Dark Shores

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Over half of Marcus’s men had been born in the Empire’s provinces, and many—regardless of where they’d been born—would leap at the chance to be common, but that wasn’t something he necessarily wanted a senator knowing. “Even if every one of them voted for you, it wouldn’t be enough. You need the Optimates.”

  Cassius was not popular among the moderates who’d held power for the last decade—he was too power hungry for their tastes. They called him a warmonger. His chances of winning the consulship were not strong.

  Yet if Marcus’s words angered him, Cassius didn’t show it. “You know of Senator Valerius?”

  “Of course.” Valerius had been consul when Marcus was a child—he was an Optimate, a scholar, and known as the voice of peace. He also lived at the very top of the Hill.

  “He has an adopted daughter of questionable heritage who he is most fond of and keen to see well placed. I’ve agreed to marry her—for a price.”

  Marcus set down his glass. “Then you do not need us,” he said, turning to the door. “Good day to you, Senator. We await instructions from the Senate on our next mission.”

  “You will do what I say!”

  Marcus turned to face him. “I will not order them to vote for you—they have little enough freedom as it is. I won’t take this.”

  “That’s surprisingly moralistic, coming from you.”

  “Do not presume to know me.”

  “I know you well enough,” Cassius said. “Unless you show your solidarity, I’ll make sure to send you and yours to the worst hole in the Empire and leave you there for the next twenty years to rot.”

  “You’re threatening the wrong man.” Marcus’s hand went reflexively to his gladius, and the senator’s eyes went with it. He took a step back, glancing at the walls. Of course they were being watched. Men like Cassius didn’t put their lives in danger. Spinning on his heel, Marcus reached for the door, but the senator’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

  “I think I’m threatening precisely the right man, Domitius.”

  Marcus hadn’t been called by his family name since he was eight years old. Since he had lived on the top of this very hill. Family names were struck when boys were sent to Campus Lescendor to begin their training. The Empire was their father and their mother. Their fellow legionnaires their brothers.

  “I’m well acquainted with your family,” Cassius said, coming up behind him. “Of course, you would know that.”

  “The Thirty-Seventh is my family,” Marcus replied, but he had to force the words out of his tight throat. “I know no other.”

  “Please, Legatus. If you were from some obscure plebeian family, I might believe that.”

  Marcus could feel the man’s presence behind him, smell the sweet stink of flowers and oil. “Believe what you will. It is the truth.”

  Cassius chuckled. “As you like. Though you might find it interesting to learn that your elder brother stopped suffering from his fits after you left for the legions. As I understand it, he hasn’t had one since. Don’t you find that fascinating?”

  Ice ran through Marcus’s veins. The compulsion to pull his blade and silence the man standing behind him was overwhelming. An almost unbearable need to stem the tide of words coming from Cassius’s mouth that threatened everything he cared for.

  “I see your brother often, and I find it fascinating how you, the younger, seem so much more mature. Perhaps it’s your reputation. Perhaps it’s the gravitas of your rank and its accoutrements. Then again,” he continued, “perhaps it’s not.”

  “My legion is my family.” Clenching his teeth, Marcus reached for the door, forcing his legs to take him out of the room and down the hall.

  “Succeed in convincing your men to vote for me, Legatus, and I’ll ensure you’re rewarded,” Cassius called, his voice bouncing off the empty corridor. “Fail, and your … family pays the ultimate price.”

  The words sounded hollow and distant, drowned out by the scream inside Marcus’s head. He knows.

  He knows.

  6

  TERIANA

  The alarm bells reverberated through the air, making Teriana’s ears ache. And around them, all the ships began to rock violently, one by one, as though being disturbed by something beneath the murky harbor waters. Which was precisely what was happening.

  Go.

  Bait rowed hard. Teriana sat with her head resting on her hands, elbows balancing on her knees, eyes on the water pooling around her boots. To look anywhere else would invite questions she didn’t want to answer.

