frantically for any sign of her among the wounded and the fleeing. An elderly man lay pinned beneath a heavy wooden beam, his feeble attempts to free himself growing weaker by the moment. Without thinking, I moved to him, grabbing one end of the beam.
"Help me!" I called to a passing man, who hesitated only briefly before joining me. Together, we lifted the beam enough for the old man to drag himself free, his legs clearly injured but not crushed.
"Thank you," he gasped, clutching my arm briefly before limping toward the edge of the square, toward safety.
I turned back to the chaos, still calling Livia's name, still searching for a glimpse of her face among the survivors. The smoke was thicker now, making it difficult to see across the square, difficult to breathe.
And then I saw her.
She and Octavia were supporting a woman between them, her arms draped over their shoulders as they made their way slowly toward the edge of the square. Livia's face was streaked with blood and soot, her clothing torn, but she was alive, moving with purpose through the destruction.
"Livia!" I shouted, starting toward them. "Livia!"
She looked up at the sound of my voice, her eyes widening with recognition. "Jalend!" she called back, relief evident even through the strain in her voice. "Help us!"
I reached them quickly, moving to take the unconscious woman's weight from them. But as I touched her, her eyes flew open, and she began to struggle, to scream.
"My daughter!" she shrieked, fighting against our hold. "Miri! Where is she? My daughter!"
"Please," Livia tried to calm her, "you're injured. Let us get you to safety first, then—"
"No!" The woman's hysteria gave her strength, and she nearly broke free from our grasp. "She's only six! She was right beside me when... when..." She dissolved into sobs, her legs buckling beneath her.
From somewhere in the centre of the square, amid the rubble of the fallen buildings, came a child's cry—high, terrified, unmistakable even amid the chaos.
"There!" the woman gasped, pointing toward the sound. "That's her! Miri!"
Livia turned to Octavia, her face set with determination. "Can you manage her on your own?"
Octavia nodded, though the strain was evident in her posture as she took the woman's full weight. "Go," she said. "Find the child. I'll get her to safety."
"This way," Livia said to me, already moving toward where the cry had come from. I followed without hesitation, scrambling over fallen stones and splintered timbers, the heat from still-burning sections of the buildings searing against my skin.
