Gilded Serpent, page 56
“Yes, he did,” Valerius finally said. “Vehemently. But in doing so, he revealed a bias toward your people, which called into question his judgment on the matter.” He hesitated, then added, “Cassius has no desire to see the Maarin freed, but in this, his actions have merit. We cannot abandon those boys without a way to retreat, and being dropped in the middle of Sibern in the dead of winter is not acceptable. That Marcus argued otherwise raised many eyebrows, mine included.”
Had he always known this might happened? she wondered. And if so, why didn’t he tell me as much?
The litter was climbing the hill now, the men bearing it breathing hard from the effort of the climb. Moving aside the curtain, Teriana looked out at the walls and gates enclosing the vast villas, the scent of the sea drowned out by the endless flowers filling the gardens, an army of servants tasked at attending to them. Everything about this place catered to the lives of the few, and gods, but she hated it. Hated how once she’d loved coming here, had loved being surrounded by wealth and luxury unlike any other on Reath, had loved one of them like a sister, only to be betrayed by her.
Because if there was one truth she knew above all else, it was that this was Lydia’s fault.
And so as they entered the grounds of the Valerius manor, Teriana didn’t hesitate in demanding, “Where is she?”
Not waiting for an answer, she strode into the house where she’d spent so much time it felt like a second home. Teriana pushed past the waiting servants and took the stairs two at a time. Walking down to the library, she flung open the doors.
Only to find the room empty.
Which made sense. Lydia didn’t live here now: she was Cassius’s wife. And therefore unreachable, because as furious as she was at her ex-friend, Teriana wasn’t stupid enough to go after her in Cassius’s house.
Faint panting filled her ears, and she turned to find Senator Valerius leaning against the door frame, a hand pressed against his chest.
“I want to see her,” she demanded. “Send her a message to come here immediately and explain to my face why she betrayed me.”
His shoulders slumped, and he heaved in a deep breath. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Why?” She balled her hands into fists, half a mind to take her rage out on him instead.
“Because,” he answered. “Lydia’s dead.”
102
MARCUS
On numb feet, he walked next to his father as they exited the Curia, Senator Domitius heading toward a large litter carried by eight servants.
“I’ll walk.”
His father glanced at him, and Marcus realized with a start that he was now taller than him. That his father, who had once held unquestionable authority in his eyes, was slender and fragile, his eyes marked with wrinkles and his hands with age spots.
“Of course you would,” he answered. “How silly of me. I shall walk with you.”
“Do not feel obligated, Senator.”
“A brisk walk clears the head, and it will give your—” He broke off. “My wife time to prepare the house.” Gesturing at one of the litter-bearers, he said, “Run ahead and tell Drusilla that Legatus Marcus will be our guest tonight.”
The man sprinted up the street, leaving Marcus and his father to follow, the litter and a dozen men of the household guard trailing after.
Lifting a hand to his mouth and coughing, Senator Domitius murmured, “We are being watched. Though I suppose you know that.”
“It’s no surprise.”
They walked in silence for several minutes, passing under dripping aqueducts, civilians and peregrini alike stepping aside at the sight of them.
“What are the Dark Shores like?” his father asked abruptly. “They are the focus of so much of our attention, and yet you’re the first to have actually seen them.”
Not answering the question, Marcus instead posed his own: “Cassius hasn’t gotten any of the other Maarin to talk?”
“No. They’ve remained reticent, I’m afraid. Though he has left off in executing them.”
“Good. I gave my word, and I’d be unhappy to hear it had been broken against my will.” Even so, Marcus suspected that Cassius was still availing himself of dark rooms in the slums in the attempt to extricate more information from the captive Maarin. It was the currency with which he did business, more so than even gold.
“Valerius has been militant in their defense.”
“Do you know why?” The mention of the senator’s name caused uneasiness and guilt to rise in his guts, a reminder that the girl he’d murdered had friends. Family. And given Marcus hadn’t been arrested upon arrival, they likely had no idea what had become of her.
Before his father could answer, a rotten apple flew past Marcus’s face.
“Cel pig!” a peregrini woman shouted. Then she threw something else in his direction. Marcus stepped out of the way, but his legs were still splattered with overripe tomato as the mess struck the paving stones.
“Apologies,” his father murmured, snapping his fingers at the guard to clear a path. “The peregrini grow bold of late. They do not favor Cassius and strike out against his supporters.”
Which he, no matter how much he hated Cassius, was one of. And Marcus found himself wanting in equal parts to fall to his knees and beg for the woman’s forgiveness and to scream in her face that he had no more power in this than she did. But instead, he walked forward, refusing to look at any of the people who shouted insults and threw rotten food in his wake.
They wove through the narrow winding paths leading up the Hill, the overhang of the trees providing respite from the beating sun, though Marcus couldn’t help but notice that his father was panting, sweat running in rivulets down the sides of his face. “Do you need to pause, Senator?”
“No, I’m quite fine.” His father glanced back at the litter trailing him, then started up a series of steps. “I remember when you—”
“Things change.”
“Indeed.”
