With the loss of the unifying force of war, the conquerors had broken back into their familial clans—and fallen back into old rivalries. Eventually, one of the clans ruled by a man named Urcon had taken control of the region and claimed himself the ruler of all of Arinoquia, establishing his base of power in the ancient city of Aracam.
When she’d described Arinoquia to Marcus, Teriana had told the truth: that the region was engaged in continual back-and-forth raids between rebellious clans and Urcon’s vicious militia. What she hadn’t told him was that the clan members, men and women, were as competent with weapons as they were with fishing poles, and that rather than being weakened by the years of strife, the region had grown more militant. She’d not warned him this would be no easy conquest, but then again, he hadn’t asked her opinion.
“That’s the town?” He gestured with the spyglass toward the cove north of that in which she intended to anchor.
“Village,” she muttered. “It’s small—fewer than a hundred people—just as you asked.”
All the cities on the coast of Arinoquia were walled fortresses, but Marcus had requested a rural landing point, despite the impracticalities of off-loading an entire fleet without a proper harbor. Mining her memory of the coast, Teriana had come up with this place, remembering the Quincense having stopped at this particular village to trade when she was younger.
The wooden buildings and singular dock were only barely visible, but she was certain she could see motion on the beaches.
Run! she wanted to scream at them. They’d have seen the fleet by now, and it wouldn’t take them long to pack what they needed and melt into the jungle. Warning would spread up and down the coast, and by the time the Cel had unloaded their ships and gotten themselves settled they’d find themselves pitted against not a singular village, but the united force of an entire clan’s warriors. Better yet, if the legions ventured into the jungles, they’d find themselves pitted against something far worse than staff or steel, for the Uncharted Lands were the god Lern’s domain and there was a reason Urcon and the rest of the invading clans had never pressed very far inland.
The cove drew closer, the turquoise water and white beach idyllic and lovely. Well suited for a bonfire and rum and stories passed around until the sun lit the East. Not this. Teriana bit her lip, then ordered the last sail dropped as she listened to her crew call the depths. The ship drifted in, and a rocky outcropping obscured her view of the village. But it didn’t matter; they’d still see the rest of the ships and know what it meant.
“Drop the anchor,” she shouted, and a second later Marcus lifted his hand and his men surged into action. The centurion Gibzen barked commands at a group of soldiers who were armed to the teeth. And, with no regard for the fact that this was her ship, ordered the longboats dropped. Within seconds of them hitting the water, the men were clambering down ladders and rowing hard for shore.
Row as fast as you like, she thought. They’ll be long gone by the time you get there.
“Securing the beach?” she asked, leaning against the helm.
“Taking the village.”
His voice was calm and confident, and it took a great deal of willpower to keep a smile off her face. Then the ship pulled against the anchor and turned. Shock hit her like a bucket of water to the face at the sight of the empty sea behind them. Snatching her own spyglass, Teriana scanned the horizon, and the fleet leapt into view, much too distant for the naked eye to make out from shore.
“What are they…,” she started to say, then broke off, watching her crew tie down the sails. Blue sails marking the Quincense as a Maarin ship.
The longboats had reached the beach, the legionnaires leaping into the water and running toward the jungle and the unsuspecting village. The Maarin brought trade, not violence, and the men of the Thirty-Seventh would catch them completely unaware. And there was nothing she could do to stop the soldiers. The villagers would be slaughtered, and it would be all her fault.
“They’re waiting for my signal,” Marcus said, starting toward the stairs. He hesitated upon reaching them and glanced over his shoulder at her. “This is what we do, Teriana.” For a moment, it appeared as though he might say more, but then he strode down the steps and into the organized chaos of men off-loading her ship.
“Well, that didn’t go nearly as badly as I expected.” Yedda came up the steps two at a time, her agility belying her age.
“They’ve gone to take the village.”
The old sailor shrugged. “What did you expect them to do? Lie down in ranks on the beach and sun themselves?” She smiled. “Though wouldn’t that be a sight to behold.”
“Quit making jokes!” Teriana rounded on her, hands balling into fists. “None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t told our secrets to Lydia. I’ve brought war to these shores. People are going to die because of what I’ve done.” She flung a hand in the direction of the neighboring cove. “Won’t be long until we hear their screams, and I might as well be the one slitting their throats.”
Yedda’s smile fell away. “‘I, I, I,’” she snapped, reaching out with one hand and flicking a finger between Teriana’s eyebrows. “What conceit to think you single-handedly managed this feat. The crew sailed the ship because the alternative was joining our kin on the gallows. That one”—she pointed a finger at Marcus—“requested passage through the deeps, which Magnius granted. And Madoria defended the fleet when by all rights Gespurn would’ve seen the lot of us at the bottom of the sea. Nearly all you’ve done is whine and complain and antagonize the boy leading this mad venture.”
“He’s not a boy,” Teriana grumbled, not knowing why she felt the need to clarify her opinion on that matter. “And I don’t recall any of you jumping in to save his heavy Cel self.”
“But instead of capitalizing on the goodwill you earned, you’re weeping in a corner like a child deprived of a toy all because everything is happening like you should’ve expected it to.”
