Dark Shores

by Danielle L. Jensen

  It had been her strategy to make the men like her. To make them trust her. She hadn’t expected them to win her over. But they had.

  Before, she’d always seen them as a thousand replicas of the same creation, trained and groomed by the Empire that owned them. Now, she saw them as individuals with unique personalities and quirks, some of whom she liked, some of whom she didn’t. Their names piled up in her mind as she ate, diced, and drank through her evenings in their company.

  It didn’t help that they weren’t the blackhearted menaces she’d believed them to be. As a rule, they were considerate to the Arinoquians, communicating with the words they’d learned, hand gestures, and smiles, requesting that Teriana teach some of the youths how to speak Cel to better bridge the gap.

  Ereni’s clan now came to them with offers of assistance beyond what goods and supplies they sold. Warriors, with their imperatrix’s blessing, offered their services as guides and spies, but Marcus took it a step further, integrating the men and women into legion patrols, his men under strict instruction to learn from them and heed their advice.

  The young Arinoquians flirted with the legionnaires, and she did not fail to notice when they’d tug a young man out of sight, or their flushed cheeks when they returned. Teriana had held her breath the first few times, worried that the soldiers would cross the line and someone would get hurt, but Marcus held militantly to the laws he’d negotiated with Ereni, and his men did not cross him. “You hear even a whisper of unprovoked violence toward man or woman, you bring it to me directly,” he told her. “These people are our allies, and they are to be treated as such.”

  And as much as it ground on her nerves to hear the people of the West referred to as allies, what could she say when it ensured their protection?

  Urcon’s bands of men made several more attempts to attack villages and towns peopled by Ereni’s clan, but Marcus’s men and Ereni’s warriors met them at every turn, slaughtering them with no mercy. Teriana had thought seeing the bloodthirsty side of the Cel might put the Arinoquians off, but it only seemed to win them further favor. To win Marcus further favor.

  Once, she’d heard Titus question Marcus as to why they didn’t take Galinha, the city north of them. It was controlled by Urcon, peopled by his clan, and was where a large portion of his raiders were garrisoned. “Why don’t we just take them out at the source?” Titus had complained. “Why are we marching our men up and down the coast and spreading ourselves so thin?”

  “Because,” Marcus had answered, “if we take Galinha out now, it will be our victory. The Empire’s victory. But if we turn the Arinoquians into our allies, it will be their victory, too.”

  “We have Ereni’s clan already.”

  “One isn’t enough.”

  “How many do we need?”

  “All of them,” Marcus had said. “Then it will be the victory of a nation.”

  Too late, Teriana was coming to understand why they called him the Prodigy of Campus Lescendor. Why he’d won all those battles and wars. What made him so damned good at what he did. Marcus understood people. Understood their fears, their desires, their motivations. How to get them to do what he wanted. How to give them what they wanted.

  And the worst of it was, he actually seemed to care about whether the Arinoquians were happy or not. Rising religiously at dawn, he worked continuously through the day, consulting the clan imperators who’d joined the alliance, Ereni and Flacre permanent fixtures in the command tent. He directed every aspect of the campaign down to the smallest detail, a single lamp burning in the command tent long after Teriana had collapsed onto her bedroll. It was taking a toll on him; that much was clear from the shadows beneath his eyes, his already-lean frame now only skin stretched taut over muscles kept solid by his stupid exercises. When he did sleep it was fitful and plagued by dreams, his violent tossing and turning and muttered pleas for forgiveness tearing her from sleep night after night, consuming her with guilt each time she stuck by her word and refused to wake him.

  He deserves it, she silently told herself, forcing her mind to recycle the stories she’d heard about him. His violent and bloody history.

  How many have died because of him? How many forced into servitude?

  He is the enemy. He is your enemy.

  Yet every day, it felt harder to reconcile the commander she’d heard so many stories about with the young man she now knew. The young man she knew well, because she’d been at his side every day since they’d landed, translating, negotiating, and, to her growing dismay, actually advising him. It was nearly impossible not to—not when Marcus fixed her with that intense gaze of his, digging knowledge out of her that she hadn’t even realized she possessed.

  Being around him wasn’t comfortable in the way it was with the other men. With the others, she could sit around the fire and relax, gamble and tell stories, and it was easy. Thoughtless. But with Marcus, Teriana felt hyperaware of everything she said. Everything she did. Every breath she took. It was like being in the rigging during a storm, conscious of every step. Of every handhold. Because to relax even for a heartbeat might mean catastrophe. Except with Marcus she was no longer certain what catastrophe meant. And there was a part of her, buried so deep she could barely admit it to herself, that wanted to find out what would happen if she let go.

  “The Arinoquians have stopped listening to me,” she said quietly, resting her elbows on her knees as she regarded Bait swimming below. They’d met like this before, Teriana pleading the need for a proper bath, the distance Miki and Quintus gave her for privacy enough to disguise the sounds of her and Bait’s conversation. And even if they suspected, it was nothing for Bait to sink under the waves.

