Dark Shores

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Titus reined in the chariot in front of the rostrum, and Cassius strode up the steps to the center of the platform, holding up his hand in greeting, to the roaring delight of the crowd.

  With the ceremony about to begin in earnest, the patricians poured out of the cool interior of the Curia, the senators’ red sashes like splashes of blood against the gleaming white of their togas. None of them paid him any mind except for one: Both eyes bruised black and nose so swollen it must be broken, Gaius glared malevolently at him. Then, with an almost imperceptible motion, he nudged their father with his elbow.

  Marcus held his breath, unable to move and barely able to think as he waited for his father to turn his head. To see him. To know him. But the senator did not so much as twitch, and in an instant Marcus was transported back in time to the cool winter morning when he’d last seen his father’s face. There is honor in this, my son, his father had said, eyes on the dirt between them. I will not forget the sacrifice you’ve made for the sake of our family.

  Even as a child, Marcus hadn’t believed him.

  Marcus snapped back to attention as his own men started marching down the lane toward the rostrum, Servius and Teriana in their midst. This was yet another concession Marcus had been forced to make. He’d wanted the Maarin girl holed up and protected by his men until they left, but Cassius had insisted on parading her about and risking her life every minute that he did so. He was spinning circumstances to make the whole city believe that he had done the impossible and conquered the Maarin. That he had been the consul to bring the last holdout of civilization in the East under the Empire’s control.

  The crowd was jeering now, pressing against the line of legionnaires and shouting vulgarities. It was made up of Cassius’s supporters, and there was a marked difference between these people and the enormous crowds he’d seen protesting the imprisonment and planned execution of the Maarin crews earlier that morning. A certain righteousness in the eyes of the men and women before him that made Marcus’s breakfast sit poorly in his guts, because just like them, he had voted for Cassius. But unlike them, he took no pleasure in Cassius’s posturing. In truth, most of the city didn’t. The peregrini, in particular, were incensed, demanding the release of the Maarin, promising violence if they weren’t, and given the people from the provinces made up half of Celendrial’s population, it was no small threat. The consul had fractured the city with this move against the Maarin, and it remained uncertain whether the Dark Shores campaign would make things better or worse.

  Teriana sauntered with her head high, waist-length braids swaying back and forth, face not showing any signs that the crowd’s insults mattered or that she heard them at all. If she didn’t look conquered, it was because she wasn’t. Teriana still had some tricks up her sleeve, and Marcus was keen to discover what they were.

  A flash of metal caught his eye just before Teriana leapt backward.

  “Shit,” he swore, then leapt off the rostrum, shouting at Titus, “Control the crowd,” as he sprinted past the other legatus. Servius had Teriana on the ground, and the men had pulled their shields together to form a protective dome. It took a bolt bouncing off those shields, then another puncturing the armor of a boy in the Forty-First, before the crowd reacted. Screams filled the air as the crowd turned into a mob, pushing and shoving, everyone trying to flee the confines of the Forum. Marcus ignored them, searching the surrounding buildings for sign of the crossbowman.

  There. He spotted the man crouched behind a cornice on the Great Library. The would-be assassin scampered across the roof in the direction of the public offices. There was no way Marcus could make it through the crowd to cut him off, and once the assassin had mixed in with the mob there would be no tracking him down.

  Snatching a spear out of the hands of one of the Forty-First, Marcus hefted it to throw, then thought better of it. He didn’t have the arm for this great a distance. “Servius!”

  His big friend clambered out from under the interlocked shields, and Marcus tossed him the spear. “There.” He pointed.

  Servius needed barely a heartbeat to mark the path of his target. He took a few running strides and heaved the spear through the air with a grunt. Marcus watched as the spear sliced through the air and into the assassin’s back, knocking him facedown. The body lay still for a moment, then slid down the roof, gaining speed as it went, dropping like a lead weight onto the steps of the library below.

  Ignoring the pressing mob, Marcus stepped closer to the dome of shields protecting Teriana. “Stand down.” With the ease of much practice, the men disentangled themselves, revealing the Maarin girl sitting cross-legged in the dirt. Only the midnight waves of her eyes revealed her as anything other than as cool as a cup of water.

  “I hope you are providing better protection for my mother than you are for me, Legatus.”

  “You complain a great deal for someone who is still alive,” he said. “And your would-be assassin is dead.” He gestured toward the corpse bleeding all over the library steps.

  She glanced at the body, and only the slight tightening of her jaw indicated that she thought anything of it at all. “You killed him?”

  He blinked. “No. But—”

  “Then don’t take credit for it,” she interrupted. Without another word, she walked toward the rostrum.

  “Lunatic of a woman,” he muttered under his breath. He realized his men were all staring at him. “Well? Go after her!”

  Feeling oddly unnerved, Marcus scanned the Forum. It had cleared, but not without cost. Dozens of plebeians lay on the ground, some moaning and crying, some still. And Titus’s legion was doing nothing to help them.

