Gilded Serpent, page 53
“Guilty.”
She could see that they were desperate to ask her more, but there was a knock at the door and an older man entered, carrying a medical kit with him.
“I hear you fell afoul of Hostus,” he said, setting out his supplies and then gesturing at her to take a seat.
“Aye. He’s a right prick, that one.”
Pullo and Norin both smirked, but the medic gave her a steady look. “He is that. But he’s also the consul’s right hand, so best you keep your opinions to yourself.”
Though it should come as no surprise that Cassius would keep a man like Hostus about to do his dirty work, Teriana’s stomach still soured. For months, Cassius had been a distant threat, and while out of sight had not meant out of mind, now she was within easy reach. And the only thing standing between her and him was Marcus.
And he no longer had the Thirty-Seventh here to back him.
She sat still, clenching her teeth as the medic silently cleaned the cut on her neck, muttering that she was lucky she only needed a few stitches. He bandaged the wound, then departed, leaving Teriana to clean herself up as best she could with two thirteen-year-old boys in the room. She’d only just finished when there was another knock, one of the boys standing guard in the hallway leaning in. “The commandant has asked the legatus to attend him in his office. You are to accompany him, miss.”
Trying to curb her unease, Teriana stepped into the hallway.
Marcus was waiting.
And it was as if all the months they’d spent together had been erased and he was once again the devil who’d watched her be tortured. Who’d used everything and everyone she loved to force her to take him and his men across the world in search of conquest.
They’d shorn his hair, and his cheeks were freshly shaven. He was once again dressed in the tunic and armor of a legionnaire, a crested helmet tucked under one arm and his weapons belted at his waist. The breastplate had a 37 stamped on it, looking as though it had come fresh from the forge, which she supposed it probably had. And as he turned away to stride down the corridor and his crimson cloak drifted out behind him, the golden dragon glaring at her, eyes malevolent.
They stepped out into the sun, where a relative mob of young boys waited, all of them scrambling into straight lines at the sight of Marcus, fists pounding chests as he strode past. Nodding at them, he headed toward the center of the fortress city where the largest building loomed, its wide copper dome having gone green with age, and with every rank of boys he passed, there was a thunder of salutes.
“Your fame precedes you,” she said, but he only glanced down at her, saying nothing as the doors to the building swung open ahead, the boys guarding them standing straight.
You were such a fool, she silently whispered to herself. Such a fool to believe he’d give all this up for you.
Where the leather of her boots was silent against the marble floors of the building, Marcus’s sandals clacked loudly, the echoes reverberating off high ceilings painted with scenes of legion conquest. Through another set of doors, and despite herself, Teriana gasped as it was revealed to be an enormous library.
Four stories high, the shelves were full of books and scrolls, the main level encircled by twin layers of shelves full to the brim with more volumes. At the center, there were six large wooden tables, next to which stood perhaps a dozen boys wearing only their tunics and weapons. Marcus nodded at them as they stood to attention but carried on to the door at the far side of the room, only then pausing. “Wait here.” His blue-grey eyes flicked to Pullo. “Do not let her out of your sight.”
“Yes, sir,” the young centurion said, and Marcus disappeared into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Right,” she muttered, then turned to find all the boys staring at her. “Hello.”
They all nodded their heads, eyes full of curiosity. “This is Teriana,” Pullo said. “She’s the Maarin girl that took the Thirty-Seventh and the Forty-First to the Dark Shores.” He frowned, then turned to look at her. “You did get them there, didn’t you?”
“Pullo,” a boy at the center of the group said, “it’s not your place to ask such questions.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Stepping away from the door lest she be tempted to eavesdrop, Teriana circled the room, staring up at the seemingly endless shelves. On the second level, the shelves were broken up at equal intervals with nine enormous golden plaques. They each had a different symbol on top, and beneath the symbol were ten smaller plagues with numbers engraved in them, the one at the top given more prominence than the rest. And on each of the nine save one, a familiar number held that prominent spot: 37–1519.
Marcus’s legion number.
“They’re there,” she finally answered. “They have control of a nation called Arinoquia.” Then she pointed. “What are those?”
The boy who had chastised Pullo cleared his throat. “There are nine tests potential legates undertake prior to graduation. Those numbers belong to the highest-scoring individuals over the past one hundred forty-two years.”
Teriana whistled between her teeth. “No wonder you’re all tripping over yourselves to make Marcus’s acquaintance.” Though she noticed Titus’s number was on a few of the boards as well.
