The embarrassment written in red across Marcus’s face was answer enough. “What do you think?”
“Oh, it’s true,” Gibzen said. “He came stumbling back into the main camp covered in blood, shit, and worse, bellowing orders to catch the man who’d shot him.”
“Did you?”
“No,” Marcus answered, shaking his head and grinning. “Rat bastard got away.” He leveled a finger at Servius. “There’s going to be retribution for this.”
His friend rubbed his hands together in anticipation, but before more could be said a trio of shadows approached the fire, hips moving with a distinctly female sway. Teriana’s good humor fell away as the prostitutes stepped into the light, four more appearing soon after. They were all pretty and polished and clean, and Teriana was aware that she hadn’t had a proper bath in far too long, her clothes were worse for wear, and her braids were fuzzy from neglect.
The soldiers’ attention snapped from her to the other girls, who separated from their little groups and spread among the men, smiling and laughing, the fact that they didn’t speak the same language mattering not in the slightest. One of them, a tall girl with long copper-colored hair, pushed between her and Servius, stepping hard on Teriana’s foot. She barely noticed, because two others had flanked Marcus. But he only smiled and gestured at the broader group.
“Teriana. Teriana.” Servius was poking her in the arm. “Tell her she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. That I’ve been across all of Reath and that none compare to her.”
Teriana rolled her eyes and took a mouthful from her cup. But the rum no longer tasted sweet, so she set it on the dirt, where the girl’s sandaled foot promptly knocked it over. “He thinks you’re pretty,” she told the prostitute, but the girl only raised one eyebrow, so Teriana added, “He can pay. They can all pay, and if they don’t, they’ll get in trouble.”
The girl smiled and then cooed at Servius, kissing him on the lips. He winked at Teriana, flipped the prostitute over his shoulder, and with her giggling wildly departed into camp.
All around, coins were glinting as they exchanged hands, the soldiers departing with young men and women dressed in brilliant clothing designed to catch the eye. The trade itself didn’t bother her. Everyone had to make a living. And it wasn’t as though she could expect anything more or less from a legion full of young men who had no choice but to go and fight where they were told.
Teriana’s stomach tightened, and she stared at her spilled drink wishing she could syphon out the dirt. Would he go with one of them? Who would he choose?
Why do I care?
A hand reached down in front of her and righted her cup, an amber liquid of a finer quality than what she’d been drinking filling it up. A cloak brushed her arm, red and golden, and a not-unpleasant shiver ran through her.
“The gifts have begun arriving.” Marcus tapped the side of her cup with the rum bottle, then took a long swallow before returning to the far side of the fire. Quintus and Miki had disappeared, and with the exception of the golden dragon glaring down at them, she and Marcus were alone.
Teriana took a small mouthful, for once at a loss for words. “Where were you?” she finally managed to ask.
“Handling some problems,” he replied, leaning back on one hand. “There is an alarming amount of administration that comes with taking over a city, especially when one’s translator is busy getting drunk with one’s men.”
“I’m not drunk,” she said, though if she kept at it she would be.
Don’t do anything stupid.
He watched her as though weighing the truth of her words, and she looked away, taking in the lovely young people strolling through camp to ply their trade. “Feel free to find yourself some entertainment,” she said. “Seems like everyone else is.”
His gaze shifted to the fire. “I’m not leaving you to wander alone in a camp full of drunk men.”
“Then set some guards on me,” she said. “I’m tired anyway. All I’m likely to do now is go to sleep. You can go with one of them, if you want—”
“I know I can go,” he interrupted, eyes fixed on a fire that had died down to embers. “But I don’t want to.”
Neither of them spoke, the only sounds the snap and pop of the burning wood and the distant laughter of soldiers. Teriana toyed with the handle of her cup, her eyes tracing over his features, which were so perfectly Cel. High cheekbones, straight nose, and a square jaw, his shorn hair a golden brown. The scar across his cheek that had inspired so much comedy, when it shouldn’t have, because that arrow had almost killed him. And if it had, she wouldn’t have met him.
How different would the world be if he had died in that moment?
“If you’re tired, I’ll walk you back to the tent,” he said.
Nodding, Teriana waited until he’d kicked dirt over the coals, then fell in next to him as they walked the short distance to the command tent. His hand brushed hers, and a warm ache grew deep in her belly, her heart racing with anticipation.
Don’t do anything stupid.
36
TERIANA
Marcus held aside the tent flaps, then followed her in, setting the rum bottle on top of a pile of maps with uncharacteristic carelessness. Teriana moved it where it couldn’t do any damage. “Going back out to the celebration?”
“No.” He glanced at her, then strode toward their sleeping quarters, unfastening his cloak as he walked and tossing it over a stool. “Tomorrow will be busy.”
“Where’s Amarin?” The man seemed to have an innate sense for when Marcus had need of him, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Gave him the night off. He’s in the city making friends his own age. He can take care of himself.”
“Oh.” She watched him turn up the lamp, then begin unbuckling his wrist guard.
Shoving aside all thoughts of right and wrong and consequence, she closed the distance between them. Pushing aside his hand, she unfastened the buckles, letting the piece of leather and metal drop to the ground before turning to his other wrist.