  “You!” he shouted. “And you.” The two centurions hurried in his direction. “Get your medics working on the injured and send someone to the physician’s college for assistance. Put the dead in the corner out of the sun before they start to stink.” He watched long enough to ensure the centurions complied before he made his way over to the corpse of the assassin.

  Crouching, he examined the assassin’s face, but it was no one he recognized. Habit made him pull down the corner of the man’s tunic to check for a legion number, but as he had expected, there was none. If there had been, Teriana would have been dead and this man would have disappeared into the city.

  Catching sight of the fallen crossbow, Marcus picked it up, the weapon familiar the second he had it in his grip. He hardly needed to examine it to know it would have the Cel dragon stamped on it. This crossbow was made for the legions, and it wasn’t old enough to belong to a retiree. Straightening, he cast his gaze upon the men standing on and around the rostrum. Most of the senators were hurrying in the direction of the Curia, their eyes searching the building tops. His attention shifted to Cassius.

  The consul was shouting and waving his hands about, demanding answers for the disruption of his ceremony and the attack on his asset. Except Marcus knew Cassius was a coward. That if he believed there was a chance a crossbow bolt was coming in his direction, he’d be the first in that pack of sweating senators scuttling for cover. No doubt he’d play this off as an Optimate assassin intent on disrupting a military campaign, but Marcus was not so easily fooled.

  Yet the question remained, why would the consul want Teriana dead? She’d been the only one of her people they’d been able to crack, the only one willing to unlock the door to the West. Killing her seemed counter to everything Cassius wanted.

  Had it been a ruse? A subversive attack on the opposition?

  Or was it motivated by the contract between the Empire and Teriana that was about to be signed?

  Marcus himself had given the terms to the lawyers drafting the document, not wanting to leave anything to chance. He’d already read it to ensure it was to his liking, and he would read it again before he’d sign it, just in case. The crux of it was simple: Teriana guided the legion fleet through the xenthier stem to the Dark Shores, then remained on as his advisor until Marcus was able to discover and secure land-based xenthier stems
between the Dark Shores and the Empire. At that point she, her mother, and the captive crews would be allowed to go free. She’d also insisted that the agreement include a clause pardoning all Maarin ships and crews from the charge of paganism, which carried a death sentence. Once the agreement was signed, and once Teriana had delivered, the Maarin would be free to go about their business unmolested, much as they always had.

  And given that Cassius had just grandstanded in front of his peers and his supporters that he’d been the consul to bring the entire East under the dominion of the Empire, Marcus could see how the man might consider that aspect of the agreement a problem. The contract was with Teriana, specifically, not with her people, which meant if she died and was therefore unable to fulfill her obligations, the contract would be void. Cassius would be free to dedicate his term to conquering the Maarin, ensuring his place in Celendor’s history books even if his actions netted the Empire nothing but blood.

  Killing Teriana was a gambit, risking their ability to reach the Dark Shores, but given the number of ships they had captured across the Empire, Cassius had close to six hundred Maarin sailors he could work through to find a replacement who wouldn’t be so demanding in his or her terms.

  “Shit,” Marcus muttered under his breath, his eyes shifting back to where Teriana stood speaking with Cassius on the rostrum with Servius hovering nearby. Cassius had one hand resting on Teriana’s shoulder, either not noticing or not caring that she was cringing away from him in disgust. Handing off the crossbow to one of Titus’s men and giving the order to have the dead man sketched to see if he could be identified, Marcus strode toward them.

  “Perhaps we might go inside where our backs are somewhat less exposed to errant crossbow bolts,” he said, shouldering his way between Cassius and Teriana, then nudging her in the direction of the Curia.

  “Worried about your own back, Legatus?” Cassius quipped, following them at a leisurely pace.

  Marcus rapped his knuckles against the thick steel protecting his torso. “Not mine, Consul. Not mine. But it seems not everyone is pleased about your plans for your consulship, so you should be worried about yours.” Best to let Cassius believe him fooled by the ruse.

  They entered the Curia, the cavernous building infinitely cooler than the Forum, and as Servius moved in closer, Marcus said, “Triple the guards on her, Tesya, and the Quincense’s crew. Anytime we take her anywhere, I want the route cleared of civilians and ours on the roofs.”

  Teriana looked up at him, her eyes turbid seas of grey. “Worried?”

  Yes.

  “Let’s get your paperwork signed,” he said. “I want to be underway tomorrow.”

  Her eyes widened. “Tomorrow?”

  If they could be at sea today, he’d do it. If he could be at sea in the next hour, it would be even better. Because with every step he took, Marcus grew more convinced that there was a target painted on Teriana’s back and Cassius was the one pointing the weapon. And not just at her, but at her entire people. But Marcus had no intention of allowing Cassius to slaughter hundreds of Maarin for no reason beyond the pursuit of glory and fame, just as he had no intention of allowing Cassius to jeopardize the only chance he had to get his legion out from beneath the Senate’s thumb. And himself beyond Cassius’s reach to blackmail.