  “I’ve told them every story I know about how the Empire conquered the East,” she continued. “The worst. The goriest. The bloodiest. About how rigid the Cel laws are, how everyone is forced to conform. About the taxes and the child tithes to the legions. About how they don’t follow the Six. About how the Six aren’t even present across the seas. They either don’t believe me or don’t care. I’d be better off spitting into the wind.”

  “They can’t see past their full bellies and even fuller purses,” Bait replied. “He’s making Arinoquia better than it’s been in decades.”

  “All he’s doing is paving a smooth path for the arrival of something worse.”

  Bracing a hand against the base of the pier, Bait sighed. “Maybe we did it to ourselves by keeping knowledge of the East from them. It’s all stories and myth to them, whereas Urcon is a tangible threat they’ve been dealing with for over twenty years. And…”

  “And what?” she demanded.

  “I was able to make contact with another Maarin ship,” he said. “They had news from the north. Derin breached the wall and has invaded Mudamora under the banner of the Seventh god.”

  “What?” Teriana whispered even as she remembered the vision Magnius had shown her of the field of corpses, the banners of the Twelve Houses sinking into the mud even as soldiers with flags bearing the burning circle of the Seventh god marched past.

  “They’re led by a priestess who is said to be one of the corrupted.”

  Her blood chilled. Those marked by the Seventh god were able to kill with a touch, draining the lives of their victims to bolster their own, leaving only desiccated corpses in their wake. She’d only seen one once, in Mudamora, and the woman had killed dozens of trained soldiers before she was finally taken down. Even though Teriana had watched it all through a spyglass from where the Quincense had been anchored in the harbor, part of her had still been terrified the woman would leap across the waves and kill her next. But the information triggered another thought in her head.

  “The Arinoquians think they’re being abandoned by the Six.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “And in truth, there is something to their fears. There is only one healer in Ereni’s clan. One, where there should be dozens. And I’ve not so much as heard a whisper of anyone marked by the other gods.”

&nb
sp; Neither of them spoke, but Bait reached up to rest a comforting hand on her knee.

  “Bait, sometimes it feels like Arinoquia was set up for invasion,” she whispered. “It’s been too easy.”

  “Or maybe he’s just as good as they say.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Regardless, the eyes of every kingdom are on the outcome of Mudamora’s war with Derin,” he said. “What’s happening here with the Cel … No one cares. Arinoquia is on its own.”

  “And the Arinoquians don’t seem too troubled by that fact.”

  Bait’s jaw worked back and forth. “Urcon is rallying his armies. Maybe he’ll defeat them.”

  Neither of them spoke, but a question that had been lurking in her chest found its way out. “What do you think will happen to the allied clans if Urcon does defeat the Cel?”

  Before Bait could answer, Quintus shouted, “Teriana, we need to go!”

  Pulling on her boots, she said, “You need to go home to Taltuga, Bait. Convince the other triumvirs to start meeting with the rulers of the West to make them see the magnitude of the Cel threat.”

  “Too many of them are holding to the mandate, Teriana. East must not meet West. They’re afraid there will be consequences if they talk about the Empire here. That they’ll be punished.”

  “Considering there are close to ten thousand Cel legionnaires currently camped in the West, I’d say that ship has sailed,” she snarled. “Convince them. I can’t leave, and the Quincense can’t sail. It has to be you to go, Bait.”

  “Are you talking to someone?” Quintus called, and she flinched as his sandals clacked against the pier.

  “Just to myself,” she called back, then to Bait, “And if you can’t convince the triumvirs, you need to go to Revat to speak to the Sultan of Gamdesh. Use my name to get yourself in—he’ll listen. Steal some of the Cel coinage from your guards and take it with you as proof.”

  A hand rested on her shoulder right as Bait sank beneath the waves. “Come on, Teriana. Tonight’s not the night to test your limits.”

  “Why?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

  Quintus opened his mouth, but Miki beat him to it. “If the legatus had wanted you to know, he’d have told you. Either way, he’s the one who wants you back within the camp walls ten minutes ago.”

  Teriana’s stomach clenched, sweat pooling beneath her breasts despite the breeze coming in off the sea. It took them only a matter of minutes to return to the camp, and the moment she stepped through the gates she knew.

  It was empty.

  Not entirely empty, the walls still manned, but mostly empty, which damned well never happened. Her chest tightened, her feet drawing her toward the command tent at a pace that bordered on a run.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  Marcus didn’t look up from the page he was reading, but Titus turned to her. “We’re attacking Galinha shortly.”

  Though she’d known the attack was imminent, her skin still prickled with nerves. Two days ago, Marcus had ordered the camp moved to a location farther north, within spitting distance of the city—the legions efficiently packing, moving, and replicating the camp in the space of the day. Since then, the allied imperators and their warriors had been gathering in camps nearby. That they’d move against Galinha, and soon, had been obvious. It was equally obvious that she was the only one who hadn’t known it would be tonight.

  “It’s almost dusk,” she said, not knowing why she bothered. “Who starts a battle in the middle of the night?”

  “I do.” Marcus straightened, nodding at the men filling the tent. “Proceed. Tell Imperatrix Ereni that I’ll be along shortly.”

  Gods-damn it! Even Ereni knew and kept it from me.

