Gilded Serpent, page 24
“You are the Dark Horse,” the boy hissed. “The one who attacks our villages in the night.”
Unease filled Killian’s stomach, his skin crawling. “I’ve never once been across the border.”
“Lies! The survivors said the raiders wore your symbol.”
Ria had said the Rowenes army had ceased its raids on Anukastre when the King conscripted the majority of the region’s soldiers, which was many months ago. And even if this were vengeance for prior acts of war, why in the name of the Six would they have been wearing the Calorian symbol? Unless …
The thunder of hooves rolled through the valley. Hooves coming from the west. And the boy grinned. “It seems I’ll have my vengeance sooner rather than later.”
Swearing, Killian grabbed the reins of the horse and flung himself into the saddle, catching hold of the camel’s lead. Driving both animals into a gallop, he headed in the direction of his soldiers, casting a backward glance as he rounded the bend. A dozen Anuk on horseback appeared, the boy shouting at them to pursue.
Digging in his heels, he urged his mount to more speed, dropping the reins of the camel. His soldiers came into sight, along with a pile of Anuk corpses. His stomach hollowed. “Retreat!” he shouted. “They’ve got reinforcements!”
His soldiers grabbed the reins of the loose horses, and leaning out of the saddle, Killian caught hold of Sonia’s arm, pulling her up behind him. “Go!”
They all broke into a gallop, but Killian felt Sonia twist behind him. “There’s only twelve of them!” she shouted. “We can take them!”
Killian only shook his head. Because if what the boy had said were true, the real enemy was much closer to home.
45
TERIANA
There were drums beating. Loud, obnoxious drums that made her head ache like the worst hangover of her life.
Teriana cracked one eye, her gummy lashes pulling apart painfully, the light that assaulted her far too bright. Wincing, she rolled away—
And the bed disappeared from under her.
A muttered ooof filled her ears as she landed, and Teriana found herself staring at Marcus, whom she’d landed on. He blinked blearily at her, his eyes swollen and bloodshot, face smeared with soot. Then his gaze snapped into focus and he rolled her off, clambering to his feet, hoarse profanity spewing from his lips as he went to the stove. “The fire. We need to keep it going or—”
“Sun’s up.”
Marcus ceased loading wood onto the coals and slowly turned to the gap in the wall where sunlight streamed in. Despite her head aching like she’d been hit in the head with a brick, Teriana grinned and pointed a finger at him. “And we’re not dead.”
“Not dead,” he repeated blankly, as though she’d spoken in a language he didn’t quite understand.
“How much of that smoke did you breathe in?” she asked.
“Too much.” He gave a weary shake of his head, then braced one hand against the wall. “I must have fallen asleep. I’m sorry.”
Perhaps he had, but only recently, because the coals were still glowing, a few flames rising from the charred wood. Which meant he’d stayed awake long after she’d passed out, fueling the fire. Keeping her warm. Keeping her alive.
Crawling on her hands and knees, she wrapped her arms around Marcus’s neck, pressing her forehead against his. There was no part of her that didn’t hurt. No part of her that wasn’t exhausted. No part of her that didn’t fear the coming night. But together, she felt like they would survive this, no matter what came at them.
And as though he sensed her thoughts, Marcus rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. “We’ve work to do.”
Together, they righted the stove, using the leg shaft of her boot to hold the stovepipe in place once they’d fitted it back through the opening in the roof. Marcus worked on filling the hole in the floor with dirt while Teriana took the kettle outside to collect snow.
The wind had died down, but while no snow had fallen in the night, large drifts had formed, entirely altering the landscape from yesterday. The wolves had done a fine job of fouling up the area around the shack—scat and piss drove her to walk some distance to find some clean snow, her eyes peeled for any sign of motion.
But there was nothing.
And though she knew there must be animals about beyond the wolves, in that moment, it felt like they were utterly alone in this wild expanse of the world, the tiny wooden shack their only refuge. And tomorrow, they’d leave it. Would attempt to cross twenty miles of barren wilderness before dusk fell.
Warmth embraced her chilled body as she opened the door to the shack. Marcus had filled in the hole and replaced the board they’d pried off the wall. A cheery fire now burned in the stove. He had the stiff wolfskin spread on the floor, and on one of the plates sat what she could only presume was the same wolf’s brain. “If you think that’s what we are having for breakfast, you’re mistaken.”
“It’s not for eating.” He gave the brain a poke with his index finger. “It’s for the hide. Did you know that every animal possesses a brain large enough to tan its own hide?”
“I’ve met a few idiots in my day who’d put that theory to the test.” She set the kettle on the stove, noticing that he’d also retrieved some of the wolf meat from the icebox, which was currently thawing on a plate. “You read that in one of your books?”
He nodded.
“You know,” she said, “I find it interesting that you’ve apparently read so many books and yet I’ve never once seen you with one in hand.”
“Books are heavy. I don’t pack what I don’t feel inclined to carry.”
Smiling to herself, Teriana didn’t say anything, only set to tidying up the shack from the chaos of the prior night.
