Dark Shores

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Except for the girl.

  Her screams had been too much. Five fingernails had been all he could take.

  Then you threatened the lives of everyone she knew. Everyone she loved.

  “But she’s bloody well still alive!” he shouted at the waves. “And so is everyone she was so desperate to protect!”

  “Umm, Legatus? Sir?”

  Marcus twisted around. One of his men was standing where the sand met the scrub grass, studying the ground with more interest than it deserved. Marcus cringed internally at how it must look, him sitting naked on the sand, shouting curses at the waves. “What is it?”

  “There’s a patrician in the camp to see you, sir. We told him you were busy, but he won’t leave.”

  “Cassius?” Marcus picked up his tunic and pulled it over his head.

  “No, sir. A Gaius Domitius.”

  Marcus’s hands fumbled on the buckle of his sandal. His day was not improving. “Tell him I’ll be along shortly.”

  * * *

  It had been a lifetime ago when Marcus had last seen his little brother, who, at nineteen years old, could no longer be described as little. Not when Marcus was only twenty himself, the small gap in their ages being what had allowed them to switch identities. And there was no mistaking them for anything other than siblings. Servius was in the process of handing a cup to Gaius when Marcus came in, and it was clear he’d noticed the resemblance as his gaze flicked between the two of them.

  “I’ll ensure you have no interruptions, sir.” Saluting, he exited the tent.

  “What are you doing here, Gaius?” Marcus asked, walking to the table and setting his knife on top of a pile of maps.

  “I should ask you the same thing.” His brother’s face was flushed and he reeked of wine.

  “By orders of the Senate.” Marcus gestured at Gaius’s white toga. “As you should know.”

  “By the Senate or by Cassius?” Gaius crossed his arms. They were thin and soft. The arms of a politician. “How much did he have to bribe you with to coerce your entire legion to vote for him? Or was being put in command of this fool’s errand of a mission enough for you? Yet another piece of land for you to burn and pillage your way across?”

  Staring at his brother for a long moment, Marcus considered his response, then settled with, “Cassius knows we switched identities.”

  The color slowly drained from Gaius’s face. “How?”

  “The physician at the healing springs. Cassius is adept at digging up dirt, but I suspect you know that.”

  Gaius took a mouthful of wine, the cup in his hand trembling as the ramifications of what Marcus had told him settled. “This is all happening because of you,” he finally said.

  “And you.” His brother’s hair was long, as was fashionable, and sandy brown. Marcus wondered if his would be the same if allowed to grow. They had the same color eyes.

  “No.” Gaius shook his head rapidly. “This wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t come back.”

  Marcus pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead; the room was faintly spinning. “No. I rather think that I am back because Cassius decided it was time for things to start happening.”

  “Liar!” Gaius tossed the cup across the tent, splattering the pale canvas with red wine. “He’s going to ruin me because of you!”

  Marcus shook his head, studying the red stain. It looked like blood. “Not if we keep him happy.” He coughed, the action making his muscles ache. Blast this dusty country.

  “You mean if you keep him happy.” Gaius’s words sounded distant. “You’re the one who put him in power.”

  “Be glad of that,” Marcus said, pouring a glass of water and downing it. “He’d have taken it out on you otherwise.”

  “Don’t pretend you did it for me. You did it to protect yourself and to ensure he sent you on this insane mission to conquer the Dark Shores. Who knows what other sordid tasks he has you doing.”

  “I’ll dirty my hands so you don’t have to.” The ground was moving, and Marcus felt a familiar tightness in his chest. Not now, not now! his mind screamed. “I’ll do what it takes to keep our family safe.”

  “They aren’t your family.”

  The air in the tent was tinged with red. After all he had done, everything he had given up, how dare Gaius come here and try to disown him?

  “You were supposed to die. They said you would—that there was no chance you’d survive.” Gaius shook his head from side to side. “I wish you had. I wish you would.”

  The comment carved out a hollow in Marcus’s stomach. It was one thing to know his parents had made a pragmatic choice between him and his brother. Quite another to realize that his brother actually wanted him dead. “I’m sorry my continued existence has inconvenienced you.” He heard the faint wheeze in his voice. So did Gaius.