“You’re very familiar with the Thirty-Seventh’s legatus.” The boy tilted his head, the comment holding no criticism, only interest.
Familiar was an understatement, but Teriana only shrugged. “You spend every waking minute with someone, and you get to know them as well as they can be known.” She smiled at him. “And I’m not one of his underlings.” Pointing at the one test where Marcus’s number was ranked second rather than first, she said, “That’s one of you boys in the top spot, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“It’s you, isn’t it, Legatus?” And when he nodded, she said, “Well done.” Especially well done, given his number was on more plaques than not.
“Thank you.”
Pausing in her circling, Teriana hopped up to sit on one of the tables. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Austornic.” He glanced at the closed door, then came a few steps closer. “Have there been many battles?”
Too many. And from the looks of things, many more to come. “There have,” she answered gravely, and because the alternative was to cry, she asked, “Would you like to hear the story of how Legatus Marcus of the still-undefeated Thirty-Seventh Legion tore the tyrant Urcon from power?”
94
MARCUS
Hating himself for the way he was treating her, but knowing that it was necessary, Marcus closed the door in Teriana’s face.
Then he turned around.
It had been more than seven years since he’d stood in this space, and yet nothing was changed: the walls still hung with maps, the desk still cluttered with books and half-drank water glasses, cucumber slices and crushed mint leaves settling to their bottoms. Commandant Wex sat on the chair on the far side of the desk, and with a smile, he said, “I supposed you’ve finally earned the right to sit.”
Shaking his head, Marcus lowered himself onto the stool, resting an ankle on his opposite knee. The stiff leather of his new sandals was already giving him a blister. “Seems strange to do so.”
Rising, Wex went to the sideboard and filled two glasses with water, dropping several slices of cucumber into each.
Accepting the one he was offered, Marcus frowned at it.
“I recall you don’t like cucumber,” Wex said, taking a seat. “But it’s good for you, and you’ll need something to wet your tongue while you give me a full report.”
Though it had been years, it was still engrained in him to obey this man, and so Marcus started at the beginning, giving the pertinent details of the crossing and an account of what had occurred once they’d landed. He kept some choice information, such as the Marked, back, but otherwise was thorough.
“Bardeen.” Wex rubbed his chin. “And Sibern.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Couldn’t be much worse placed if they were at the bottom of the sea.” Rising, the commandant went to a framed map of the Empire on the wall, staring at it silently for a long moment. “Sibern is more of a logistical challenge, but Bardeen…” He shook his head. “It’s a pot on the verge of boiling over. Supplying you via that stem will require a significantly larger legion presence in the region, which will incite them further, I’m afraid. And Cassius won’t hesitate to quell them using force. It will be nothing short of a massacre.”
“Nonus was the only path-hunter to make it to us,” Marcus answered, then took a sip of water in an attempt to wash away the bile rising in his throat. He already had one massacre to his name, and the last thing he wanted was to be part of another. “The rumor is that those in much of the West are partial to entombing terminus stems, so any further men the Senate sends might be walking into their graves.”
Wex made an aggrieved noise, scrubbing a hand over the white bristles of his hair. “Madness. I’ll see if we can pause the process until you’ve had further opportunity to make safe the stems in your area, but…”
“Cassius.”
Wex nodded. “His popularity with the peregrini has never been worse, but it’s a different story with the citizens. He favors them, and those with influence have found themselves making a great deal more money since he gained the consulship.” Wex’s eyes turned hard. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your complicity in his rise to power, boy. Was it a bribe or a threat?”
“Both.”
The commandant grunted. “He’s recently appointed Hostus to command of the city guard—that’s why the blackhearted bastard is here. The Twenty-Seventh is being moved to Timia, and once they’re gone, the Twenty-Ninth will take up residence in Celendrial’s barracks.”
Marcus’s hands turned to ice. “You can’t be serious. Hostus? Celendrial will boil over.”
“Then its streets will run with blood, because Cassius won’t curb him.”
Staring at the cucumber floating in his water, Marcus allowed the weight of this development to settle onto his soul. This is your doing, his conscience whispered. Your fault. “Is he favored to win again in the next election?”
“He wasn’t.” Wex sat back down at his desk. “It’s believed by most that you and yours were lost to the high seas to some Maarin trick. Cassius spent a small fortune on your campaign to the Dark Shores, and until now, it has yielded nothing. He always had a strong opposition in the Senate, and that has grown. Those are not men who like to have their gold squandered. Even with Hostus’s legion sure to pull the same trick as yours, he wouldn’t have won. Not against Tiberius Egnatius.”