His sigh filled her ears. “Fine. I had the privilege of being taught to read prior to my move to Campus Lescendor. I was a sickly child, so I spent a lot of time in my father’s library, as well as the libraries of his friends.”
She’d never pressed him for details about his illness, sensing he didn’t want to talk about it. “Sickly…?”
He grimaced. “My attacks were a near-daily occurrence when I was young. The physicians advised my father to keep me indoors and away from strenuous activity. Obviously money was no object, so he indulged me with all the books and tutors I wanted.”
She knew from his admission to Magnius during the crossing that he’d been born to the Domitius family, but this was the first time he’d ever acknowledged it. It was a large family, with many branches, but the patriarch and holder of the family’s seat in the Senate lived in the villa neighboring that of Senator Valerius—Lydia’s father. Which meant it was possible Marcus had known Lydia prior to leaving for legion training.
“Lescendor has a vast library,” he continued. “Once I was past the stage of needing to sleep through our set liberty hours, I took to spending my free time there. When I began officer training at age ten, half my days were spent in the library, though of course most of the material I read at that point related to military matters.”
“All your liberty hours in a library,” Teriana murmured, inspecting the pads of her fingers, which had been scalded while she struggled with the stovepipe. “Who knew I had such a fondness for bookish people.”
Marcus lifted his head askance, but she only waved the comment away with one hand. She’d never spoken of Lydia to him, and she didn’t intend to. It was possible Cassius had divulged her friendship—that Marcus knew the details of her friend’s betrayal—but Teriana found herself not wanting to hear it. What was done was done.
He only shrugged. “I don’t get much chance to read for pleasure anymore. Servius picks up books for me when he sees something I might like. Sells them off when I’m through with them.” Retrieving the kettle, he rinsed the dirt out of the two cups and filled them. Then he dumped the rest of the water on the back of the hide and began rubbing it into the stiff skin. “Would you mind getting more snow? This is going to take a fair bit of water.”
Putting on the wool hat and mittens this time, Teriana ventured back outside, clenching her teeth as the air bit into her warmed skin. How people lived in this gods-forsaken place was beyond her. The unrelenting heat and rain of Arinoquia was paradise by comparison.
The snow crunched beneath her feet, and it wasn’t long until it felt as though she was walking barefoot, the thin leather soles affording little protection and snow falling inside her hacked-off boot, though her thoughts pulled her away from the discomfort.
It was strange to hear Marcus talk about his past. Because he didn’t. Not ever.
How did a child too sick to do anything but read books in his father’s library become the commander of a legion? That fateful day back in Arinoquia, Titus had told her it was genius, but that was only part of it. Willpower, for certain. Ambition. But those were only words, and what she found herself desperately wanting was the stories of those attributes in action, because it had been those events that had shaped him. She wanted to know him. Wanted to know all of him, because—
Snow crunched.
Teriana leapt upright, swinging the kettle in a wide arc, missing Marcus by an inch. Heart in her throat, she lowered her weapon. “You startled me.”
He opened his mouth, probably to reprimand her for not remaining alert, but then he shook his head and said, “You all right?”
“Aye. Was just … thinking.”
Squinting, he looked up at the position of the sun. “We’ve got about six hours until the sun starts to set. We need to eat, deal with this hide, collapse that tunnel, and prepare for whatever tonight delivers upon us.”
“Right.” She fell into step next to him, the kettle swinging in her grip. And before she knew what she was doing, Teriana asked, “How did you meet Felix?”
“At Campus Lescendor.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Obviously. I meant, how did you meet him when you were there?”
“Oh.”
She could feel him looking at her, but kept her eyes on the snow, waiting for his answer.
“We were delivered on the same day. His number is directly before mine, so we were always lined up together. Were bunkmates in the dormitories. Eight bunks per room, two boys per bunk, so sixteen boys.”
“Thanks for doing the math for me.”
He huffed out a laugh, then his face tightened. “I … I fought with him before we left camp. I was convinced it had been him who’d betrayed me, and the things I said…”
“When we get back, you can explain,” she said. “He’ll understand. He’ll forgive you.”
“Some things are unforgivable.”
“Maybe so. But you won’t know until you apologize, and you won’t be able to do that if you don’t get out of Sibern. So focus on that instead.”
His throat bobbed, and he gave a tight nod. And then, to her astonishment, he closed his hand around hers, holding it tightly as they walked. Something he’d never done before. That they’d never been able to do. She smiled at the snow, a soft ache stealing over her.
This is something stupid. This is a mistake. This is folly.
She was going to do it anyway.
Looking up at him, she asked, “Will you tell me about growing up in Lescendor?”
46
MARCUS
Marcus opened one eye, his gaze slowly focusing on the flickering glow of the fire in the stove, the sound of Teriana singing to herself outside the shack easing his concerns about her welfare.
She’d peppered him with questions about his years in training, and he’d found himself telling her things that he’d never told anyone—had never had cause to. They were the stories of the Thirty-Seventh, which meant all of his men knew them. Or had ones just like them, so only the more memorable moments ever came up in conversation over the campfire. And there was something very different between reminiscing with comrades about the tribulations that had bound them together and telling those same stories to someone who stood apart.
