Page 11 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)
“Of course, Consul.” Hostus gave Teriana a smile that was all teeth as Cassius climbed back inside the litter.
The Twenty-Ninth’s legatus was well into his twenties, white-blond hair cut short, his emerald eyes vibrant against his golden Cel skin.
A face to inspire sculptors, she had no doubt, but from the moment she’d met him, Teriana had sensed the monster lurking within.
Hostus clapped Nic on the shoulder so hard that the boy staggered. “Wait out here, puppy.”
“No.” Nic’s voice was cold, but though he showed no visible signs of nerves, Teriana could sense his apprehension. She suspected Hostus could as well. “The Commandant’s orders are that I am to remain with Teriana at all times, under full guard.”
“Don’t you trust me to take care of her?
” Hostus’s gaze was feral, his smile still showing far too many of his white teeth.
“I’m starting to feel a little hurt, puppy.
First you abandon my care to tie yourself to the Thirty-Seventh’s apron strings, and now you throw doubt upon my ability to manage a prisoner. ”
“Feelings are irrelevant,” Nic answered. “I’m following orders.”
“He’s coming with me,” Teriana snapped. “If for no other reason than to keep me from cutting your throat.” She patted the hilt of the knife at her waist. “I’ve still got the blade I took from you.”
Hostus met her stare. “Let’s see how well that little thing serves you in the dark, girl.” He gestured to the building. “Shall we?”
The prison was cool, and as Teriana’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she frowned in confusion.
Rather than rows and rows of cells, as she’d anticipated, the prison appeared exactly like one of the state buildings.
All columns and high ceilings, the tiled floor sparkling clean, and the domes painted with scenes of marching legions.
Banners of red and gold hung from the walls, and it was incredibly quiet.
“It’s underground,” Nic said softly. “The upper level belongs to the administrators and the warden, and this is their entrance. There is another one for the prisoners.”
Underground.
Teriana swallowed her nausea as Hostus strolled past, leading them down the main corridor before stopping in front of a heavy door flanked by six legionnaires with the number 29 stamped on their breastplates.
He muttered something to them, and one extracted a thick key and unlocked the door.
Hearing the clack of legion-issue sandals behind her, Teriana glanced over her shoulder to see more of the Twenty-Ninth following them in, weapons in hand.
“My people aren’t to be harmed.” Panic rose in her chest because she realized she hadn’t been specific that the hundred be alive when they set sail. It was just like Cassius to look for such a loophole.
“As long as they are peaceable, they won’t be,” Hostus replied. “I’m merely being cautious.”
There was zero chance she’d trust Hostus at his word, but Nic gave a small nod of affirmation that partially eased the tension in her chest.
Then the door swung open.
A wave of stink washed over her, and Teriana recoiled, gagging. It smelled worse than a legion camp latrine, for it was tinged with vomit and… rot. As though not everyone in the prison below was alive.
“Gods.” She pressed her sleeve to her mouth and ignored the dark glares the legionnaires gave her, because her people were trapped in that horror. She tried to shove past Hostus, to sprint down into this underworld to find them. To help them. But Hostus’s hand latched on her wrist.
“There are protocols,” he murmured, the bones of her wrist grinding beneath his grip. “ Walk .”
Then he pulled her through the entrance.
The staircase was wide and made from square-cut stone blocks, sconces filled with burning oil both illuminating the space and filling it with a haze of smoke that mixed with the miasma of human waste as they descended, passing yet more legionnaires as they circled into the bowels of the structure. Behind them, the door slammed shut.
Teriana’s heart throbbed with the same speed it had when she and Marcus had been chased by wolves across Sibern, her ears now filled with cries and moans of pain and despair, the stink so terrible her eyes burned.
“You get used to it,” Hostus said with a chuckle, maintaining his grip on her arm. Nic and Pullo followed behind them as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
A corridor lined with steel bars stretched out before her.
She peered into the darkness, dread filling her at the sight of dozens and dozens of holes in the ground.
Perhaps four feet in diameter, they looked like wells with bars overtop, except they didn’t contain water.
Weeping emanated from the space, and she clenched her teeth against the sourness rising in her throat at the thought of being kept in the tight, dark space for days.
Months. Gods, it was possible some of the prisoners might have been in there for years . “If my people are—”
“They’re not,” Hostus interrupted. “Those are for individuals who have done truly despicable things, not sad little sailors who put their faith in the wrong girl.”
Her chin trembled. “Seems a fitting place for you.”
Hostus’s laugh echoed through the prison. “None of those holes are deep enough to contain me.” Pulling his gladius loose, he ran the blade along the metal bars with resounding clangs, shouting, “It’s bath time, you filthy ingrates!”
There were dozens of the Twenty-Ninth on duty around those holes, and all of them moved on cue. Teriana blinked back tears, refusing to watch what they were doing but unable to drown out the splashing and cries of distress from the prisoners. Nor the acrid smell.