That was his sister’s husband. Marcus curbed the urge to ball his hands into fists, because Cordelia was treading on dangerous ground.
“Of course, with your arrival back in Celendrial, that will change.” Wex leaned over the desk, and Marcus forced himself to meet his gaze. “You’ve just won him another term, whether you willed it or not.”
His chest grew tight, a wheeze rising in his breath, and Marcus drank the contents of his glass, trying not to gag on the taste. “He’ll have to let the Maarin go, now, which won’t make him look good.”
“We’ll see.” Wex rested his elbows on the desk. “Speaking of the Maarin, do you care to explain how the enemy caught you alone with the girl?”
Not in the slightest.
“I needed to speak with her about something alone and we went too far afield.” He lifted a shoulder. “It was a mistake.”
Silence.
“It’s not like you to get involved,” Wex finally said. “Less like you to make mistakes. Put an end to it, or you’re going to make more.”
“There’s nothing to end,” Marcus lied. “And even if there were, with Teriana having delivered on her end of the bargain, she’ll be out of my camp and back aboard her ship.”
“With how much more knowledge than she had before?” Wex gave a slow shake of his head. “Better for you to slit her throat than to let her live, though I know that’s not your way. You’ll live with your mistakes no matter how much they cost you.”
Marcus didn’t answer, only met his mentor’s gaze with as much dispassion as he could manage. “She’s not a threat.”
“Time will tell. Either way, it’s time we’re off. The Senate sits today, and my messengers will have reached their recipients by now with news that you are at Lescendor, so all will be there.”
Fastening on his cloak, Wex opened the door, and both of them stepped out.
To find Teriana standing on one of the tables, surrounded by boys, all who wore rapt expressions.
“And he stood at the front lines himself,” she said. “Only him and a hundred men against an army of seven thousand strong. Or at least,” she whispered the last conspiratorially, “that’s what the enemy thought.”
No one noticed his and Wex’s appearance, the boys’ eyes fixed on Teriana as she took a long pause, surveying them. “The enemy emerged from the jungle, racing on foot and on horse across the open field, murder in their eyes.”
“She’s got a gift for storytelling,” Wex murmured softly as Teriana carried on with a somewhat exaggerated version of the battle for Aracam, ending with a triumph of drums and horns and the men chanting Marcus’s name.
“One of her many talents,” he replied, his chest tight. Then more loudly, “Be mindful of what you believe.” All the boys twisted in surprise and fell into line. “Half of what she says is fiction.”
Teriana hopped off the table, lifting one of her shoulders. “Just telling it as your men told it to me.”
He didn’t answer, only surveyed the library that had been his solace for most of his youth, his eyes skipping over the leaderboards for the officer tests. When he found one where he’d lost the top spot, he smiled. He turned on the boy—Bardenese, judging from the hue of his brown skin—standing close to Teriana. “You’re Austornic.” Wex had told him of the boy earlier while Marcus was getting his hair cut, the commandant not so subtly suggesting that Marcus take the newly minted legatus under his wing.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well done. The commandant speaks highly of you.”
The boy swallowed, clearly fighting a smile. “Thank you, sir.”
Marcus looked the boy over, thirteen and all gangly limbs and elbows, though his eyes were full of intelligence. Not the cunning sort, but thoughtful and observant. And the boys behind him radiated the sort of loyalty that was earned, not forced upon them. “The Fifty-First have any interest in crossing the world?”
Austornic’s eyes widened. “With you, sir? To the Dark Shores?”
Marcus nodded. “It’s a dangerous place, but there is a great deal to learn.”
“Yes, sir. I’d be honored, sir.” He glanced sideways at his officers, who were all grinning. “We’d all be honored to learn from the Thirty-Seventh.”
“Good.” Marcus turned to Wex. “Send them when you’re ready.”
The commandant nodded, then gestured to Austornic. “We are off to see the Senate. I’m putting Teriana here in your personal care, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shall we?” Wex strode through the library, Marcus at his elbow, trusting Teriana would follow. Hating the questioning look in her eyes, but it couldn’t be helped. She was in danger enough without anyone believing she meant anything to him.
Not that it was a secret he’d be able to keep for much longer.