It was, to a certain extent, easy to talk about his time at Lescendor, because the lie of his identity came before arriving at its gates and the worst of what he’d done in his life had come after he’d left them. He told her of the many times Felix had concealed his illness, by either hiding him when he had an attack or by pretending to be him to prevent one—for the night of the battle for Galinha had been by no means the first instance. Of how Servius had come to know and the measures his big friend had taken to protect him.
She’d been fascinated with his rise to command, pressing him for details of how he’d recognized that the instructors were always watching, grading and measuring, determining which boys were leaders and which were followers. How the six thousand or so children of their year had immediately fractured into gangs—loners did not fare well at Lescendor—and how they’d warred against one another in the side halls and dark hours, always jockeying for control. How he’d learned to trade in the currency of Lescendor—rations and perquisites and favors—recruiting when he could, using fists when politics failed, creating a gang full of the boys he needed, all of them loyal to a fault.
He’d told her how with each passing year, the gangs grew larger in size and fewer in number. How in their third year, the teachers had split them out that way for war games, gang leaders forced to prove themselves as commanders, not just instigators of hallway brawls. How at that point, he’d started sneaking into the library at every possible moment to listen in on the lessons of the older boys so as to learn the battle strategies earlier. How those same boys had beaten him bloody every time they caught him. How he’d given up his soap ration for months in exchange for the lesson notes of a sixth-year boy in officer training who’d been particularly fastidious in his washing habits.
That had made Teriana laugh, her head tilted back to reveal the long column of her neck, the sound ringing through the shack. “You didn’t wash with soap for three months?”
“Not quite,” he confessed. “Felix got tired of how bad I smelled, so he started to share his ration after a month.”
He explained how when the Thirty-Seventh had been in their fourth year, the commandant had selected fifty boys from their ranks for training in advanced strategy and that the number had included Marcus and his inner circle, along with the two other remaining gang leaders and their circles. By the following year, it was down to him and Agrippa, and by their final year of training, Marcus had, unofficially, already been in command of the legion that would be named the Thirty-Seventh.
“Weren’t some of those boys angry about their loss of power?” Teriana asked.
“Of course. But most were wise enough to fall in line, especially once they’d taken a beating or two.”
“And those who didn’t?”
It was tempting to lie, but instead, he said, “As well you know, if a soldier is injured badly enough, he is discharged. And accidents happen.” Usually with a nudge from Gibzen, who even as a child had delighted in causing harm.
But it had been Marcus who’d given the orders to see it done.
Even now, he could remember standing back while Gibzen and Felix had beaten Agrippa to within an inch of his life until he’d finally conceded to Marcus’s authority. Or pretended to, at least. Part of him had always wondered if it hadn’t just been the Bardenese girl who’d driven Agrippa to desert but also the vestiges of rivalry between them. Whether it had always been inevitable.
“If being in command meant making those decisions, why did you want it?”
A question with many answers, all of them true.
“If you’re a second-born son in the Empire, there is almost no chance of escaping legion recruitment,” he finally said. “And once you’re in, the only way out is to die, to be discharged because your mind or body is broken beyond repair, or to desert, which almost always catches up with those who choose to do so. If you want to live, you try to find your place in the legion, whether that is in the rank and file, or as a medic, or an engineer, or a commander. For me, that place was at the top.”
It felt as though her eyes, which had been a shade of blue so deep they were nearly black, had dug into his soul when she said, “You didn’t answer my question, Marcus.”
Because he hated the answer.
“It was a way to survive.” Which was true. Even with his illness aside, he’d been small and weak and known nothing about fighting. Having Felix and the others he recruited as defenders had saved his life.
But that hadn’t been what had driven him to the top.
Like it was yesterday, he remembered overhearing the conversation between some sixth-years who were about to graduate. About how their leader was being outfitted to go before the Senate in order to be sworn in as legatus. Remembered the moment he’d learned that every legatus of every year had that privilege. How it had gotten into his head that if he could win that top spot, it would be him standing in front of the Senate. A Senate of which his father was a member.
That was what had driven him: not standing before the men who controlled the Empire, but of standing before his father, Senator Gnaeus Domitius. Year after year. Through exhaustion and pain and terror. The vision of the moment where he’d stand before the Senate and his father would see that Marcus was not only alive, but the top of his year. A peer to those pampered men in togas, not because he’d been born to it, but because he’d earned it. The moment when his father realized that he’d made a mistake in choosing Marcus’s brother over him.
Then that fateful day had come. The moment of triumph that had driven him for all those years. Marcus had walked into the Curia with Felix at his elbow, both of them dressed in their new armor and regalia. Facing the sea of men in white, he’d scanned their ranks. Once. Twice. Three times.
His father hadn’t been there.
“Once one has a taste of power, it’s hard to give up,” he finally answered. “And you know I like to be in control.”
Truth and a lie rolled into one.
47
