And it was hard not to feel a touch panicked about what she’d done. East must not meet West was a mantra that had been chanted in her ears since childhood, and she’d never even heard about one of her people violating Madoria’s command that they keep the two halfs of Reath ignorant about each other’s existence. If anyone found out about what she’d done, Teriana wasn’t even sure what the consequences would be—
Loud voices and banging drums coming from the city tore Teriana from her thoughts, everyone turning to scan the market for signs of the commotion. Minutes later, a group of men marched into sight, waving their arms and shouting something indistinguishable. Then another group arrived, behaving in much the same manner, the two stopping a dozen paces from each other and squaring off. More and more people joined their ranks, the cacophony growing.
As it was through all of Celendrial.
The city was coming alive with protest, plebeians taking to their balconies and to the streets to add their voices to the mix. And there was only one thing that incited the Cel this way: politics.
Two of the Quincense’s crew who’d been out all night loped toward the ship.
“What’s going on?” Aunt Yedda demanded.
“Lucius Cassius has announced he’s running for consul,” one of them replied.
The sweat on Teriana’s back turned cold with the sense that she was much too close to a bad situation. “Cassius was at Lydia’s home last night,” she said to no one in particular. “He was meeting with her father.”
Yedda’s brow furrowed, her multitude of braids swaying as she turned back to the city. But it was Tesya who spoke, having coming up silently behind the group of them. “We need to set sail. Is everyone aboard?”
Yedda shook her head. “Might be a few hours yet.”
“Shit.” Tesya slammed her fist against the rail. “We’ll miss the tide.” Her dark skin strained as her jaw muscles worked back and forth; then she said, “No one leaves the ship. There’s destined to be riots today, and I don’t want any of our crew caught in the mix.” Then she turned and strode toward her cabin.
Teriana followed her.
Her mother was washing in a basin, and Teriana watched her finish, then tie a scarf to keep her thick black hair out of her face. It did little to hide the droop in her eyelids and, seeing the stacks of ledgers sitting on her mother’s desk, Teriana assumed she’d been up all night working.
“Enjoy yourself last night?”
The question made Teriana jump. “I did. It was good to see her. But…”
“But?” Her mum turned away from the mirror.
“I’m worried about her.” Hoping the darkening shade of her mother’s eyes was on Lydia’s behalf, Teriana explained the situation.
“What did you expect?” her mother asked when she was finished. “The Cel are block-brained fools, and though Valerius is better than most of them, he’s only better by comparison. The thought of marrying Lydia to a plebeian won’t even have crossed his mind—the patricians chart their ancestry the same way the Gamdeshians do for their hunting dogs, though at least the latter serves a purpose. Which is why it’s going to cost Senator Valerius a gods-damned fortune to get anyone to overlook that girl’s lily-white skin. Not a drop of Cel blood in that one.”
Not a drop of eastern blood in her, in Teriana’s opinion, but she didn’t voice it. Instead, despite knowing what the answer would be, she asked, “Can we take her with us?”
“No.”
“But—”
“I said no. Do you think her father wouldn’t suspect it was us who’d taken her? And just how well do you think that would go for this ship and her crew? For all the Maarin, if it was learned we’d spirited away a senator’s daughter. We’d have the navy on our heels and legionnaires waiting for us at every port.”
“We’d go west,” Teriana argued. “She’d be safe there.”
Her mother made a rude noise. “We’d be damaging the relationship with the Empire and all Maarin ships. Many whose livelihoods are based around ports on this side on Reath. Would you ruin countless lives for the sake of one girl?”
“You’re being—”
“The answer is no, Teriana. I pity Lydia’s lot, but there is nothing we can do for her.”
And just like that, the conversation was over.
Kicking open the door so that it slammed against the wall, Teriana stormed back on deck, hurrying over to the rail to look at the ships anchored farther out, because that way no one would see her cry.