The path forked. To go to the left would lead eventually to Cassius’s home, but they carried upward to the top of the Hill, a place Marcus hadn’t been since he was eight years old.
And yet it was as familiar as though it were yesterday.
The trees were somewhat taller, but the ancient walls between trees were identical, as were the bits and pieces of the grand villas visible through the dense gardens, the air thick with the scent of flowers. And faintly, Marcus could make out the sound of the surf pounding against the shores at the base of the cliffs far below this last row of homes.
“This is Valerius’s home,” his father said between breaths. “In case you were concerned over the welfare of the girl.”
Marcus started, for a moment believing his father spoke of Lydia before realizing he meant Teriana.
His chest tightened painfully as he glanced through the closed gates, faded memories of sitting on a library floor, looking at the illustrations in books with a small girl with long dark hair and green eyes. She’d been his friend—perhaps his only friend at that age. And he’d murdered her. “I remember.”
Continuing down the path, they reached the gates to the Domitius property, which sat at the very pinnacle of the Hill. One of the litter-bearers hurried ahead of them to unlatch the gate, swinging it open and then lowering his gaze as they passed.
A path made of tiny squares of white stone wound through the towering trees, past fountains featuring nude women that sprayed water from their fingertips and toes, filling the air with a tinkling music that he’d recognize a hundred years from now. Pots of bright blooming flowers buzzed with bees, and the path branched again and again, a maze he’d explored daily as a child.
“Please be kind to your mother,” his father said softly as they rounded a bend and the villa appeared, all columns and porticos and colored marble. “It was my decision, not hers. And I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me for it.”
“Do you regret it?” The words exited his lips before Marcus had the chance to think about whether he truly wanted to hear the answer.
Senator Domitius paused, staring up at the wide doors, the metal inset with twelve squares depicting famous moments of family history. “No,” he finally answered. “For I believe the legions saved your life. And that they would have consumed your brother’s.”
It was an answer that denied all culpability for what he’d endured, and Marcus balled one hand into a fist before forcing it to relax. The past could not be undone.
Although it seemed he was about to face it whether he wanted to or not.
Pushing open the door, his father stepped into the atrium, a square opening in the ceiling revealing blue sky. Beneath it was a large golden basin that collected water during the rains. Marble benches sat between alcoves that contained busts depicting Domitius patriarchs, potted ferns providing splashes of green against the white walls.
But Marcus’s gaze went immediately to the two girls standing at the far end, one of them arguing vehemently with an older female servant.
“I don’t wish to go,” she said, stomping a sandaled foot. “There is nothing to do in the country villa.”
“Your mother says you must, domina,” the servant pleaded, then her eyes snapped to Marcus and his father. “Apologies, dominus!” She dropped to her knees. “We were to be gone before your return.”
“Ah, yes. The legatus walks more swiftly than is my custom, so you are not to blame.” Marcus’s father waved a hand to the girls. “Legatus, these are my daughters Faustina and Julia.”
His younger sisters. Neither of whom he’d seen in nearly thirteen years. Julia had been only a baby when he’d left for Lescendor and Faustina an irritating toddler who’d ripped pages from his books, now twelve and fourteen.
Both girls inclined their heads, echoing each other with, “Well met, Legatus.”
“Well met,” he replied, unnerved when two pairs of blue-grey eyes fixed on him, for it was like looking into a mirror.
“They are off to the country,” his father said. “It seemed a … prudent choice, given tensions within the city.”
They could be sent to the far side of the Empire and it still wouldn’t be enough to keep them safe if Cassius decided to turn on Marcus’s family, but all he said was, “Wise decision.”
“Off with you,” his father said. “Already the hour grows late.”
The girls obediently followed the servant woman out the front door, and as it closed, Marcus asked, “Do they know who I am?”
“No. Only that they had an older brother who went to the legions. Telling them more was unnecessary.”
The words stung, though Marcus wasn’t entirely sure why. Shoving aside the emotions, he followed his father down a corridor. Sconces of perfumed oil scented the air, but beneath it, the faint breeze carried the smell of the sea, and he inhaled deeply, hoping it would steady his heart for what was to come.
But nothing could have prepared him.
His mother sat straight backed on a couch, ankles crossed beneath her, hands folded in her lap. Her blond hair, which hung in long ringlets, was held back from her face with combs made of gold and pearl—exactly how she’d worn it when he was a boy, although now it was shot through with silver. She wore a gown typical of a patrician woman, tourmaline silk that left one shoulder bare, the other crisscrossed with delicate golden chains that matched the belt cinching the waist. Though she must have heard their approach, she did not move from her study of the tiled floor.
Then she took a shuddering breath and rose, lifting her face to meet his gaze. “We are pleased to have you in our home, Legatus.”
“Thank you for your hospitality.” It was a struggle to get the words out. A struggle to breathe.
Silence fell between them, the tension of far too many things unsaid keeping anything from being said at all.
Then she stumbled across the few paces between them and fell to her knees in front of him, pressing her face against Marcus’s shin. “Forgive me, please forgive me. I should never have let him take you. Should have protected you, run away with you, whatever it took to keep you safe.”
