Dark Shores

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “Yes, Felix. For the hundredth time, I do believe that.” Marcus was tired, his patience for Felix’s questions about Teriana’s importance shot.

  “But we need her,” said Servius. “He needs her! How else does that sheep lover think we’re going to get to the Dark Shores?”

  “He thinks she can be replaced with someone less difficult. He doesn’t like the deal I made with her. And he especially doesn’t like that Senator Valerius will be the one holding on to our most important hostage, but Valerius wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Can she be replaced?” There was worry in Servius’s voice. He’d grown fond of the girl. Most of the men who’d had contact with her had, Teriana’s ire seeming to be reserved for Marcus, and Marcus alone. Which was probably fair.

  “I’m not so certain,” he replied. “Teriana was the only one we could get to talk. The rest of them all went into a sort of trance the moment they were brought in. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Rutting paganism.” Felix made a noise as if to spit, then eyed their fancy accommodations and seemed to think better of it. “Maybe it’s well that Cassius intends to hold them to account for breaking the Empire’s laws. There’s no reason they should be exempt when all the rest of the peregrini have to abide.”

  “They aren’t peregrini,” Marcus reminded him. “They aren’t part of the Empire—they’re a free nation only subject to the Empire’s laws when they are in port.”

  “And why is that?” Felix snapped. “Why should they be free when no one else is? What makes them so special that they don’t have to pay the taxes, and follow the rules, and tithe their second-born sons?”

  Frowning, Marcus eyed his second, disliking hearing political propaganda like that coming from Felix’s mouth. “Talk like that makes you sound like one of Cassius’s sycophants.”

  Felix blinked in surprise, but before he could say anything further on the matter there was a knock at the door and Quintus stepped inside. “There’s, uh, a young woman here to see you, sir,” he said. “Fancy-like. Patrician.”

  Exhaling a breath of annoyance, Marcus nodded, and a moment later a slender silk-clad woman stepped through the door, all but her grey-blue eyes concealed by a gauzy veil. “Legatus,” she said, inclining her head even as the familiarity of her voice hit Marcus like a punch to the gut. To his friends, she said, “Please excuse the interruption, sirs, but I need a moment in private with your commander.”

  Two sets of eyes turned on him, and Marcus nodded. Servius chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. Felix only strode out the door, his face a thundercloud over the interruption.

  The door shut, and Marcus’s older sister, Cordelia, dropped the veil covering her face.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, hoping she didn’t notice the faint shake to his voice. “Have you lost your mind?”

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

  “They think you’re here to—” He broke off, not even able to say it, heat rising to his face.

  “I’m well aware of why they think I’m here,” she said, “because it was part of my plan for them to think it.” Shaking her head, she added, “You weren’t the only one in the family born with brains in your head, but it appears you were given an extra helping of prudishness, dearest brother.”

  “Enough.” He’d stood in front of thousands of men and given orders, but right then his voice had all the authority of the twelve-year-old he’d been when last they’d talked.

  “Always so easy to tease,” she said; then her face abruptly crumpled and she flew across the room, flinging her arms around his neck. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  “Neither did I,” he admitted, tightening his arms around her for a moment. She seemed so small, so fragile, so unlike the indomitable young girl who’d sneaked out of the city dressed as a servant to visit him at Campus Lescendor. Then she pushed him back, a line appearing between her brows as she took hold of his chin and turned his face from side to side.

  “I’m pleased to see you decided not to stay scrawny,” she said.

  “I’m not sure it was a choice.” Last time he’d seen her, she’d been taller than him, but now the top of her head was beneath his chin. He was still caught up with considering how much she’d changed—twenty-one and, if what he’d heard was true, married to one of the rising stars of the Senate and mother to two children—when she ran her thumb over the scar marring his right cheek. “Your face…”

  “It’s nothing. It’s old—from when we were in Bardeen.”

  The furrow between her brows deepened. “You’re in command. You aren’t supposed to be fighting.”

  A laugh tore from his mouth even as he considered how sheltered his sister was. She’d never bled in the mud and never would, if he kept Cassius happy. “I’ll inform the enemy of that the next time they come at me.”

  “That might be sooner rather than later,” she said, stepping back and resting one hand against the table, eyes skipping over the stacks of documents.

  “Is that why you risked coming here, Cordelia? To say good-bye before I crossed the world?”

  “No, Ga—” She bit her lip and frowned at her almost slip on his name. She’d always struggled with that particular lie. “No, Marcus. I’m here to try to convince you not to cross the world.”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “Bit late for that. And even if it wasn’t, I’m sure you know that I don’t have much choice in the matter.”

  Her eyes went to the door. “They aren’t eavesdropping, are they?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Exhaling, Cordelia walked to the window and looked out, though there was nothing to see but darkness. “Gaius, of course, told us what you told him about Cassius.” Looking over her shoulder, she smirked. “Two black eyes and a broken nose, and not even Mother felt an ounce of sympathy for him when she heard what happened. Only handed him a bottle of wine and told him to go out into the garden and whine to the flowers.”