The boys guarding the doors swung them open, and Marcus stepped out into the sun.
Only to find the space full to the brim with the Fifty-First, all of them lined up in neat ranks, banners flying above their heads, their armor polished to a shine. And in the center of them waited a golden chariot pulled by two horses, their trappings gold and plumage crimson.
“What nonsense is this?” he asked under his breath.
“Cassius has a habit of making decisions behind closed doors,” Wex answered. “I think it best that all of Celendrial know you are here and why. And what better way to accomplish that than a triumph?”
95
TERIANA
With their helmets on, they didn’t look like children.
They looked like soldiers.
That was the first thought that struck her as she stepped out of Lescendor’s library to see the Fifty-First lined up in neat rows, their dragon standard bearing their number glinting in the sun. And Marcus had just agreed to take them to war.
To his credit, he appeared not the slightest bit pleased as he glared at the golden chariot that awaited him. “This is unnecessary. A horse will be fine.”
“The citizens love their traditions,” Wex answered. “I assume you remember how to drive one? And how to follow an order when given one?”
“Yes, Commandant.” Striding down the steps, Marcus stepped into the chariot, taking up the reins. Two young legionnaires on horses followed, carrying crimson-and-gold banners with Celendor’s dragon wrapped around a 37.
“Do you know how to ride a horse, Teriana?” Austornic asked.
“Not well.”
“I see.” He frowned. “Is your preference to ride behind me or for me to lead your horse?”
Her preference was not to cling to a child’s back while she rode to meet the man she hated more than anyone on Reath. “I’ll manage myself.”
Wex appeared next to her, holding armor identical to that the legionnaires wore, along with a hooded cloak. “Cassius will be aware of your presence by now. Put these on.”
Her skin turned to ice, but she managed a nod, accepting his help buckling the breastplate rather than revealing her shaking hands. The cloak went over top, the laces down the front hiding the metal protecting her torso, the hood shadowing her face. It was uncomfortable and hot, but better than the alternative.
Between Austornic and Pullo, they managed to get her on the back of a horse that looked about a hundred years old and required her to thump her heels against its sides half a dozen times before it deigned to start moving. The boys mounted easily, the young legatus trotting his mount to where Marcus stood glowering in his chariot. “They are yours to command, sir.”
She could see that they were desperate to ask her more, but there was a knock at the door and an older man entered, carrying a medical kit with him.
“I hear you fell afoul of Hostus,” he said, setting out his supplies and then gesturing at her to take a seat.
“Aye. He’s a right prick, that one.”
Pullo and Norin both smirked, but the medic gave her a steady look. “He is that. But he’s also the consul’s right hand, so best you keep your opinions to yourself.”
Though it should come as no surprise that Cassius would keep a man like Hostus about to do his dirty work, Teriana’s stomach still soured. For months, Cassius had been a distant threat, and while out of sight had not meant out of mind, now she was within easy reach. And the only thing standing between her and him was Marcus.
And he no longer had the Thirty-Seventh here to back him.
She sat still, clenching her teeth as the medic silently cleaned the cut on her neck, muttering that she was lucky she only needed a few stitches. He bandaged the wound, then departed, leaving Teriana to clean herself up as best she could with two thirteen-year-old boys in the room. She’d only just finished when there was another knock, one of the boys standing guard in the hallway leaning in. “The commandant has asked the legatus to attend him in his office. You are to accompany him, miss.”
Trying to curb her unease, Teriana stepped into the hallway.
Marcus was waiting.
And it was as if all the months they’d spent together had been erased and he was once again the devil who’d watched her be tortured. Who’d used everything and everyone she loved to force her to take him and his men across the world in search of conquest.
They’d shorn his hair, and his cheeks were freshly shaven. He was once again dressed in the tunic and armor of a legionnaire, a crested helmet tucked under one arm and his weapons belted at his waist. The breastplate had a 37 stamped on it, looking as though it had come fresh from the forge, which she supposed it probably had. And as he turned away to stride down the corridor and his crimson cloak drifted out behind him, the golden dragon glaring at her, eyes malevolent.
They stepped out into the sun, where a relative mob of young boys waited, all of them scrambling into straight lines at the sight of Marcus, fists pounding chests as he strode past. Nodding at them, he headed toward the center of the fortress city where the largest building loomed, its wide copper dome having gone green with age, and with every rank of boys he passed, there was a thunder of salutes.