The sun was fully risen. It was hot and she was hungover, and she’d given her best friend hope where there was none. Scrubbing tears from her cheeks, Teriana caught sight of movement beneath the surface of the water, and she had a heartbeat to wonder why Magnius was braving the filth of the harbor when his voice echoed in her thoughts. Lydia needs your help.
It took a second for the words to register, then another second for her to come to grips with Lydia having risked performing the ritual to summon Magnius, then another second still for the question of what could’ve motivated her to do so to begin its march through Teriana’s head. “This better not be an experiment, Lydia,” she muttered under her breath; then she turned.
The entire crew was staring at her, and her stomach plummeted as she realized it hadn’t been just in her mind that Magnius had spoken. It had been in everyone’s.
The captain’s cabin door swung open with enough force that the glass pane shattered, and Teriana’s mum stormed out. “You idiot!” she shrieked. “What have you done? What were you thinking?”
Teriana’s mouth opened and shut, but she’d spent her argument already and her mother hadn’t cared. Tesya stormed toward her, pulling her belt free, the tirade coming from her mouth white noise in Teriana’s ears. Aunt Yedda tried to step in Tesya’s way, but she only pushed her aside.
“Turn around,” Tesya ordered, and it wasn’t the anger in her voice that made Teriana comply but the fear in her mother’s eyes. Ignoring the laughter and catcalls from neighboring vessels, Teriana rested her forehead against the rail, bracing for the snap of her mother’s belt, when Magnius’s voice cut through the fray. Let her go see the girl.
The jeering on the neighboring ships continued, but no one on the Quincense spoke, everyone waiting to see how their captain would react.
“Go. Go then.” Her voice was shaking, and Teriana avoided looking her mum in the eye as she straightened.
“She’s not going through the city by herself,” Aunt Yedda said, her calm voice doing little to slow Teriana’s thundering heart. “It’s not safe.”
Tesya’s eyes went to Celendrial. “Bait, take one of the boats and row her around to the base of the Hill.”
“We’re being watched,” Aunt Yedda said. “Magister will think we’re moving contraband.”
“Then make a distraction,” Tesya shouted. She turned away from the crew, rubbing at her temples, but Teriana saw the gleam of tears in her eyes. “Deal with it, Magnius.”
The Quincense’s guardian didn’t respond—at least, nothing Teriana could hear. But Bait moved to lower one of the longboats, expression uncharacteristically blank. Instead of helping him, she said, “Mum, I—”
“Just go, Teriana.”
Uncertainty kept Teriana fixed in place. She’d pissed her mother off countless times before and suffered any number of punishments for it. But not like this. Never like this.
“I’ll talk to her,” Aunt Yedda murmured. “You see to Lydia.”
It didn’t feel right to leave, but it felt even worse to stay. Unease was biting at her guts like overgrown ship rats. What had happened to Lydia? Had she been harmed? But even worse was the question of what Teriana would be able to do to help her.
Bring the book. Magnius’s voice filled her thoughts, along with the vision of a tome that was deeply familiar to her—deeply familiar, in one form or another, to anyone who hailed from the West.
Have you lost your mind? she thought back at him. What possible good could come fr
om giving her that book?
There are as many paths as there are travelers.
A typically cryptic response, but Teriana knew from experience that he’d give her no more. “Fine,” she muttered, hurrying into her cabin to retrieve the item. “Might as while jump out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
Bait had the boat in the water, and Teriana slid down the ladder to join him. “You rowing?” she asked.
He nodded, but his eyes were distant, seeing yet unseeing, and she knew he was in conversation with Magnius. “We just need to wait—”
Whatever he said was drowned out by shouts of alarm as the whole harbor turned to chaos.
5
MARCUS
The Via Metelli was dry as old bone, and by the time Marcus walked through the sprawling gates of Celendrial his skin was coated with a fine layer of dust. From the direction of the harbor, he could make out the drums and shouts of political protestors, and he avoided going anywhere near the Forum, knowing that there’d be oratores on every corner shouting out the promises of the consular candidates. Not that you’d be able to hear them over the hecklers.