“I do know how to take it off,” he said, but he didn’t push her away.
“I know.” His skin was hot beneath her fingers, and she fumbled at the buckle before finally dropping it at their feet. She unfastened one shin guard, then the other, following the pattern she’d witnessed every night since they’d landed. Only watching and doing were entirely different things.
Neither of them spoke, the only sound her breathing. And his.
Straightening, she moved on, the heavier pieces of armor making soft thuds where she dropped them. Marcus stared straight ahead, but the rapid flutter of his pulse belied the steady expression on his face.
Teriana tugged hard on his belt, and he swayed toward her, saying nothing as she carelessly discarded his weapons behind her. Then there was nothing left but clothing, the fabric of his tunic worn where the armor had rubbed it. Her heart thundered in her chest as she lifted the hem, wondering if he’d stop her, whether she’d pushed him too far, whether he wanted this as much as she did. But he only lifted his arms and lowered his head, allowing her to tug the garment off and discard it with the rest.
She’d seen him stripped down to his undergarments before, but this time, she greedily drank in the sight. Hard muscles that cut and defined his torso, shoulders, arms, his stomach rippling with the hard edges of abdominals that she ached to run her fingers over. Training and walking and rations ensured there wasn’t a spare ounce of flesh on him, his body every bit as much a weapon as the steel on the ground behind her.
And that face.
She lifted her own to look upon it, surprised to find his eyes closed, lashes longer than she’d noticed before. Resting one hand against his shoulder, she traced a fingertip over the number inked on to his chest. His inhalation was sudden and ragged, the sound of it answered by an almost unbearable ache in her core.
“I thought it would feel different,” she whispered.
“Why?” His voice was hoarse, but his eyes were
open now and fixed on her.
Because it defines you, was the first thought that crossed her mind, but she discarded it, because it was the opposite. He defined it. The number was the legion, and as much as the Senate had created it, he had shaped it into what it was today. He was its heart. “Because it means so much.”
He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head that wasn’t a denial, and before she could lose her nerve Teriana slid an arm around his neck, his skin smooth beneath her hand. Then she rose onto her toes and kissed him.
It was little more than a brush of the lips, but it sent a charge through her that made her tremble. This was how it was supposed to feel. Like standing on a cliff high above a turquoise sea, terrified to jump but desperate for the thrill of the fall.
Their foreheads rested together, and his hands were on her hips, her skin burning beneath his touch.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, and his breath smelled like the spice of expensive rum.
Warnings echoed through the back of her mind, but she ignored them all. “Because I want to.”
One hand left her hips, rising to cup her cheek, tilting her face back so they were looking each other in the eye. The calluses on his hands were rough against her skin, and she leaned into them, a sound that verged on a moan coming from her throat as his thumb traced the edge of her bottom lip.
“You deserve better than this. Better than me.”
There was desire in his voice, but also grief. An old hurt. And Teriana wondered if she’d ever know all that he had seen, had done. All that had been done to him. “That’s my choice to make,” she said.
He stood unmoving for the length of a breath; then his lips were against hers. The kiss was hard and fierce and deep, his arms dragging her closer, the length of her body pressed against his. She clung to his neck, not trusting the strength of her own knees as his teeth scraped her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. Then his hands were tearing at the laces of her vest, throwing it aside as she dragged her shirt over her head.
He groaned softly, and she let her head tip back, let her spine arch, trusting he wouldn’t let her fall, relishing the feel of his hand against the curve of her breast. He tugged her trousers over her bottom, where they tangled around her boots until she kicked them free. Then there was nothing left between them, and he lifted her as though she weighed nothing before lowering her onto the blankets.
Marcus pulled back then, resisting her attempts to drag him against her. Resting on one elbow, he brushed aside the braids that had fallen across her face. Kissing her carefully, he said, “Teriana, are you sure?”
Before she could answer, he pressed a finger against her lips, holding them closed as though he could force her to think in a moment when it seemed thought was impossible.
But she was sure.
So very, very sure.
Taking his hand from her lips, she interlocked their fingers and lifted her head to kiss him, to taste him, to fall for him. “Yes.”
* * *
Teriana awoke to the faint glow of dawn, her eyes gritty from only a handful of hours of sleep and mouth dry from the rum but feeling strangely content. She was pressed against Marcus, their legs tangled together, and his arm curved around her stomach. Both of them were slick with sweat from the torrid heat, but she would’ve been happy to lie there for hours more if not for the painful press of her bladder.
Carefully, she untangled her legs from his and eased out from under his arm, surprised that the motion didn’t wake him given how lightly he slept. But Marcus didn’t stir, his breathing slow and steady. She watched him while tugging clothes over skin sticky enough that she was going to have to go for a swim, marveling at how much younger he appeared when he was asleep. It was hard to believe, sometimes, that he was only nineteen. Two years older than her and the commander of an army.
And hers.