  Not that it saved her.

  “By the Six,” Bait said once they’d made it around the rocky outcropping and out of sight of the trade magister. “What were you thinking, Teriana?”

  “She’s in danger.”

  “I don’t care if she’s in open water with sharks circling,” he snapped. “East must not meet West. What you told her is forbidden for a reason. If the Cel were to learn about the West … you know what they’d do. Conquest is in their blood!”

  “First they’d have to find their way across the Endless Seas,” she said. “And that seems unlikely.” Twisting around, Teriana pulled the brim of her hat down to shade her eyes. High on top of the Hill were the senatorial villas, but pathways zigzagged their way down the steep slope toward the series of small coves at its base. They were distant yet, but she could make out the lone figure of a girl sitting on the beach in one of the coves, her gaze fixed on the sand.

  “Lydia! Lydia!” she shouted, and when it became clear that her friend was not mortally wounded her fear slid aside to make room for her anger. Anger that melted away the second the other girl lifted her face to reveal an expression as grim as Teriana had ever seen it. “I need to talk to her alone,” she said to Bait.

  Jumping out of the boat once they reached the shallows, she held the wrapped book high above her head until she was on dry sand, then trotted up the beach to where her friend sat. “The only thing it appears you need help with is escaping the sun. You look like a boiled lobster.” Pulling off her battered hat, she plunked it down on Lydia’s head. “There.”

  Lydia’s only response was a slight tremor in her jaw. Her friend finally said, “You might have mentioned Magnius was a sea monster.”

  “He isn’t.” Teriana grinned, determined to diffuse the situation with levity. “He just looks like one. What did you think he was? Some sort of handsome merman who’d swim up to the beach and give you a kiss?”

  The corners of Lydia’s mouth crept up. “I thought he was going to eat me.”

  “Why would he do that?” Teriana punched Lydia gently on the shoulder. “You’ve got less meat on you than the half-eaten wing of a scrawny chicken. Besides…” She hesitated, knowing this subject was dangerous territory.

  The power of the gods was dependent upon belief. In an age past, they’d held sway in the East, but the rulers of the then-young Empire had railed against the idea of a power higher than their privileged seats. They condemned those who placed their faith in the Six, slowly eradicating the practice through punishment and the erasure of knowledge until the gods lost their hold. And as the Empire’s control spread north and south, faith in the Six dwindled until the gods could no longer touch these lands. Could no longer even see them.

  If Teriana was caught admitting her belief, she could be arrested for paganism, which risked all her people being persecuted. But Lydia was different. Lydia, she could trust. “Magnius is a demigod. A scion of Madoria, Goddess of the Seas. He isn’t ruled by hunger.”

  “There is no such thing as gods,” Lydia muttered. “All can be explained by logic and reason.”

  Or maybe she isn’t so different. Teriana made a face. “Well, aren’t we just a good little parrot today. Though if I do say so myself, you’d be a lot more convincing if you hadn’t just confessed to speaking with an overgrown sea snake.”

  “True,” Lydia said, staring at the sea.

  “What’s wrong?” Teriana gave her arm a shake. “Tel
l me what’s happened to keep you from walking down to the harbor yourself.”

  Lydia’s straight white teeth sank into her bottom lip. Then she said, “My father has forbidden me to go to the harbor.”

  “That so?” Teriana frowned, feeling her pulse racing beneath her skin as trepidation filled her. “Hate agreeing with a senator, but you were well to stay away today. Whole city’s in an uproar since Lucius Cassius announced he’s running for consul.” Her brow furrowed. “If he wins, all Maarin ships will be giving wide berth to harbors under the Empire’s control.”

  “Did you hear as well that Lucius Cassius has decided to take a new wife?”

  “Hadn’t,” Teriana said, wondering when Lydia would explain herself. “Though I pity the poor girl he’s chosen.”