Marcus strode through the streets, marking the changes in the city as he went. It seemed smaller than it had seven years ago, but perhaps, he thought, that was because he was larger. Or perhaps it was because now that he had seen so much of the world, Celendrial no longer seemed like the center of it.
Breathing shallowly, he crossed the river Savio, the ripe stench of sewers thick on the nose, all the filth of a million people draining into its murky waters. It was another thing he had forgotten about the city of his birth—how much it stank like shit and piss. It was the same in all cities, he knew, but Celendrial always seemed worse for the fact that it looked so clean from a distance. Gleaming white buildings rising out of a blue sea disguised a core coated with physical and moral filth. He hated it here, and being back had put a permanent scowl on his face that had people leaping out of his path as he cut through one of the city’s many marketplaces.
Anything that could be found in the Empire was for sale in Celendrial, from spices to narcotics to fabrics to things he couldn’t even name. This market catered to jewels and metalwork, stall after stall of precious wares glittering in the sunlight. Marcus passed a pair of Maarin sailors examining the work of a silversmith, their skin like polished ebony, bright silk shirts tucked into leather trousers, voices rhythmic as they negotiated. There was little doubt in his mind that they’d come out ahead in the transaction.
He wove around a group from Sibern who, despite the heat, wore robes trimmed with fur dyed in vibrant hues, both men and women wearing their hair cut chin length so that it danced around their cheekbones as they moved. They spoke Cel, but their voices carried the lisping accent of their homeland, most of them carrying silken sunshades to protect skin so fair, it was nearly translucent.
Beyond them, his eyes were drawn to a trio of Bardenese women, their dark fingers playing elongated stringed instruments that created a rippling music, their narrow forms swaying to the rhythm as they sang. The youngest of them was fairer than the other two, her skin a golden brown that suggested one of her parents was Cel, a not uncommon occurrence in Celendrial. A not uncommon occurrence across the Empire, which had been thoroughly colonized by retired legions.
Exiting the market, Marcus climbed higher, his sandals clacking loudly against the stone walkways as he strode up side paths half-remembered from his childhood to the top of the hill overlooking the sea. All the wealth and power of Celendor resided on this villa-crusted slope, each plot of land fenced off from the next as though those men didn’t spend half their lives closeted together plotting the next steps of the Empire. As much as he disliked the city, his hatred for those toga-clad men eclipsed all else.
The most powerful families had homes overlooking the sea, but Cassius’s villa faced the city, easy to find with the description Marcus had been given. Stopping at the gated entrance of a villa so large it dwarfed those on either side, he paused to give it a once-over. Most of the senatorial homes were ancient structures steeped in history, gardens lush from centuries of cultivation. Not this villa. Whatever had stood here before had been razed to the ground, and a monolithic monstrosity had been erected in its place. The grounds were nothing but stone and statuary, not so much as a blade of grass in sight.
A servant with a pinched expression appeared from behind the locked gate. He was tall and thin to the point of emaciation, as if he might disappear if turned sideways. The man waited for him to speak, but Marcus did not. His regalia was introduction enough.
“The senator expected you some time ago, Legatus.”
The man stared at Marcus. Marcus stared back.
“He is not accustomed to waiting.” The man’s face became even more pinched, an expression most would reserve for over-sour lemonade.
The silence stretched as the man waited for an apology. Cracking his neck, Marcus squinted up at the sun to mark the time. He was overheated and wouldn’t have turned down a glass of water, but he was used to discomfort. The pinched-faced man, it seemed, was not. He sighed the sigh of one who had suffered a grave injustice, unlocked the gate, and motioned for Marcus to follow, leading him to a room filled with cushioned divans.
“Legatus Marcus of the famous Thirty-Seventh Legion, it is an honor.” Lucius Cassius stood as Marcus entered, then motioned for his servant to leave. There was no one else present. The senator was a man of middling height and age, his golden skin oily, as if he had just come from a masseur. He wore his light brown hair clipped short and combed forward, and his blue eyes were too small for his narrow face.