  His brother laughed. And laughed. “After all this time,” he finally managed to get out, “you’re still sickly. You’ve come so far and yet not far at all.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe your men follow you. Or. Do. They. Know?” he asked, pantomiming one of Marcus’s attacks, just as he had done when they were children. “Maybe your illness will do me a great favor and finally carry you off tonight.”

  Marcus’s self-control snapped. He tackled Gaius and they fell through the side of the tent. Marcus could barely breathe, barely think, but that didn’t stop his fists. All that mattered was making Gaius hurt as badly as he’d been hurt. Making him suffer the way he had suffered. Through the haze of his attack, he could see his brother holding his hands up in pathetic defense, hear him squealing. Then arms had Marcus around the waist and were dragging him off. Dimly, he heard Servius’s voice in his ear and Felix’s farther off shouting orders. Then he was back in his tent, Servius laying him down on the pallet.

  “Can’t. Breathe.”

  “I know,” Servius said. “But no one else needs to. You tough it out, my friend, and we’ll take care of the rest ’til morning.”

  Marcus dug his fingers into the bedroll, desperately trying to suck enough air into his lungs. Maybe Gaius was right. Maybe his illness would take him tonight.

  And if it did, maybe he deserved it.

  13

  TERIANA

  “Rise and shine, pirate girl!”

  Teriana jerked, her eyes struggling to focus on the legionnaire standing on the far side of the room. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, recognizing Servius.

  “At your service,” he said with a grin. “Unless you were hoping for someone else?”

  “I was hoping to be left alone,” she snapped, sitting upright. The motion jarred her injured hand.

  “Nah. That would be boring,” he said. “Nothing to do in here but watch the rosy-cheeked ladies of the Forty-First marching about and making a racket.” He crossed the room and peered out the window. “And not even a very good view of it.”

  Now that her senses were clearing, Teriana could hear the sound of marching feet accompanied by horns and drums. She couldn’t believe she’d slept through it. Pressing her uninjured hand to her face, she pieced together the bits she could remember of the prior evening. After that demon of a legatus had finished with his endless questions, his men had brought her to a building near the Forum. A Cel physician accompanied by two older servant women had treated her hand, but not before giving her something to dull the pain. That something had dulled her senses, because she had no memory of anything after.

  Teriana blinked away tears. She’d had every intention of finding a way to escape in the middle of the night. To rescue her mum and her crew, steal back the Quincense, and bugger up all the plans of Legatus Marcus. She made a face as she thought of him and his self-assured expression.

  Instead of doing any of that, she’d slept, her dreams plagued by visions of Lydia laughing as she revealed every secret Teriana had ever told her. Now it was morning, and in a few hours Cassius would officially be consul and she’d have to stand in front of the entire Senate and promise to take Legatus Marcu
s and his pig legion across the Endless Seas.

  “What about him?”

  “What?” She turned to look at Servius.

  “You’ve just said the legatus’s name twice. Legatus Marcus,” he said, parroting the sarcastic tone she hadn’t realized she’d used aloud.

  “I’m cursing his name,” she snapped, feeling her cheeks warm.

  “Right.” He grinned. “You’re not the first.” Coming across the room, he emptied the sack he was carrying. “Brought you some choice of clothes. The ones you have on aren’t fit for wearing.”

  “You went through my things?” she demanded, recognizing the garments.

  “No!” He frowned at her. “I did no such thing. I had one of your lady crew members retrieve them. She wanted me to take only black shirts for you—kept saying some sort of nonsense about it being fitting—but I liked this one better.” He nudged the bright blue silk blouse with his foot.

  Teriana barely heard him. Black was for days of mourning, but it was also what traitors and blasphemers were forced to wear. Her crew knew what she had agreed to. And they hated her for it. She could only hope they’d forgive her once she had a chance to explain that she’d been trying to save their lives.

  Teriana coughed to clear her throat. “How is my mum?”

  “Recovering. She’s down the hall from you.”