  Marcus waited until they’d left, then sat on one of the stools, examining the map of the city in question. Then he said, “Most of the civilians will be in their homes and out of the way, which will help reduce incidental casualties.”

  “Incidental?” Her tone was biting and one she reserved solely for him. “How can you claim any death unplanned when you’re attacking their city?”

  He rubbed his temple with one hand. “Fine. It will reduce the number of deaths of people who don’t deserve it. Is that better?”

  “Would be better if you didn’t attack them at all.”

  “Would it really? You’ve heard as much testimony as I have as to how the people in Galinha are treated, and they are part of Urcon’s clan. By now, they will all be aware that there’s an alternative to Urcon’s rule—a chance at a better life. They’re primed to turn on his men, which means they’ll not get in our way when we attack, and they won’t cause us trouble once we’ve taken the city. If we wait longer, we’ll risk them growing embittered over the loss of their southern supply chain, and they’ll rise against us or try to overthrow Urcon’s men themselves. Either circumstance will result in more civilian casualties, which, despite what you seem bent on believing, is not what I want.”

  She did know that wasn’t what he wanted, had overheard countless discussions he’d had with the rest of his officers and the imperators. It was the reasoning behind it that wouldn’t allow her to see his actions as benevolent. “Oh, I know civilian deaths aren’t part of the plan,” she said. “The Six forbid that you have to send corpses back to the Empire rather than living, breathing slaves.”

  Silence. Then Marcus slowly got to his feet, cup clenched in his fist, his face full of enough anger that she wondered if she’d finally pushed him too far.

  “It always comes down to Chersome, doesn’t it?” he snarled, then to her shock threw the cup in his hand across the tent, where it splattered water against the canvas. “No matter what I do, it will always come back to that damned island.”

  He was agitated and angry, and Teriana knew she shouldn’t push this. But she couldn’t let it go. “That will happen when you murder thousands of innocents. It’s not something people forget.”

  “Murder.” He slowly turned to face her, his golden skin blanched of color. “Is that what you think?”

  “It’s what I know.”

  “No.” He stalked toward her, and it took every ounce of bravery she possessed not to take a step back. “It’s what the Senate wants you—wants everyone—to believe. Better for you to think us heartless killers, to fear the Empire’s wrath, than to know the truth.”

  “What truth?” she asked, annoyed with her curiosity. For wondering if there was something he could say that would make the decimation of a country and the enslavement of its entire people palatable. For hoping that there was.

  His eyes searched hers, and then it seemed that all the heat rushed out of him in an instant. Sitting on one of the folding stools, he rested his elbows on the table, staring blankly at the map laid out before him. “The truth is that nothing about that mission went as I’d wanted it to.”

  He was silent, the only sound a flock of birds screeching overhead. Teriana held her tongue, waiting.

  “It was supposed to go peacefully,” he said quietly. “We’d land and infiltrate them. Pay for what we took, give them a taste of what it meant to be part of the Empire. Convince them to voluntarily cede control to the Senate and accept the taxes, while avoiding armed conflict where at all possible. It had worked before. Has worked since. But…”

  He licked his lips, his breathing raspy, and she knew he was remembering.

  “But it didn’t go that way,” he continued. “We landed. As we marched, all we discovered were burned-out villages, the inhabitants dead by flame or blade. Men, women, and children. Little babies dead in their mothers’ arms.” His throat convulsed as he swallowed. “I’ve seen things that make what Urcon’s men did to those villagers on the path look like child’s play.”

  Those were his dreams, or at least some of them. The ones that made him thrash about in his blankets until he woke in a cold sweat. “Who killed them?” she asked.

  “Their own people. Chersome had a warrior caste that lived apart from the rest.
They were systematically moving across the island and slaughtering everyone.”

  “Why?” Teriana asked, unable to comprehend how or why they’d do such a thing. Those villages would have been full of their families. Their friends.

  “Because they believed it was better for them to be dead than to be under the control of the Empire. Better for the entire island to go up in flames than the Senate to profit from its lands.”

  She bit her lip, wondering if there was something to the idea. Was it better to be dead than to live a life stripped of everything you valued?

  “We captured some and tried to make them see reason,” he said. “Only they wouldn’t listen. Would burn themselves alive, fall on a sword, or hang themselves with whatever they could find. So…” He drew in a shaky breath. “So we fought them. I broke the legion up and sent it across the island in a coordinated strike with orders to kill every warrior they came across, no exceptions. Only then the men in the villages started behaving the same way: killing their families and themselves. So I rounded up the women and children and sent them back to Celendor.”

  She remembered when it had happened. How the markets had collapsed under the supply, indentured children going for little more than the cost of a loaf of bread. It had been disgusting, and her mother had taken the Quincense west for a time so they didn’t have to bear witness to it. “They say one hundred sixty thousand Chersomians were processed within the space of three months.” And everyone, everyone, had known he was the man responsible.

  Marcus nodded. “But they were alive.”

  “So?” she demanded, the memory of those indenture markets, filthy and stinking and jammed full of children with dead men’s eyes something she’d never forget. “You tore apart families. Ruined lives. Maybe it was better for them to die than to suffer what they did!”