  Then she saw Lydia clench her fingers around handfuls of sand, and realization stabbed like a knife into her core. “No…”

  Lydia nodded slowly. “My father signed the contract. A week after the elections, I will be the property of Lucius Cassius.” Lydia lifted her face, eyes full of desperation. “I need you to take me with you.”

  Which had been exactly what Teriana had said she would do.

  And it was exactly the one thing she couldn’t do.

  Resting her chin on her knees, Teriana said, “If it were my ship, I would, but my mum refuses to even consider the idea. It’s forbidden for us to take passengers, and she’s … rigid.”

  “I know she is.” Lydia pressed her fingers to her forehead, jerking them away when they touched burnt skin. “And I know it’s not your decision.”

  “I’m sorry—” Teriana started to say, but Lydia held up a hand to stop her, giving her head a weary shake.

  Then she poked the package sitting on the sand. “Did you bring me a gift to soften the blow?”

  There was no good answer to that, so Teriana pulled the wax covering off the thick tome, passed it to Lydia, then spun a pair of gold bangles around her wrist, casting her mind out to Magnius. You sure this is a good idea, old man?

  The only response she got was the mental version of a shrug, which was little comfort.

  “Treatise of the Seven.” Lydia traced a finger over the embossed cover. “The seven what?”

  “The Seven Harem Girls.” Nerves made the joke sound jarring and not even a little bit funny. She swallowed hard. “The Seven Gods of the West—the Dark Shores.” The tome told the stories of the rare occasions the gods had stepped onto the mortal plane, as well as detailing the acts of the individuals they marked with their gifts.

  Her friend blinked. “I’ll be in all sorts of trouble if I’m caught with this, Teriana.”

  “So you don’t want it?” Teriana reached for the book, but Lydia hugged it to her chest, sun reflecting off her spectacles.

  “I didn’t say that. Almost no one reads Trader’s Tongue, anyway. I could tell them it was a cookbook and they wouldn’t know the difference.”

  Teriana flopped back on the sand, shading her eyes, wondering if she should inform her friend that what the Cel called Trader’s Tongue was the language spoken in Mudamora, the largest kingdom of the West, then decided against it. “The Six preserve me from crazy Cel girls and scholars. Do you even know how to cook?”

  “Of course I don’t.” Lydia flipped through the pages. “What about the seventh god?”

  “The Corrupter.” Teriana licked her lips in a failed attempt to moisten them. “Only a select few invoke his name, and they aren’t the sort you’d care to cross paths with.”

  “And why are you giving me this?”

  Teriana swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy. “You said you needed help.”

  “And your suggestion is that I ask your gods for it?” Lydia’s lips pinched together, turning almost colorless.

  “There are as many paths as there are travelers,” Teriana said, repeating what Magnius had told her. “You must find the right one.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Before Teriana could answer, Bait approached. “Captain wants to sail with the next tide.”

  Which wasn’t for hours, but what good would she do by lingering? “I need to go.”

  Lydia nodded, and then Bait came a few steps closer, holding out a glittering object. “I think this is yours, Lydia.”

  The three of them stared at the bracelet. It was engraved with Celendorian marriage vows of obedience, and to Teriana it had all the appeal of wearing a poisonous snake around her wrist. Lydia’s scowl suggested she thought the same as she slid the bracelet onto her wrist.

  Teriana rose, pulling Lydia to her feet, then embracing her tightly, her chest constricting as Lydia pulled away first. “I’m sorry. I wish—”

  “It’s fine,” Lydia said. “Vibius is apparently thrilled about the union, so even after my father passes, I’ll be of value to Cassius. I’m sure he’ll treat me well enough.”

  “Right.” Teriana stood frozen in place, knowing she should say something but for once at a loss for words. And when Bait took her hand, tugging her insistently away from Lydia, she didn’t resist.

  “She’ll be all right,” he said when they reached the boat, squeezing her fingers. “Lydia’s clever.”