“Your fame precedes you,” she said, but he only glanced down at her, saying nothing as the doors to the building swung open ahead, the boys guarding them standing straight.
You were such a fool, she silently whispered to herself. Such a fool to believe he’d give all this up for you.
Where the leather of her boots was silent against the marble floors of the building, Marcus’s sandals clacked loudly, the echoes reverberating off high ceilings painted with scenes of legion conquest. Through another set of doors, and despite herself, Teriana gasped as it was revealed to be an enormous library.
Four stories high, the shelves were full of books and scrolls, the main level encircled by twin layers of shelves full to the brim with more volumes. At the center, there were six large wooden tables, next to which stood perhaps a dozen boys wearing only their tunics and weapons. Marcus nodded at them as they stood to attention but carried on to the door at the far side of the room, only then pausing. “Wait here.” His blue-grey eyes flicked to Pullo. “Do not let her out of your sight.”
“Yes, sir,” the young centurion said, and Marcus disappeared into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Right,” she muttered, then turned to find all the boys staring at her. “Hello.”
They all nodded their heads, eyes full of curiosity. “This is Teriana,” Pullo said. “She’s the Maarin girl that took the Thirty-Seventh and the Forty-First to the Dark Shores.” He frowned, then turned to look at her. “You did get them there, didn’t you?”
“Pullo,” a boy at the center of the group said, “it’s not your place to ask such questions.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Stepping away from the door lest she be tempted to eavesdrop, Teriana circled the room, staring up at the seemingly endless shelves. On the second level, the shelves were broken up at equal intervals with nine enormous golden plaques. They each had a different symbol on top, and beneath the symbol were ten smaller plagues with numbers engraved in them, the one at the top given more prominence than the rest. And on each of the nine save one, a familiar number held that prominent spot: 37–1519.
Marcus’s legion number.
“They’re there,” she finally answered. “They have control of a nation called Arinoquia.” Then she pointed. “What are those?”
The boy who had chastised Pullo cleared his throat. “There are nine tests potential legates undertake prior to graduation. Those numbers belong to the highest-scoring individuals over the past one hundred forty-two years.”
Teriana whistled between her teeth. “No wonder you’re all tripping over yourselves to make Marcus’s acquaintance.” Though she noticed Titus’s number was on a few of the boards as well.
“You’re very familiar with the Thirty-Seventh’s legatus.” The boy tilted his head, the comment holding no criticism, only interest.
Familiar was an understatement, but Teriana only shrugged. “You spend every waking minute with someone, and you get to know them as well as they can be known.” She smiled at him. “And I’m not one of his underlings.” Pointing at the one test where Marcus’s number was ranked second rather than first, she said, “That’s one of you boys in the top spot, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“It’s you, isn’t it, Legatus?” And when he nodded, she said, “Well done.” Especially well done, given his number was on more plaques than not.
“Thank you.”
Pausing in her circling, Teriana hopped up to sit on one of the tables. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Austornic.” He glanced at the closed door, then came a few steps closer. “Have there been many battles?”
Too many. And from the looks of things, many more to come. “There have,” she answered gravely, and because the alternative was to cry, she asked, “Would you like to hear the story of how Legatus Marcus of the still-undefeated Thirty-Seventh Legion tore the tyrant Urcon from power?”
94
MARCUS
Hating himself for the way he was treating her, but knowing that it was necessary, Marcus closed the door in Teriana’s face.
Then he turned around.
It had been more than seven years since he’d stood in this space, and yet nothing was changed: the walls still hung with maps, the desk still cluttered with books and half-drank water glasses, cucumber slices and crushed mint leaves settling to their bottoms. Commandant Wex sat on the chair on the far side of the desk, and with a smile, he said, “I supposed you’ve finally earned the right to sit.”
Shaking his head, Marcus lowered himself onto the stool, resting an ankle on his opposite knee. The stiff leather of his new sandals was already giving him a blister. “Seems strange to do so.”
Rising, Wex went to the sideboard and filled two glasses with water, dropping several slices of cucumber into each.
Accepting the one he was offered, Marcus frowned at it.
“I recall you don’t like cucumber,” Wex said, taking a seat. “But it’s good for you, and you’ll need something to wet your tongue while you give me a full report.”
Though it had been years, it was still engrained in him to obey this man, and so Marcus started at the beginning, giving the pertinent details of the crossing and an account of what had occurred once they’d landed. He kept some choice information, such as the Marked, back, but otherwise was thorough.