“The undefeated Thirty-Seventh!” Cassius pumped his fist in the air. “We do not fall back. We do not fall back,” he repeated the legion’s motto. “Is it true that you’ve never retreated? Remarkable,” he continued, not waiting for an answer.
Grasping Marcus’s hand, he shook it hard. Marcus withdrew his arm as soon as he could, wishing he could wipe the dampness from his palm. The senator smelled cloyingly of flowers, and his beady eyes were filled with a cunning at odds with his demeanor.
“Who would’ve thought that the legion of twelve-year-olds we sent off to cut their teeth on the Sibalines would have come so far?” Cassius shook his head, eyes stretched wide with feigned awe.
All legions went active when their youngest member turned twelve, departing Campus Lescendor for their first campaign. Given that every family living under the Empire’s control was required to give their second-born son to the military, there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know it.
“From the Sibalines to Phera to Bardeen, and finally, to Chersome.” The senator shook his head. “Never has a nation been quelled quite so thoroughly, and so violently, as Chersome. The market for indentured servants is still down from the glut in supply.” He paused, looking Marcus up and down. “Your reputation precedes you, Legatus. I must confess, I felt something of a chill when you walked in, knowing all the atrocities you ordered your men to commit. Ohh.” Cassius shivered, his jowls swaying. “There it is again. Like having someone walk across your grave, pardon the pagan expression.”
Marcus’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Some of the stories out of Chersome were just that: stories. However, much of it was true, and he didn’t care to be reminded of that fact. His dreams were troubled enough.
Cassius gestured for him to come deeper into the room, and Marcus reluctantly complied. There was something about the situation that wasn’t right. Why wasn’t he standing before the entire Senate?
“I expected you to arrive somewhat earlier in the day,” Cassius said, settling gingerly on a silk-covered divan.
“I walked.”
“And he speaks.” The senator raised one amused eyebrow. “A horse would’ve been faster.”
The truth was, horses made Marcus sneeze. That, combined with the dusty air of Celendrial, would be enough to set off one of his attacks, and he’d rather walk a thousand miles over hot coals t
han have a man like this see him so reduced. He raised one shoulder, then let it drop. “True.”
Cassius’s brow creased ever so slightly. “And here I thought legionnaires were good at following orders.” His voice was hard, the polished veneer gone.
“They are.” The corner of Marcus’s mouth turned up. “And I’m good at giving them.”
“You aren’t what I expected,” said Cassius. “And perhaps that’s a good thing.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I need a man with vision, not a follower.” Leaning forward, Cassius filled two glasses from the decanter sitting on the table, passing one to Marcus. “You’ll have heard that I’m running for consul in the next election.”
“Yes.”
“I want your assistance, Legatus, in ensuring that I’m successful in my bid.”
Marcus hadn’t expected him to say that. He could vote in the elections—all legionnaires were granted citizenship, the status of their birth and their original nationality wiped away when they left their families to begin training—but what was one vote? “What sort of assistance?”
“All your men are nineteen, or will turn nineteen in the coming months. They are old enough to vote. I want you to ensure they vote for me.”
Which entirely undermines the purpose of voting in the first place, thought Marcus. The consul led the Senate—he controlled the entire Empire, and he was chosen by the citizens of Celendor. Forcing individuals to vote one way or another happened, but it was illegal. Forcing an entire legion? They’d hang him for it. “No.”
Cassius’s face turned sour, but only for an instant. “Don’t be so hasty, Legatus. There are those campaigning for consul who do not have the legions’ best interest in mind. Those who no longer see your necessity and would see your wages cut, your ranks dismantled and dispatched to the provinces to make babies who’ll amount to nothing. Who’d turn the blades of the Empire into farmers and tradesmen, leaving you to toil and struggle like common men.”
Dark Shores Page 3