Page 31 of Scorched Earth

Relief flooded Marcus’s veins. Felix was going to give him a chance to speak, to explain himself, to—

“I’d suggest that the prison is a more appropriate destination,” Titus said. Catching hold of the hood concealing Marcus’s face, Titus wrenched it away, then kicked Marcus in the spine.

He sprawled at Felix’s feet, tasting mud and worse. Yet it was tempting to remain in that position, for the alternative was to look up and face the consequences of all that he had said. All that he had done. While he was no deserter, neither was Marcus innocent, and even if he made it through this alive, there would be a reckoning.

Get up,he ordered himself, ignoring the pain and nausea and fear that demanded otherwise.Face this on your feet.

It was awkward with his arms bound, but Marcus got his knees beneath him. Then his feet. Mud dripped down his face as he straightened, the rising tide of angry voices making his pulse roar as his men recognized him. Legionnaires he’d led most of his life bent to pick up rocks, their faces flushed with fury, and he couldn’t blame them. It had been he who’d brought them to this place, whom they’d followed without question, and they all believed he’d abandoned them for a girl.

It was the worst form of betrayal, and the only thing standing between him and being beaten to death by his own men was the friend he’d all but stabbed in the heart.

He met Felix’s gaze, then immediately wished he hadn’t, for his friend’s blue eyes blazed with an awful mix of fury, shock, and grief that was barely kept in check. Men pressed closer all around them, the air tasting like violence, and Marcus knew that Felix wanted to unleash them. Wanted to pick up a rock and strike the first blow. The final blow. Anything to find respite from the hurt Marcus had caused him.

“He was found in civilian clothes near our camp.” Titus’s voice was measured, but his glee shone as bright as his polished armor. Titus would relish watching the Thirty-Seventh slaughter him, because it would clear a path to uncontested power. “He was injured when we found him. Black eye, bruised ribs. It seems Teriana grew tired of him and gave him a beating. He denies desertion and has wild claims about his whereabouts, but we have been unable to confirm his words. I suggest you give him the benefit of explaining himself before you take action.”

The clever bastard was doing his level best to ensure he couldn’t be blamed for any of what came next.

The din of shouts calling for his death grew. “Fucking traitor!” someone screamed, and Marcus flinched as a rock glanced off his arm. Then another hit his shoulder, sending a spike of pain lancing down his fingertips.

But he kept his eyes fixed on Felix’s. “I didn’t desert,” he said. “You can hear me out or kill me and hear the same story from the path-hunters who will soon arrive. Your choice.”

“No one knows better than me how easily you lie, Marcus.” The muscles in Felix’s jaw stood out in stark relief. “That the same story comes from someone else does not make it the truth. It only means you’ve manipulated them into believing it so.”

Another rock struck. Then another, and the chance for Felix to stop the violence was nearly past. His ears were full of the promise of death, his nose with sour sweat and his own coppery blood, but Marcus didn’t blink as he said, “Your choice, Felix.”

The world seemed to stand still, balanced on the edge of a knife blade, and Marcus braced himself for the pain.

Felix lifted one hand. “Hold.”

Only a lifetime of training made the men obey, and even so, Marcus felt their anger pushing against the order like a storm against a seawall. Felix sensed it too, and he glared at the surrounding men.

“Back. The. Fuck. Up!” he roared. “We have fallen far in this place, but not so far that we have forgotten the rule of law. He will be heard, and if his words fail to convince me, we will have his blood! Now get back to your duties before I have the lot of you flogged!”

The men reluctantly retreated a few paces, but Marcus’s heart didn’t slow its rapidthump, thump.Not with the whole camp seething with the barely checked violence of men who’d been raised as killers. Men who believed vengeance against him was their right.

Servius appeared, his large friend refusing to look at him as Felix said, “Lock him up. Keep him alive until I’m ready to hear him out.” Then he gestured at Titus and said, “If you would, sir,” before turning on his heel and striding toward the newly built stone structure at the center of the camp.

“Don’t speak,” Servius said, grabbing hold of Marcus and shoving him forward. “Don’t say a bloody word, or on my life, I’ll gag you with an ass wipe. I don’t want to hear your excuses. Don’t want to hear your reasons. And I sure as shit don’t want to hear your lies—you can savethose for Felix, though I think you’ll find him less tolerant of them than he once was.”

Marcus said not a word as Servius forced him through the rows of white tents, the scowls of the Thirty-Seventh coming from all sides.

Only for Gibzen to step into their path.

“You should never have come back,” the primus hissed, drawing his gladius. “Not after what you did. Not after you chose that Maarin whore over your own brothers!”

“Unless you want your ass whipped raw, you’ll put that away,” Servius barked. “Legatus’s orders.”

“But he—”

“I know what he did, Gibzen.” Servius jerked on Marcus’s arms with enough force that his feet lifted off the ground. “Go find yourself a rock and wait for Felix to give the order.”

The primus slammed his gladius back in its sheath, then spit in Marcus’s face as he passed. “Traitor!”

Marcus said nothing, spittle dripping down his cheek as Servius dragged him toward a thick stone structure.

The legions had been busy in his absence, the prison built in the Cel style they’d been trained to use, every block perfectly cut and fitted together, the floor set into a mosaic of smaller stones. Gleaming steel formed the fronts of each of the cells, and as Marcus stumbled down the center hallway, a familiar face appeared from behind the bars.

“Marcus?” Quintus pounded a bruised fist against one of the bars. “I knew it! Knew that unless you were dead, you’d be back. Knew you hadn’t deserted, but those shitstains wouldn’t listen!”