Teriana glared at her, knowing Yedda was right but hating to admit it. “What do you suggest?”
“You’re supposed to be finding out what they’re planning.”
“You think I haven’t tried?”
Yedda rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Ever stop to think you might be going about it the wrong way?”
Teriana exhaled slowly, trying to keep the anger bubbling in her guts from boiling over. She knew what the woman meant, but the idea of … ingratiating herself with her captors was disgusting. Only not trying to do what she could to stop them was worse.
Turning on her heel, she started for the stairs, but Yedda’s voice stopped her. “Teriana, you’re a pretty girl. And”—she gestured at the sea of legionnaires below them—“you don’t have much in the way of female competition. Mind the way you go about doing things.”
Teriana opened her mouth to snarl at the advice but then snapped her teeth shut, realizing it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a warning.
Down on the deck, she dodged men and supplies, making her way to where Servius directed the process. Not that much direction seemed to be required.
“That was something,” he said, slapping her across the shoulders hard enough that she staggered. “Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes. I’ve used the paths a time or two, but it was nothing like that. Felt spun around like a top. Who were they?”
“Gods,” Teriana replied, peering around him at Marcus, who stood watching the proceedings while his servant polished his armor and fastened a crimson and gold cloak to his shoulders. As though sensing her gaze, he glanced in her direction, and their eyes met for an instant before a group of soldiers carrying barrels walked between them.
“Gods.” Servius rubbed his chin. “The Senate hang me for paganism, but seems as good a term as any. Gods…”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Will take the rest of the day to off-load the ships and set up camp. There will be injured who need tending, and we’ll need to do a roll
call to see who was lost.”
“Right.” She scratched at her healing fingers. “And after?”
Servius regarded her with silent scrutiny. “These are questions better directed to the legatus.”
“Oh, aye. I know. But he’s busy getting prettied up.” She bit her tongue, remembering Yedda’s words and wishing she could take back the sarcasm.
He laughed. “Sometimes it’s important to look the part. Speaking of Marcus…” He lowered his voice and Teriana leaned in to hear him over the noise. “Bastard’s too proud to thank you for saving his arse, so I’ll do it for him: we owe you. This legion would follow him to the ends of Reath and back, and by nightfall there won’t be a one of them who doesn’t know you saved his life. And the lives of all the men on that ship.”
Not a bastard, she thought, remembering the admission Magnius had requested in exchange for passage. Marcus Domitius, a son of one of the most powerful families in the Empire. She’d no doubt that that information would spread just as quickly, and she wondered if it would make a difference to the men. She considered asking Servius whether he’d known, but then thought better of it. “If he was killed, Titus would take command?”
Servius’s face darkened, confirming that he’d witnessed what the other man had done. “He’d try.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said, nodding as though she’d time for such complex thinking before diving into the water. “Seems to me that Marcus is the lesser evil.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Spinning round, Teriana found the man in question behind her, armor gleaming in the sunlight. Before she could respond, a horn sounded, filling the air with its mournful wail. It came from the direction of the fishing village, and her heart sank.
“Call in the other ships,” he ordered, then gestured to the rope ladder hanging from the rail. “After you.”
“Where we going?” she asked, noting that the longboat was already full of grim-faced soldiers.
“The village.”
A foul taste rose in the back of her throat. “What do you need me for?”
“Our agreement was that you would advise me. That means you go where I go. So quit dallying and get in the boat.”
It was only fair. She’d sacrificed the village, so she deserved to see the consequences. Grasping hold of ropes, she swung over the edge and clambered down with practiced ease, landing with barely a thud among the men. Marcus followed, the wind catching at his cloak and making the sinuous creature picked out in gold seem almost alive. He set the boat to rocking as he landed, then went to the fore and sat. “Row.”
Relying more on strength than skill, the two men at the oars drove them through the waves. The boat rose and fell, slapping against the water, but Teriana refused to look up, staring instead at the knees of the soldier facing her. At the fine hairs on his tanned legs. At the strips of metal-plated leather hanging like a strange skirt from his waist, and the heavy sandals strapped to feet callused from a lifetime of walking.
She knew they’d rounded the point when the rowers’ breathing eased and the boat launched forward with every wave, but still she did not look up. A waft of woodsmoke tickled her nostrils, and sweat broke out on her skin. Would this be another Chersome?
Teriana had seen men and women dead from battle before—had killed a few herself. But they’d all been fighters who knew what they were getting into, not innocent fishermen. Not children.
Silently, she prayed for the oars to break. For a wave to swamp the boat. For the tide to miraculously turn and pull them out to sea. Anything that would delay the inevitable horror that awaited on the beach.
None of the gods answered her prayers. The boat slid onto the sand, and the men leapt out, dragging it farther ashore.
“Teriana.” Marcus’s voice was inflectionless, but there was no mistaking it for anything other than an order. Get out of the boat.
The smell of smoke was stronger now. She did not want to see. She did not want to know. But she had no choice.
Clenching her teeth, Teriana looked up.
