I was starting to care about him. And that thought terrified me more than any imperial threat.
Because if I cared about Tarshi, what did that make me? A traitor to everything I'd ever believed? A hypocrite who condemned the Talfen with his words while craving one in his bed? Or worse—a man who'd built his entire identity on a foundation of lies?
"Fuck," I whispered, the word a prayer and a curse in the silent room.
And then there was Livia. Gods, Livia. The thought of her finding out about Tarshi and me made my stomach twist with dread. Not just because of the sex—though that would be bad enough—but because of the hypocrisy. For months I'd been warning her away from him, telling her he was dangerous, tainted, not to be trusted. All while I was meeting him in darkened rooms, taking everything he offered and giving nothing but contempt in return.
She would hate me for the deception. For the lies. And she would be right to.
But the alternative—telling her the truth—was unthinkable. How could I explain what I barely understood myself? How could I tell her that the man I claimed to despise was the same man who haunted my dreams? That I craved his touch even as I recoiled from what he was?
I couldn't. So instead, I'd pulled away from her, made excuses, kept my distance. Better that than risk her seeing the truth in my eyes.
And now there was the resistance to consider. Tarshi was deeply involved—I'd seen the signs, followed him to meetings, watched him whisper with known sympathizers. Part of me screamed that I should report him, but the Empire had enslaved us both. Had forced us to kill for sport, had treated us asless than human. Had destroyed everything I'd ever loved for a reason that very slowly I was starting to doubt.
And reporting Tarshi would mean reporting Livia too. She was as deep in the resistance as he was—perhaps deeper. The thought of her in Imperial chains, facing execution for treason, made my blood run cold.
So I kept silent, trapped between competing loyalties, between duty and... whatever this was that I felt for them both.
"You're a fucking coward," I told myself, the words bitter on my tongue.
Because that was the truth of it, wasn't it? I wasn't protecting anyone but myself. I was hiding—from the truth about the Empire, from my feelings for Tarshi, from the inevitable moment when Livia would see me for what I truly was.
A coward. A hypocrite. A man so afraid of his own heart that he'd rather live in hatred than face the possibility of something else.
I moved to the small window, pushing open the shutters to let in the cool night air. The academy was quiet at this hour, most of its residents long since asleep. In the distance, I could see the lights of the Imperial palace, cold and remote as the stars.
The resistance spoke of a different kind of world—one where birth didn't determine worth, where the Talfen and humans could coexist without fear, where power didn't flow from the barrel of a gun or the edge of a sword. It was naive, of course. Idealistic nonsense spouted by people who'd never had to make the hard choices, who'd never seen the darkness that lurked in all of us.
And yet...
And yet I couldn't stop thinking about Tarshi's words the last time we'd been together. I'd been particularly cruel afterward, had said things designed to cut deep, to maintain the distance between us. And he'd looked at me with those dark, knowingeyes and said, "One day, you'll have to decide who you really are, Septimus. Not who they made you, but who you choose to be."
The words had haunted me for days. Because he was right. For all my talk of strength and conviction, I'd never made a true choice in my life. I'd been a weapon aimed by others—first by my grief, then by my masters, then by the Empire itself. I'd embraced their hatred because it was easier than forming my own judgments, their cruelty because it was simpler than finding my own path.
What would it mean to choose? To look at the world with clear eyes, without the filter of Imperial propaganda or my own defensive rage? To see Tarshi not as a half-breed or a demon, but simply as a man?
I already knew the answer. I'd seen glimpses of it in our most intimate moments, when the barriers between us fell and there was only skin against skin, breath mingling with breath. In those moments, I could almost believe in the world the resistance fought for—a world where what flowed between us wasn't shameful or tainted, but simply human. A world where I could touch him without hating myself afterward.
But that world didn't exist. And I wasn't strong enough to help build it. "Enough," I said aloud, turning from the window. This endless circular thinking was getting me nowhere. I needed to act, to break this pattern of indecision and self-hatred. And there was only one person who could help me find my way through this moral quagmire.
Livia.
The thought of confessing everything to her made my stomach clench with dread, but I couldn't go on like this—torn between duty and desire, between the man I'd been raised to be and the man I feared I was becoming. She'd always seen me more clearly than I saw myself. Perhaps she could make sense of what I'd become.
I'd go to her now, before I lost my nerve. While the academy slept, while there was no one to witness my shame. I'd tell her everything—about Tarshi, about my doubts regarding the Empire, about the storm of confusion that had become my constant companion. And then, whatever she decided, I would accept it. If she cast me out, so be it. At least the lies would end.
Decision made, I pulled on a simple tunic and trousers, not bothering with armour or weapons. Where I was going, steel would be no defence.
I made my way toward Livia's room, my footsteps echoing softly against the stone. The door to Tarshi’s room stood open, the bed empty and unslept in. Another resistance meeting probably, or perhaps he was in another’s bed. Jealousy flared hot inside my chest at the thought, even though I had always been with Livia. The thought of another man’s hands on him made me want to hunt him down in the night and slit the throat of whoever had dared to touch what was mine. Right now though, I had my own battle to face with Livia.
What would I say to her? How could I possibly explain what I barely understood myself? That I'd been sleeping with Tarshi for months? That I was beginning to question everything I'd ever believed? That I was terrified of what that meant for who I was, for who I might become?
There were no words for the chaos inside me. But I had to try. I owed her that much, at least.
As I neared her quarters, a faint sound reached my ears—a gasp, a murmur, something that might have been a name. I slowed, uncertain. Was she awake at this hour? Perhaps she was having a nightmare. She'd suffered from them since our village burned, though she rarely spoke of them.
I approached her door, listening. Another sound—a low chuckle, distinctly masculine, followed by her voice, thick withsomething I couldn't immediately identify. It didn’t sound like Marcus though.