“Bardeen.” Wex rubbed his chin. “And Sibern.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Couldn’t be much worse placed if they were at the bottom of the sea.” Rising, the commandant went to a framed map of the Empire on the wall, staring at it silently for a long moment. “Sibern is more of a logistical challenge, but Bardeen…” He shook his head. “It’s a pot on the verge of boiling over. Supplying you via that stem will require a significantly larger legion presence in the region, which will incite them further, I’m afraid. And Cassius won’t hesitate to quell them using force. It will be nothing short of a massacre.”
“Nonus was the only path-hunter to make it to us,” Marcus answered, then took a sip of water in an attempt to wash away the bile rising in his throat. He already had one massacre to his name, and the last thing he wanted was to be part of another. “The rumor is that those in much of the West are partial to entombing terminus stems, so any further men the Senate sends might be walking into their graves.”
Wex made an aggrieved noise, scrubbing a hand over the white bristles of his hair. “Madness. I’ll see if we can pause the process until you’ve had further opportunity to make safe the stems in your area, but…”
“Cassius.”
Wex nodded. “His popularity with the peregrini has never been worse, but it’s a different story with the citizens. He favors them, and those with influence have found themselves making a great deal more money since he gained the consulship.” Wex’s eyes turned hard. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your complicity in his rise to power, boy. Was it a bribe or a threat?”
“Both.”
The commandant grunted. “He’s recently appointed Hostus to command of the city guard—that’s why the blackhearted bastard is here. The Twenty-Seventh is being moved to Timia, and once they’re gone, the Twenty-Ninth will take up residence in Celendrial’s barracks.”
Marcus’s hands turned to ice. “You can’t be serious. Hostus? Celendrial will boil over.”
“Then its streets will run with blood, because Cassius won’t curb him.”
Staring at the cucumber floating in his water, Marcus allowed the weight of this development to settle onto his soul. This is your doing, his conscience whispered. Your fault. “Is he favored to win again in the next election?”
“He wasn’t.” Wex sat back down at his desk. “It’s believed by most that you and yours were lost to the high seas to some Maarin trick. Cassius spent a small fortune on your campaign to the Dark Shores, and until now, it has yielded nothing. He always had a strong opposition in the Senate, and that has grown. Those are not men who like to have their gold squandered. Even with Hostus’s legion sure to pull the same trick as yours, he wouldn’t have won. Not against Tiberius Egnatius.”
That was his sister’s husband. Marcus curbed the urge to ball his hands into fists, because Cordelia was treading on dangerous ground.
“Of course, with your arrival back in Celendrial, that will change.” Wex leaned over the desk, and Marcus forced himself to meet his gaze. “You’ve just won him another term, whether you willed it or not.”
His chest grew tight, a wheeze rising in his breath, and Marcus drank the contents of his glass, trying not to gag on the taste. “He’ll have to let the Maarin go, now, which won’t make him look good.”
“We’ll see.” Wex rested his elbows on the desk. “Speaking of the Maarin, do you care to explain how the enemy caught you alone with the girl?”
Not in the slightest.
“I needed to speak with her about something alone and we went too far afield.” He lifted a shoulder. “It was a mistake.”
Silence.
“It’s not like you to get involved,” Wex finally said. “Less like you to make mistakes. Put an end to it, or you’re going to make more.”
“There’s nothing to end,” Marcus lied. “And even if there were, with Teriana having delivered on her end of the bargain, she’ll be out of my camp and back aboard her ship.”
“With how much more knowledge than she had before?” Wex gave a slow shake of his head. “Better for you to slit her throat than to let her live, though I know that’s not your way. You’ll live with your mistakes no matter how much they cost you.”
Marcus didn’t answer, only met his mentor’s gaze with as much dispassion as he could manage. “She’s not a threat.”
“Time will tell. Either way, it’s time we’re off. The Senate sits today, and my messengers will have reached their recipients by now with news that you are at Lescendor, so all will be there.”
Fastening on his cloak, Wex opened the door, and both of them stepped out.
To find Teriana standing on one of the tables, surrounded by boys, all who wore rapt expressions.
“And he stood at the front lines himself,” she said. “Only him and a hundred men against an army of seven thousand strong. Or at least,” she whispered the last conspiratorially, “that’s what the enemy thought.”
No one noticed his and Wex’s appearance, the boys’ eyes fixed on Teriana as she took a long pause, surveying them. “The enemy emerged from the jungle, racing on foot and on horse across the open field, murder in their eyes.”