The world swam around him, details of the room—new and old—coming in and out of focus. “Domina…” He didn’t know what else to call her. Couldn’t bear to call her Mother.
She looked up at him, face streaked with tears, her pale blue eyes swollen and red. “He told me the physicians said you would die no matter what we did. That if we allowed you to go instead of your brother, that at least we’d have one son who survived. But I have regretted it. Every single day.”
He felt dizzy and ill, nausea rising in his stomach, every inch of him wanting to escape the situation. To escape this confession.
“For the longest time, I thought you were dead.” She was sobbing, her fingernails digging into his legs. “That you were buried in a numbered grave at Lescendor. And he”—she spit the word at his father—“never deigned to tell me otherwise.”
“It was for your own good,” his father protested. “I feared you’d lose yourself and go after him if you knew the truth, and we all know what the consequences of that would’ve been.”
“Damn the consequences!” His mother screamed the words, and Marcus flinched. “I deserve them. You deserve them. He is our son, and we sacrificed him because he was sick.”
He was going to pass out. Blindly, Marcus reached out and caught hold of a table, the vase on it rocking. Then he heard the measured click of heels, and his sister’s voice cut through the air. “Oh, get up, Mother. Don’t subject him to your dramatics.”
Swishing past him, Cordelia reached down and hauled their mother to her feet, pushing her bodily down on the couch. Picking up a decanter of wine, she poured a generous glass and forced it into their mother’s hand. She filled another glass with lemon water and finally turned to face Marcus, pushing the glass onto him with the same authority she had their mother. “Perhaps some refreshment before we unearth the family skeletons.”
He drank deeply, the room slowly ceasing its rotations, allowing him to focus on his elder sister. She wore her blond hair in a tight coronet of braids, her blue-grey eyes rimmed with kohl, and the silk of her dark blue dress curved outwards over her stomach. Pregnant. Yet another life whose safety he needed to worry for.
“It’s good to see you alive, brother.” Cordelia’s jaw trembled, then she wrapped her arms around his neck, her necklace clanking against his armored chest. “I’m not sorry for the things I said to you, but I did come to regret that our last meeting ended in anger. I thought that would ever be how you’d remember me.”
“How is it that you two had opportunity to speak?” their father demanded.
Cordelia let go of his neck, stepping back a pace. “Not your concern, Father.” To Marcus, she said, “Perhaps you’d care to take a moment before dinner to rid yourself of the city’s dust and change into”—her brow furrowed—“more comfortable attire. I noted a young man from Lescendor was here delivering a package, so I assume they sent you what you might need.”
“Thank you.” Inclining his head to his mother, he said, “Domina. Senator,” then followed Cordelia out of the room.
She led him through the corridors and up to the second level, bypassing the room that had once been his and stopping in front of one that had belonged to his brother. “My husband is keeping Gaius occupied, but they’ll both be along shortly.” Her fingers on the latch, she hesitated. “I’m sorry for her behavior. I’d hoped to arrive before you to prevent her dramatics.”
“It’s fine.”
She gave a slight shake of her head. “It’s not. She behaves as though she were not culpable in the decision—as though she were blameless. I half-think she’s managed to convince herself that she’s the victim.”
He hated that word. “I don’t need you to protect me, Cordelia. Not from her. Or anything else.”
“Habit.” She opened the door. “I need to speak with you alone after dinner. There are things you need to know that by necessity must be kept between us.”
“Concerning what?”
Her jaw worked from side to side. “The Valerius girl. Lydia. She—” A servant appeared up the corridor, and she broke off. “Later. You need a clear mind for the conversation ahead.”
Unnerved in every possible way, Marcus entered the room, closing the door behind him and flipping the latch. The space was filled with every possible luxury, but he ignored it all, going instead to the open window, which faced Valerius’s property.
Where Teriana was, even now.
He hated being away from her. Not only because he couldn’t ensure her safety, but because without her, he felt not himself. Around her was the only time he felt he could truly breathe, and deep down, he knew that a selfish part of his soul was glad Cassius and the Senate had refused to accept the Sibern path. Because it meant more time with her.
Lowering himself onto a bench, he rested his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, finally allowing himself to think about the moment when she’d asked him to give it all up. To forsake his legion. To be with her.
To remember the decision he’d made.
Not that it mattered now. The decision was out of both their hands, and the only path was forward.
Unbuckling his armor, he left it scattered on the floor, then availed himself of the basin of wash water, his nose wrinkling at the perfumed soap that had been left for him. Sitting next to the bed was a chest, and within, he found several small knives suitable for hiding away, along with folded formal attire. Grimacing, he pulled it on, hating the bulk and bothersome folds of the toga, but knowing he couldn’t very well go to dinner in a legionnaire’s tunic.
There was a mirror on the wall—not the cheap polished brass used by the masses, but silvered metal covered with flawless glass, and he stepped in front of it, staring at his reflection.
This is who you might have been. Who you should have been.
Not a soldier. Not a commander. But the heir to one of the most powerful families in the Empire. Destined to take his father’s seat on the Senate and, when the time was right, to run for consul and win.