  She’d been so close! If only she hadn’t let them drug her, she might have been able to get them both away. Teriana shoved her fingertips against the bedroll, punishing herself with the pain that she should have suffered through last night. “Can I see her?”

  Servius shook his head. “We don’t have time for that now. I’ll speak to the legatus and ask if you might see her before they take her away to the safe house.”

  “What?” Teriana demanded, tugging off the blouse she’d been wearing for days, along with the snug undershirt beneath, both reeking of sweat and worse. The blue silk Servius had chosen felt glorious in comparison, the fabric holding the faint scent she associated with the Quincense. Wood polish and the brine of the sea, along with the faint hint of cedar and orange blossoms from the sachets her aunt Yedda always tucked in her clothing chest. “What do you mean, they’re taking her away?”

  He made a distressed sound and covered his eyes with one hand until she was finished dressing. “It’s for her own safety,” he said. “Not everyone is pleased about the Empire taking on another expensive campaign. They’d rather spend the gold on other things, like, er-r … schools and … whatnot. And without you, the mission would at the very least be delayed.”

  “And if my mum were to die, they think I’d have no reason to help you.” Teriana’s mind raced. How soon would they take her mother away? How much time did she have?

  “True. But even if she were to die, it isn’t as though Cassius doesn’t have other methods of making you do what he wants, and his opposition knows that.” He grimaced. “That’s why you’ll both be under guard by my men day and night until we leave. And the sooner that happens, the better.”

  That is all a matter of perspective, Teriana thought as she laced up her vest, then pulled on one boot. “I heard some of the schools were to be built in Atlia. I’d have thought you’d prefer to see that than to travel to the far side of the world in search of war.”

  “Why would I care about schools in Atlia?”

  “Given you’re brown as a nut and as big as an ox, I assumed that was where you were born. Where your family lives. Am I wrong?”

  He looked away. “I was born the day I walked through the gates of Campus Lescendor. The Empire is my father and my mother. The men of the Thirty-Seventh are my brothers. I am a legionnaire.”

  The words slipped off his tongue like he’d been made to repeat them many times. Which perhaps he had. “Nice speech,” she said. “Make it up yourself or did you have help?”

  Huffing out an amused breath, Servius shook his head. “We are made to forget everything that came before Lescendor, Teriana. And there are consequences to not doing as Mother Empire demands.”

  “Right.” Teriana reached for her other boot, pulling the soft leather up to her knee and then accepting the apple Servius handed to her.

  “You can eat while we walk. Cassius wants you there for the ceremony.”

  Men waited for them on the street, all saluting when they saw Servius. One handed him a helmet, which he jammed on his head. “To the Forum,” he said. “If we don’t all perish from the heat on the way.”

  For all she hated the Cel, their capital city was a work of art: all columns and archways, statues, and fountains. This close to the Forum, the roadways were wide and clean, the pristine white of the structures unmarred by the mud and splattered waste found in the district nearest to the harbor, where the narrow and cluttered alleys welcomed such behavior. Golden dragons flapped on the faint breeze, and panels of Bardeen silk hung from balconies, turning the route they traveled into a rainbow of color. The men arrayed themselves around her and Servius, walking swiftly and silently, their eyes always moving as they scanned the shadows between buildings and the faces of the civilians milling about the streets. Servius kept unnervingly close to her, continually switching from her left to her right side as they walked. She had the uncomfortable sensation of being herded. Sunlight glinted off their armor, off their shields, off the tips of their spears, making her feel like she was being cooked alive in a giant metal oven. The scent of the sweat dripping down their necks mixed with the inevitable stench of a large city and filled her nose.

  The shouts and cheers from the Forum grew, thousands blending together into one deafening voice. As they rounded the bend, the entrance reared high, crimson and gold flags dancing above. A great line of legionnaires marched through, eight abreast. As the tail end of the line snaked out of sight, the sound of trotting hooves became audible. Servius called for his company to halt, and they all slammed the butts of their spears against the ground in unison, standing stock still but for their searching gazes.