  Instead of answering, Teriana took hold of the boat and shoved it into the surf, feeling Magnius’s presence as the water splashed against her skin. That was a waste of time, she thought. Might as well have given her a washtub and soup spoon and told her to start paddling.

  She waited for the guardian to answer, and when he did not she snatched the oars from Bait’s hands and set to rowing, hoping the tears burning on her cheeks would be confused for sweat. It was only when the beach was far from sight that Magnius’s voice echoed in her mind.

  She found her way here, Teriana. With faith, she will find her way back.

  7

  TERIANA

  Three months later …

  Teriana perched on the railing of the Quincense, idly watching a body rise from the depths as she toyed with a gold and diamond bead decorating one of her dark braids. The corpse bobbed to the surface, features bloated beyond recognition. Another floated to join him, the two bobbing side by side in the surf like two comrades deep in conversation. Out of habit, Teriana searched for the gleam of jewels or gold on their fingers, but found none.

  It had only been chance that they’d come across the wreck of another Maarin ship, Magnius catching sight of it as they sailed down the coast of Celendor, selling silks they’d picked up in Bardeen in some of the smaller port cities. They’d get a better price in Celendrial, but even though it had been three months since Teriana had left Lydia on that beach, her mother still refused to consider returning to the Empire’s capital.

  Frowning, Teriana turned to the hourglass mounted on the rail. Bait had been down there a long time—he’d better have found something more interesting than dead sailors.

  Watching the corpses float away, Teriana lifted her chin to regard the island of Atlia. From where she stood on the ship, it seemed grey and inhospitable, but that was only a trick of light and mist. The lush smells of foliage and fertile earth betrayed the island’s true colors. She half-imagined the aroma of the dark drink the islanders brewed. The scent grew stronger, and she turned at the sound of footsteps coming up behind her.

  “Quit fretting,” her mum said. “Bait knows what he’s about. Or at least he better, given what I pay him.”

  “I’m not fretting.” Teriana took the porcelain cup her mum was holding and blew on the steaming liquid before taking a sip and handing it back. Despite her words, her attention drifted back to the turned hourglass, the last grains of sand raining down to form a perfectly peaked mountain. “Just enjoying a moment of free time.”

  “Free time was not part of the terms of your punishment.”

  Teriana was not quite forgiven for what she’d told Lydia. She fought the urge to tell her mum to let it go. That what was done was done. But doing so would probably earn her another month of swabbing the decks.

 
“Those were not your secrets,” Tesya said under her breath, as though reading her daughter’s thoughts. “They’re the secrets of our people. Secrets that Madoria forbids us to reveal to anyone, under any circumstances. The East and the West must be kept apart. They must be protected from each other.” Her mouth thinned into a tight line. “Your immortal soul may be lost to the underworld for this.”

  Teriana thought her mum was overreacting. After all, Magnius hadn’t been angry with her for telling Lydia about him—and he was the goddess’s scion, which meant his opinion mattered more. Not that she’d ever say that. Magnius’s opinion might hold more weight, but that didn’t mean her mother wouldn’t give her another hiding for arguing.

  “And telling a Cel girl of all people,” her mum muttered, setting her cup on the railing.

  “She’s not Cel, and you know it. I’d bet my last copper that she was born in the West.” The words were out before she could think.

  “That may be true,” her mum replied. “But she’s been raised as a Cel lady. And in a few days, she’ll be wed to the worst of them.”

  “Not by choice.” Teriana dug her fingernails into the wood railing, easily calling to mind the misery on Lydia’s face when she’d told her about the contract. “Don’t know what her father was thinking.”

  “Bah!” Tesya spit into the ocean. “Stupid Cel—always thinking women need men to survive.” She shook her head. “Lydia’s father might be motivated by emotion, but Cassius is motivated by politics. He’s using the girl to get to her father.” She gave Teriana a sharp jab in the shoulder. “And thanks to your loose lips, he might use her to get to us as well.”