  The consul could come at Teriana all he wanted, but he’d have to go through Marcus and the Thirty-Seventh to get her.

  15

  TERIANA

  She was almost out of time.

  Teriana waited until long after dark, when her guards would think she was fast asleep, before making her move. She’d greased the hinges on the window with butter from her dinner, carefully easing it open and closed a few times until she was certain no creaks would betray her.

  Not that anyone was likely to notice a squeaky hinge over the noise of the celebrations in the city. Cassius had put his considerable wealth to work, and all of Celendrial seemed to be out in the streets. Firecrackers banged over the harbor, and she prayed her crew had truly finished the Quincense’s repairs. This would all be for naught if her ship wasn’t at least close to seaworthy. Never mind that they’d need to fight their way free of the legionnaires standing guard over them. Three times the number of guards who had been on the ship this morning, thanks to Legatus Marcus’s caution.

  Tying her bootlaces together, she draped them over her neck and climbed onto the sill, scanning the darkness for guards. She suspected they were there, but it was a moonless night and with her dark skin and black clothes no one would be able to make her out in the shadows as long as she was quiet. The street below was obscured by darkness, but her earlier assessment had shown that it was flat and free of anything she had to worry about landing on. Teriana had no fear of heights, having grown up in the rigging of her ship, but she still felt a wave of vertigo as she flipped around, toes clinging to the narrow ledge and hands reaching for the even narrower ledge above. Her injured fingers screamed where they rubbed against the stone as she slid along, but the pain was nothing in comparison to her fear of losing this opportunity.

  A hot wind caught at her hair and clothes, blowing bits of dust into her eyes. Teriana squeezed them shut, burning tears running down her face as she inched sideways. She made it to the first window without incident, clinging to the frame while she struggled to catch her breath. Every moment she lingered was one they could be using to get away, so before her nerves had settled she eased back onto the ledge.

  The wind picked up again, swirling around and pulling at her from all angles. Teriana pressed herself tight against the wall, her heart racing. Even if the fall wouldn’t kill her, she’d probably break enough bones to wish it had. Her arms trembled from the effort of staying balanced and her toes were cramping. She reached the next window with no small amount of relief.

  It was short-lived. There was faint light coming from the room, and to her horror, she could hear voices.

  “What are you doing here? Have you lost your mind?”

  Teriana recognized Legatus Marcus’s voice.

  “You’re leaving tomorrow.” A young woman’s voice. “This was the only opportunity I had to see you, and for obvious reasons, I couldn’t do it through more legitimate channels.”

  If she hadn’t been in such a precarious position, Teriana would’ve rolled her eyes. Lydia had told her about patrician women taking legionnaires into their beds, so it was no surprise to her that that a young man as attractive as Marcus would have caught their attention. Tuning out their conversation, Teriana debated what steps to take next. Obviously she couldn’t go across the window—Marcus might see her. That left climbing over or going under.

  It was concern over going any higher that made her decision. Holding on to the edge of the window, she bent her knees and, reaching one hand down, she placed it on the ledge. Taking a deep breath, Teriana let herself drop.

  Her arms shuddered with the effort of holding her entire weight, the tips of the fingers of her left hand growing slick with blood. Moving as quickly as she could, she slid one hand sideways. Then the other. She prayed neither of them would see the movement of her fingers in the darkness.

  Once she was across the window, the ledge grew narrow again, barely wide enough to span the first two joints of her fingers. Icy sweat trickled down her arms, and the wind buffeted her legs from side to side. She tried to dig her toes into the tiny cracks in the mortar, but she couldn’t get a grip. Her only chance of making it to the next window was to move quickly.

  Her breath rasping in and out, Teriana moved painstakingly across the gap between the windows. She was almost there. Almost to her mum.

  But her fingers were slipping.

  Little whimpers sneaked past her lips as she fumbled to keep her grip. Her injured fingers slipped, and abruptly she was hanging from one hand, her fingernails scratching against the stone as she desperately reached with her bloody hand to grasp the ledge.

  And missed.

  16

  MARCUS

/>   The table in the center of the room was littered with reports on supplies, ships, and sea conditions, men constantly coming and going with updates on the progress of preparing to load two legions’ worth of men into a fleet of vessels only now making port. Marcus would’ve preferred to have run things from the Thirty-Seventh’s camp, where things were organized to his liking, but this building was where they were keeping Teriana, so in this building he would remain.

  “Feels bloody amazing to be going on campaign again,” Servius said, practically vibrating with energy as he signed off on costs for provisions. Ensuring the legion was supplied and fed was Servius’s domain, the big man always seeming to have a sixth sense about what the Thirty-Seventh might need, particularly when it came to libations.

  “Stand still,” Felix muttered. “I’m trying to write and you’re shaking the rutting table.” Then to Marcus, he said, “Do we really need this many men—”

  “Yes,” Marcus interrupted. “And all of them on point until she’s on the ship and we’re sailing out of the harbor.”

  “You really believe Cassius would take her out now? On the eve of a campaign that hinges upon assistance from the Maarin?”