  A trio of red-plumed horses appeared, their white heads tossing as they swiftly pulled the chariot up the street. Teriana recognized Lucius Cassius as one of the passengers. The other she thought for a moment was Legatus Marcus, but when he turned his helmeted head the weak chin revealed otherwise. “Who’s that?”

  “Legatus Titus of the Forty-First.”

  “Why’s he riding with Cassius? Thought he and Legatus Marcus”—she injected as much sarcasm as she could—“were as tight as ticks.”

  “You tell me,” was all the answer she got. Squinting, she took another look at the approaching chariot. There was something familiar about the young officer. Cassius caught sight of her just before turning into the Forum and he lifted his hand to waggle his fingers. Titus turned to see who the consul was waving at, and his beady eyes bored into her own. “They’re related,” she muttered. “His son?”

  “If you believe the gossip.”

  “Didn’t realize legionnaires gossiped,” Teriana said, her curiosity about Legatus Titus chasing away her fear of having a passerby stick a knife in her back.

  “Oh, we’re worse than a sewing circle of meddling matriarchs,” said a soldier standing next to her. It was the first time one of them had spoken, and she turned to look at him with a start. Beneath his helmet, grey eyes and a boyish smile accosted her. He had a nick in his chin where he had likely cut himself shaving that morning.

  “Especially this chatterbox.” Servius gave the other legionnaire’s spear a shove, knocking it against the man’s helmet. “Mind on the job, Quintus.”

  “Yes, sir.” The legionnaire turned his head away, but a faint smile remained on his face.

  “Thought you were supposed to forget where you came from and who you were?” she asked.

  “Some people have less incentive to forget.”

  They stood in silence while Cassius ascended the rostrum, the crowds shrieking in delight. Then Servius gave her a gentle push on the shoulder.

  “Look sharp, lads,”
he said. “Forward!” Surrounded by her marching bodyguard, Teriana stepped into the Forum.

  The Forum was a rectangular open space surrounded by buildings on all sides, and it was currently full to the brim with civilians, the ranks of soldiers the only thing keeping the path to the rostrum open. The crowd’s noise diminished as they caught sight of her, and Teriana heard whispers questioning why a Maarin girl was part of the consul’s ceremony. She realized at about the same time the crowd did why she was here. Like the legions of old who used to parade in triumph after a great victory over a foreign people, Cassius had added her to his march to show he had triumphed over the Maarin. She might not be in chains, but the symbolism was the same, and as soon as the crowd realized it their volume grew. Only now there were jeers on their tongues, their faces malicious and taunting.

  It scared her. But more than that, the crowd’s reaction hurt. The Maarin were well regarded across all of Reath, by people of every nation, and the Cel were no different. Or so she’d thought. But these men and women were screaming for her blood. For worse things than her blood, and Teriana didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand how they could swing so far in the opposite direction in the space of an instant. Didn’t understand how they could feel so much hate for her when neither she nor her people had done anything to deserve it. The Maarin brought knowledge and trade, but the Cel were treating her like she was their enemy.

  “Chin up,” Servius said. “This is Cassius grandstanding for his supporters—it’s naught to do with you.”

  But the crossbow bolt that bit into the ground in front of her said otherwise.

  14

  MARCUS

  A trio of horses appeared at the entrance of the Forum, and Marcus squinted into the sun, watching them tow Cassius and Titus down the lane created by ranks of the Forty-First. He’d fought hard against the choice of the younger legion. They were untested, and there were commanders of other legions with whom he had a better rapport. With whom he had fought alongside. Frankly, he’d rather have taken the newly minted Forty-Fifth with him than this lot. Five thousand twelve-year-olds would have been better than Cassius’s son. Yet therein lay the reason the Forty-First had been selected. While Cassius could never officially claim Titus as his son, everyone knew it, and any victories Titus won would, unofficially, bolster Cassius’s reputation. There was a great deal of honor to be had from a son achieving officer status in the legions, all gained from carefully made comments at luncheons and dinner parties. Under other circumstances, Marcus’s own father might have benefited from his success, but he doubted the patriarch of the Domitius family would risk drawing attention to his crime. Better to behave as though his son had never existed.