“She’s got a gift for storytelling,” Wex murmured softly as Teriana carried on with a somewhat exaggerated version of the battle for Aracam, ending with a triumph of drums and horns and the men chanting Marcus’s name.
“One of her many talents,” he replied, his chest tight. Then more loudly, “Be mindful of what you believe.” All the boys twisted in surprise and fell into line. “Half of what she says is fiction.”
Teriana hopped off the table, lifting one of her shoulders. “Just telling it as your men told it to me.”
He didn’t answer, only surveyed the library that had been his solace for most of his youth, his eyes skipping over the leaderboards for the officer tests. When he found one where he’d lost the top spot, he smiled. He turned on the boy—Bardenese, judging from the hue of his brown skin—standing close to Teriana. “You’re Austornic.” Wex had told him of the boy earlier while Marcus was getting his hair cut, the commandant not so subtly suggesting that Marcus take the newly minted legatus under his wing.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well done. The commandant speaks highly of you.”
The boy swallowed, clearly fighting a smile. “Thank you, sir.”
Marcus looked the boy over, thirteen and all gangly limbs and elbows, though his eyes were full of intelligence. Not the cunning sort, but thoughtful and observant. And the boys behind him radiated the sort of loyalty that was earned, not forced upon them. “The Fifty-First have any interest in crossing the world?”
Austornic’s eyes widened. “With you, sir? To the Dark Shores?”
Marcus nodded. “It’s a dangerous place, but there is a great deal to learn.”
“Yes, sir. I’d be honored, sir.” He glanced sideways at his officers, who were all grinning. “We’d all be honored to learn from the Thirty-Seventh.”
“Good.” Marcus turned to Wex. “Send them when you’re ready.”
The commandant nodded, then gestured to Austornic. “We are off to see the Senate. I’m putting Teriana here in your personal care, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shall we?” Wex strode through the library, Marcus at his elbow, trusting Teriana would follow. Hating the questioning look in her eyes, but it couldn’t be helped. She was in danger enough without anyone believing she meant anything to him.
Not that it was a secret he’d be able to keep for much longer.
The boys guarding the doors swung them open, and Marcus stepped out into the sun.
Only to find the space full to the brim with the Fifty-First, all of them lined up in neat ranks, banners flying above their heads, their armor polished to a shine. And in the center of them waited a golden chariot pulled by two horses, their trappings gold and plumage crimson.
“What nonsense is this?” he asked under his breath.
“Cassius has a habit of making decisions behind closed doors,” Wex answered. “I think it best that all of Celendrial know you are here and why. And what better way to accomplish that than a triumph?”
95
TERIANA
With their helmets on, they didn’t look like children.
They looked like soldiers.
That was the first thought that struck her as she stepped out of Lescendor’s library to see the Fifty-First lined up in neat rows, their dragon standard bearing their number glinting in the sun. And Marcus had just agreed to take them to war.
To his credit, he appeared not the slightest bit pleased as he glared at the golden chariot that awaited him. “This is unnecessary. A horse will be fine.”
“The citizens love their traditions,” Wex answered. “I assume you remember how to drive one? And how to follow an order when given one?”
“Yes, Commandant.” Striding down the steps, Marcus stepped into the chariot, taking up the reins. Two young legionnaires on horses followed, carrying crimson-and-gold banners with Celendor’s dragon wrapped around a 37.
“Do you know how to ride a horse, Teriana?” Austornic asked.
“Not well.”
“I see.” He frowned. “Is your preference to ride behind me or for me to lead your horse?”
Her preference was not to cling to a child’s back while she rode to meet the man she hated more than anyone on Reath. “I’ll manage myself.”
Wex appeared next to her, holding armor identical to that the legionnaires wore, along with a hooded cloak. “Cassius will be aware of your presence by now. Put these on.”
Her skin turned to ice, but she managed a nod, accepting his help buckling the breastplate rather than revealing her shaking hands. The cloak went over top, the laces down the front hiding the metal protecting her torso, the hood shadowing her face. It was uncomfortable and hot, but better than the alternative.
Between Austornic and Pullo, they managed to get her on the back of a horse that looked about a hundred years old and required her to thump her heels against its sides half a dozen times before it deigned to start moving. The boys mounted easily, the young legatus trotting his mount to where Marcus stood glowering in his chariot. “They are yours to command, sir.”