  “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “He deserved it. Gaius took your name and you took his place at Campus Lescendor, and never once has he expressed any gratitude for that sacrifice. He’s an entitled, spineless little shit who never would’ve survived legion training. He doesn’t just owe you his privilege; he owes you his life.”

  Marcus exhaled a long breath. This was well-trodden ground, Cordelia’s anger over their parents’ choice far greater than his own. She’d never forgiven them, or her and Marcus’s brother, judging from her words. “There are more pressing concerns than our brother’s self-involvement.”

  “True.” She rotated a gold bracelet around her wrist. “I knew what was going on with Cassius the moment you and yours marched into Celendrial and handed that maggot the consulship.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Cordelia cut him off. “I know that he blackmailed you. That he threatened to reveal that our parents had broken the law. That you, and Father, and Gaius would be executed. That Mother and our little sisters would be stripped of the Domitius fortune and sent into exile.”

  “And with the Domitius name in ruin, you would cease to be an asset to your politician husband,” he reminded her. “Don’t think that you’d make it through unscathed, Cord.”

  Her expression hardened. “My mind is what makes me an asset to my husband, Marcus, not my name.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “Father made a good match for you, then.”

  “I made the choice of whom I’d marry, not Father.”

  His smile grew, her ferocity welcome after Gaius’s whimpering. “Even better.”

  Turning from the window, she strode back toward him, her skirts whispering against the mosaic tile of the floor, her jeweled sandals sparkling in the lamplight. She suit
ed these ornate rooms with their gold-painted walls and frescoed ceilings, the furniture all heavy wood with padded velvet seats and tasseled cushions. The comfort made him uncomfortable. Made him long for the familiarity of his command tent with its flimsy folding table and chairs, the floor nothing more than naked earth.

  “Cassius is the worst possible man to hold the position of consul, Marcus. Celendor was already struggling beneath the burden of endless conquest. Of supporting an army over two hundred thousand strong. We thought after Chersome that it was over, that we could focus inward rather than eyeing new lands like slavering dogs. But now?” She threw up her hands. “A whole other half of the world has presented itself and we have a warmonger in power who has no compunctions against taxing the people to within an inch of their lives in order to fund this monstrous venture. Bad enough the practice of taking second sons; do you know what he’s talking about doing? Cassius plans to take the fourth sons of families who can’t afford to pay.”

  The fingers of Marcus’s hand twitched, and he balled it into a fist. “What do you expect me to do about that, Cordelia? Only the Senate has the power to temper Cassius, and I don’t sit in it. So perhaps your concerns are better directed to our father. Or to your husband.”

  Her face darkened. “Don’t stand there and act powerless. You’re in command of a legion, and that means that you can march into the Senate and tell them you think this campaign is a mistake. You’re bloody well the most famous living legatus, the Prodigy of Lescendor. They’ll listen.”

  “It wouldn’t make a difference,” he said, feeling his temper rise. “You think I have power, but let me assure you, it only exists within the framework of the Empire’s making. I have power over my men. Over how I conduct a campaign. And that. Is. It.” Reaching for a cup of water, he drained it, slamming it back down against the table, swearing silently when the crystal cracked.

  “The Senate tells me where I must go. What I must accomplish. And if I don’t do as they say, my life will be forfeit and precisely nothing will change, because I’m nothing more than a number to Mother Empire and I can be replaced.”

  Her jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”

  “It is.” Resting his hands on the table, Marcus stared at the map on which Teriana had marked the route to the xenthier stem, the location itself stained with a bloody fingerprint. “I don’t have the power to change our world, Cordelia. All I can do is protect those I care for as best I can.”

  “No matter the cost?” She came around the table, staring him down in a way no one had in a very long time. “Was what happened in Chersome worth our family’s lives? Was what happened to Lydia Valerius?”

  He flinched, and she gave a weary shake of her head. “They say she’s missing—that she fled her marriage to Cassius on a ship. But that’s all lies, isn’t it?”

  Blood roared in his ears, and he didn’t answer, only stared at a painting on the opposite wall of a woman holding an infant to her breast.

  “Did you kill her?”

  Silence hung between them, and finally he said, “Does it matter?”

  “I think it is better if you answer that question yourself, Legatus,” she said, stepping back. “It is your conscience that must bear the burden of your choices.”

  Hurt and anger rose within him like a tide. For twelve years he’d answered to a name not his own, and now she took even that from him. He was just a title. Just the number tattooed in black across his back.

  “For your sake, be glad my conscience bears its burden well,” he said, feeling a terrible mix of misery and pleasure when she recoiled.

  Then a shriek echoed through the thick stone of the walls, and a second later a fist hammered against the door. “Legatus? Sir? We’ve got a problem.”

  Crossing the room in three strides, he flung it open to find Quintus standing outside. “What is it?”

  “It’s the girl, sir,” Quintus responded. “She escaped.”

  17

  TERIANA

  Her fingers slipped from their hold, and Teriana bit down on a shriek as she dropped.

  Then a hand closed around her wrist.