26
MARCUS
The lesser evil … Teriana’s words sat heavy in Marcus’s mind as his men rowed around the point and into the impossibly blue cove containing their initial target.
Evil. Evil. There was something about the word and its meaning. Not just doing foul deeds, but delighting in their doing. And the way she’d said it. Not as an insult, but as a statement of fact.
And yet she’d risked her life to save his. Staring at the clear waters, he remembered the drag of the ship pulling him down and down, the futility of his struggle. The pressure growing in his chest, the desperate need to breathe that had haunted him his entire life. And then the feel of her hand closing around his wrist, pulling him toward salvation.
What did it say about her that she would save evil’s life?
Marcus forced the thoughts from his mind. Turning, he examined the motionless village. The wooden homes were unlike anything he’d seen before. Elaborate two-story structures built up off the ground with stone pilings, they had bridges made of carved wood running between them, both design choices indicating they frequently experienced storm surge or flooding. The windows of the homes were made of colored glass with shutters to protect them from the elements, the roofs meticulously shingled with rectangles of what looked like tree bark, the overhang wide and clearly intended to protect the narrow balconies that encircled the homes at bridge level.
Small, well-made fishing boats littered the beach, with a few larger tied up to a floating dock that could be pulled ashore during storms. Behind the village, the jungle reared green and dark, teeming with life.
Acid burned in his belly as a wave swept them onto the beach. This strategy was tried and true, but it had failed him before. With disastrous consequences.
Chersome is a world away, he reminded himself. This place will be different.
The boat hit the beach, and Marcus jumped out, feeling the need to have solid ground beneath his feet. His sandals sank into the cold, wet sand, and for a second he stood still. A whole continent to explore, and they were the first Cel to step foot upon its shores. If he’d had his choice, Marcus would’ve dropped his weapons and started walking. Up one coast and down the other; walking until he’d seen all there was to see and finally found a place where he wanted to sit still. But that wasn’t the reason the Senate had sent him, and his men were relying upon him to keep them alive in this new world.
“Sir?” One of his men spoke softly from behind, and Marcus turned to find Teriana still sitting in the boat, head lowered and hands resting on her knees. He waited and when she did not move said her name once.
She looked up, and he nearly recoiled at the dark pools that were her eyes. He’d seen them this color before, but they’d always been stormy, turbulent seas of anger, not the still reflections they were now. His skin prickled cold despite the intense heat as he watched her pan the sand, the tightening of her jaw unwarranted by the empty beach.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, turning back to the village.
The jungle had gone eerily silent on their approach, the tree branches motionless as though whatever lurked within was watching. They worked their way between the pilings holding up the homes, the network of bridges and balconies a good ten feet off the ground, accessible only via ladders that could easily be pulled up if the village came under attack. Reaching out with one hand, Marcus ran his fingers down one such ladder, holding up his hand to examine the waxy coating, which smelled faintly like sap.
“Comes from a tree,” Teriana muttered. “Doesn’t burn. The buildings are all coated in it.”
Clever, Marcus thought, wiping his hand on his tunic, his eyes drinking in every detail. The laundry hanging from a line. A ball sitting in a puddle as though those who’d been playing with it had stopped midgame. The scent of fish from the latest catch. There was something haunting in the familiarity of it, as though, despite the difference
in the landscape and architecture, he could’ve been walking through a coastal village back in Celendor.
They passed signs of struggle in the mud. A spilled basket of fruit. From above, his nose caught the scent of burning bread, and he gestured to one of his men to deal with it before they had a fire on their hands. But nowhere were there signs indicating that anything had gone other than according to plan.
The mournful wail of an infant pierced the air, and Marcus heard Teriana’s sharp intake of breath. She’s afraid. Then they rounded a corner and stepped into an open space encircled by seven different shrines.
The men he’d dispatched formed a perimeter, weapons out but lowered; in their midst sat around fifty villagers with tanned skin and fair hair, eyes of every color staring back at him. Most of the men and women wore loose trousers that were cuffed just below the knee, with shirts tucked into wide belts made of what looked like snakeskin. The fabrics were loose weaves dyed mostly dark brown and green, and most wore sandals made of leather and rope. A pile of their weapons sat out of reach, blades and bows and spears, the metal gleaming and sharp. Not just villagers, he amended. Warriors.
“They did not resist, sir,” Gibzen said, then lifted a shoulder. “As usual, your gambit worked.”
One of the villagers, a tall blonde woman whose eye was swelling shut, rose to her feet. Her knuckles were split and bleeding, and Marcus wondered which of his men she’d gotten a piece of. She shouted something, and he didn’t need Teriana to translate to know what it was.
But that didn’t stop Teriana from rounding on him. “Where are their gods-damned children, Marcus?”
All across the Empire, Marcus had witnessed the way small coastal towns and villages responded to the arrival of a Maarin ship. The way the children would run down to the beach, dancing in anticipation of the crew’s arrival, the Maarin not only bringing goods from far-off places, but also notoriously kind and generous to children. And the parents always let them go, because they knew their children would be safe. That the Maarin could be trusted. They were on the far side of the world, but it seemed in this regard, things were the same.
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