As soon as the thought passed through her mind, she made a face at the foolishness of it. He wasn’t hers. And even if he wanted to be, which she had no business being certain of, he couldn’t. The Empire owned its soldiers, and it had rules for them. They were allowed nothing outside of the legion until their commission ended, and Marcus was nothing if not a stickler for rules.
So what exactly did she expect from last night? Their time together had always had an end date. Either they succeeded in finding land-based xenthier stems that would allow travel to and fro, or they’d be defeated and she’d drag the sorry lot of them back through the ocean paths. Never mind that she was supposed to be working to ensure their defeat.
How in good conscience could she be the lover of the man she was trying to sabotage?
Why would I want to be?
Feeling abruptly ill, Teriana crept through the command tent and out into the open air. The men standing guard around the tent smiled and nodded at her, and she hoped none of them had been listening too closely in the dark hours. Quintus and Miki were with them.
“Have a good time last night?” Miki asked, and she prayed to the Six that her complexion hid the fiery burn spreading across her cheeks.
“Oh, sure,” she replied. “I keep gambling with your commanders and I’m going to be rich as a senator. But at the moment, I’d give it all up for a proper bath.”
They laughed, falling in behind her as she headed toward the main gates. She needed to pee, and a swim in the ocean would go a long way to clearing her thoughts. An irrational wish that Lydia were here hit Teriana hard in the guts. This was exactly the sort of thing she could only talk about with Lydia. Except that wasn’t possible now. And never would be again.
“Teriana!”
She grimaced, but as much as she might want to, ignoring Titus wasn’t an option. “Morning.”
“Good morning.” He fell into stride next to her. “I need to talk to you.” His eyes flicked to Quintus and Miki. “In private.”
Neither of them moved.
Exhaling an irritated breath, Teriana gave them a nod. “Meet me at the gate?”
She could see the hesitation in their eyes, but both reluctantly continued toward the front of the camp. Turning on Titus, she said, “Make it quick. I need to piss.”
“Marcus has tasked me with keeping an inventory of, umm, structures related to pagan practices. I know about the circle with the seven buildings in the center of Galinha, but are there others?”
A chill dripped down her spine, spreading out into her arms and legs, turning them to ice. “Why?”
“Marcus intends to leave well enough alone until we’re established,” he continued. “But then … Well, you know how it goes.”
The Empire would tear them down.
“Why are you telling me this?” she snapped. “And do you think I’ve any intention of helping you?”
“Marcus said—”
“Sure he did.” She rolled her eyes and kept walking.
“Excuse me?” Titus caught her arm, dragging her to a stop. “If you don’t believe that he gave me those orders, feel free to ask him,” he said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is his campaign, and nothing happens without him sanctioning it first.”
She did know that. Just as she knew that Titus wouldn’t risk being caught in a lie.
Her eyes dropped to the straps of his sandals. “He’s only following the Senate’s orders.”
“Is that what you think?” The pity in his voice made her cringe. “Do you know what it takes for a runty, patrician child like he was to make it to the top?” Titus tapped the side of his head. “Genius. And ruthlessness. He’s a bloody legend at Campus Lescendor, and here’s more proof of why; you should hate him, but instead he’s got you mooning after him like he’s the hero out of a poem instead of a killer set on conquest.”
Her cheeks burned, but for once, she was lost for an appropriate retort.
Titus stared out over the camp. “I know we got off to a rough start, but I like you, Teriana. And he doesn’t need to do this. Doesn’t need to hurt you more than you’ve already been hurt.”
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“Why would the son of Cassius care what happens to me?”
Silence.
“My father’s a slimy bastard who doesn’t give a squirt of piss about me beyond what advantage my victories bring him.” Titus spit into the dirt. “And besides, it wasn’t me who handed him the consulship. You can thank Marcus for that.”
The sun burned, and all she saw was white light. “You’re lying.”
“Ask anyone.” He leaned in, voice little more than a whisper. “The Thirty-Seventh marched into Celendrial and, to a man, voted for my father.”
“You’re full of shit, Titus.” And before he could say anything more, she hurried toward the camp gates.
He’s got an agenda, she told herself. He’s not telling you these things for your sake—he’s got something to gain. But that didn’t mean what he’d told her was a lie.
Reaching the gate, she stumbled to a halt. Quintus and Miki were talking to Avitius, so she mindlessly exchanged pleasantries with the men standing guard, waiting for them to finish. All of them were from the Thirty-Seventh. The question came out without thought: “Did you vote in the elections?”
They exchanged looks with one another; then one of them shrugged. “We all did.”
“For who?” Her tongue felt numb.
“Cassius.”
“Why?”
There was a flash of discomfort in the soldier’s eyes; then he said, “He didn’t give us much choice.”
He. Marcus.
“Right.” Her feet carried her through the gates, the sun all of a sudden seeming much too bright. Then Titus appeared again at her arm.
“Satisfied?”
Teriana tasted blood, the insides of her cheeks stinging. She’d killed a man to save Marcus’s life. And not just any man—a marked healer.
“He’s duped you,” Titus said, leaning in as Quintus and Miki approached. “For the sake of your sanity, do what you need to do to get through this, and then sail as far away from Marcus as you can get.”
37
MARCUS
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