  She gasped in shock and relief, especially when she saw that her savior was her mum. With a grunt of effort, Tesya heaved, pulling Teriana up far enough that she could grasp the windowsill with her other hand.

  “Have you lost your bloody mind?” Tesya hissed, helping her clamber into the room.

  Teriana was relieved to see her mum sounded right in the head again, though her flesh still bore testament to the questioner’s torture. “I’m rescuing you,” she said once she had caught her breath.

  “That what you call this?” Tesya snatched up Teriana’s bloody hand, holding it in the lamplight. “What’ve you done to yourself?”

  “What do you mean, what did I do to myself?” Teriana asked, her mouth dropping open. “You were there! You saw what they did to me.”

  Tesya pressed her unbroken hand to her eyes, and Teriana’s chest tightened when she saw tears seeping out from underneath it. “I don’t remember anything—only the soldiers taking me to a building, and then waking up here with…” She trailed off. “The Cel did this to you? Why? What did they want?”

  “Cassius,” Teriana whispered. “They know about the West. I think … I think Lydia told them.” She swallowed hard. A cowardly part of her had been hoping her mum already knew what she’d done and had had time to come to terms with it. “They knew that we had a way of getting there quickly, and they wanted to know how.”

  “You didn’t tell them, did you?”

  Teriana looked away, unable to meet her mum’s piercing stare. “They threatened to kill you—to kill all of our crew and then go after other ships. I had no choice.”

  Her mum sucked in a ragged breath of disbelief. “You should’ve let us die!”

  Teriana jerked her head up. Her mother was one of the Triumvir—the closest thing the Maarin had to royalty. Her duty was to protect their people and their interests. And as heir, Teriana’s duty was the same. “How can you say that? How can one secret be worth the lives of everyone we love?”

  “Because it’s the only thing protecting the West from these dogs!”

  Teriana shivered, her skin feeling like ice. She should’ve known that this was how it would go. Should’ve known her mother wouldn’t side with her decision. “It’s easy for you to say,” she choked out. “Your body might’ve been there, but your mind wasn’t. You didn’t have to make the choice.”

  “Madoria protected me.”

  “And everyone else.” The words were strangled, but Teriana forced them out. “But not me. There was no one there to help me. Not Madoria, not Magnius, not even you. You left me alone with them”—the tears were flooding down her cheeks now—“and I had to make a decision. And I chose to save those I love.”

  “And you’ve been forsaken for it. She did not protect you because she’s turned her back on your soul.”

  “You don’t know that. Let’s leave here—they can’t use the paths without us. We’ll steal back the Quincense and flee.”

  “There is no escape. And there is no undoing the damage you’ve done. They know the West exists now, and they’ll stop at nothing to conquer it. Your soul is forsaken.”

  “Mum, we need to at least try!”

  “You are forsaken.”

  Then her mother did the worst thing that she could possibly have done and turned her back on Teriana.

  “Mum,” she pleaded, tugging on Tesya’s shirt. “Mum, please, don’t do this.”

  Tesya kept her back turned and said nothing.

  “Please,” Teriana repeated. “Please!” It came out as a shriek, and seconds later the door to the room slammed against the wall.

  A surprised legionnaire stared at her. “How did you get in here?” His gaze jumped to the window. “Shit. Get the legatus,” he said to the men peering over his shoulder.

  There was a commotion in the hallway, and Marcus strode into the room. He looked from h
er to Tesya and then went to the window and leaned out. “Impressive,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

  Teriana didn’t resist when he took her arm. “One of you stay in here with Tesya,” he said to his men. “I don’t want her left alone for so much as the length of time it takes for you to piss.”

  Teriana barely heard him. She was forsaken, not only by her goddess but also by her mum. Her own mother, who had never left her alone for more than a day in all her life.

  Marcus steered her into her room, returning a moment later and shutting the door behind him.

  “Sit.”

  She sat on her pallet, watching dully while he poured water from a jug into a basin and carried it over to her. Setting it on the ground, the legatus of the infamous Thirty-Seventh Legion sat cross-legged in front of her, took her wrist, and dunked her injured hand in the water.

  Teriana bit back a hiss of pain. “What’re you doing?”

  “Tending to your injury.” He turned up the lamp’s flame.

  “I can see that. Why are you doing it?”

  “Because I can,” he said, removing her hand from the basin and examining it in the light. “We’re all given basic medical training. No one with more is here at present.”

  He hadn’t answered her question. He knew it, and she knew it.

  Frowning at her fingers, he pulled out a pair of tweezers and started plucking out the bits of rock jammed into her skin. It hurt like the fires of the underworld, but she embraced the pain. It distracted her from what had happened. First Lydia had turned on her. Now her mum.

  “I take it you didn’t go through all that effort just to visit your mother,” he said, not looking up from his task. “Particularly given that you knew you would see her in the morning before she left.”

  Teriana refused to meet his gaze, glaring instead at her bloody fingers.

  “I am curious as to what your plan was,” he said. “Her hand is broken. There’s no way she could’ve climbed down.”

  “Blankets,” she muttered. “I was going to lower her.”