“This is not acceptable, Hostus,” Nic said between gritted teeth. “I will raise this with the Senate before I depart.”
Hostus broke off his laughter. Dropping Teriana’s wrist, he whirled, catching the boy by the throat and slamming the young primus against the bars.
Pullo moved to interfere, but more of the Twenty-Ninth were on them in a heartbeat, knocking him back.
Two of them stepped close to Teriana, eyes cold as snakes as they backed her away.
“You aren’t going to say a thing, puppy,” Hostus whispered. “For if you do, you won’t wake up tomorrow in your camp, but rather in the bottom of one of these holes. Be assured, I will choose a prisoner who will be delighted for your company.”
Knowing that any intervention on her part would only make things worse for Nic, Teriana twisted on her heels and broke into a run.
Her boots smacked the stone floor with heavy thuds, Hostus’s curses chasing Teriana down the corridor.
The cells full of holes fell away, replaced with large rooms filled with men and women chained to the wall, but none of them were her people.
What if this had been a trick?
What if they weren’t down here, and this was merely a perverse way to lock her up in prison?
What if…
Her thoughts trailed away, not because of the scowling men who’d stepped from their posts to intercept her, but because beyond them, in a large cell, were familiar faces.
“Let her pass,” Hostus ordered, though she barely heard him as she walked up to the bars, gripping them tightly as she stared inside.
Dark-skinned faces stared back at her, Maarin eyes all swirling grey seas of misery, though some lightened to a faded blue as she was recognized. “It’s Teriana,” many of them whispered. “Teriana of the Quincense . The Triumvir’s daughter.”
Most of the men were shackled by the ankles, but though the women and children were unbound, they had no more freedom of space with the number of them stuffed into the chamber.
They were filthy, clothes ragged and stained, and faces gaunt with hunger.
Many looked ill, others bearing injuries that oozed with infection, and in the corners, some forms were still.
This is your fault, her conscience whispered. This would never have happened, if not for you.
Abruptly she felt the brush of warmth against her cheek.
Hostus was watching her.
His lips were slightly parted, his breathing rapid—relishing her misery in a way that caused her to recoil.
“This is almost as good as cutting you open,” he whispered. “Shame Marcus isn’t here to enjoy his part of this horror show.”
Don’t let him provoke you . Nic’s warning filled her head, and Teriana swallowed down the mouthful of saliva she’d been about to spit into his face. “I want to speak to them.”
Disappointment that she hadn’t reacted filled his eyes and he blew out an irritated breath. “On your bellies,” he ordered. “By orders of the Consul and Senate, one hundred of you are to be granted liberty. That is, if Teriana agrees to the price.”
Murmurs filled the air, her people all obediently falling to their bellies as one of the guards unlocked the bars. Teriana pushed past him, filth squishing beneath her feet as she moved into the cell. Though her people remained prone, heads turned to regard her, waiting.
She didn’t know what to say.
Did not know what words could possibly make this situation better, given she stood polished, clean, and well-fed while they suffered. Nothing she’d endured compared to this, and she wanted to scream in rage at Madoria for choosing her as her champion against the Cel, for she’d failed so miserably.
Yet seeing her people like this also brought clarity as to her purpose, and Teriana turned to Hostus. “Tell Cassius we have an accord. Six months.”
Hostus smiled, the answer seeming to please him. “Then you may choose your hundred.”
“I’ve negotiated for the freedom of one hundred souls.” Her voice was hoarse. “The rest to be freed when I fulfill my obligations to the Senate. I negotiated for all the children, but I think the rest should not be my decision.”
“But that was the deal,” Hostus crooned. “It must be your decision, Teriana. You must personally choose each one. And I’ll personally cut the throat of anyone who opens their mouth to assist you.”
Her hands balled into fists, nails cutting into her palms, every part of her wanting to lash out in violence.
Except that would be giving him exactly what he wanted.
“Fine.” Her mouth tasted of copper, the insides of her cheeks bleeding where she’d bit them.
“If I touch your head, please go to the door. The legatus’s men will escort you above, where you will be brought to the ship waiting for you in the harbor.
They have committed to your safety as long as you do not invite violence. Please don’t give them an excuse.”
Hostus chuckled. “Or do.”
Fresh blood filled her mouth as she bit down on her cheeks again, but Teriana forced herself to proceed, touching the heads of two young girls, as well as that of their mother, whose arms held them to the ground.
As the woman slowly rose, Teriana finally saw past the grime.
It was her cousin, Elyanna. Her own gods-damned flesh and blood was imprisoned in this place and she hadn’t even known it.
“Get moving!” Hostus barked, and Elyanna jerked, eyes midnight storms of fear as she clutched her daughters against her and edged out of the cell, casting a terrified glance back at her husband.
Though she hated to do it, Teriana moved past him to touch the head of a woman, who held a baby, then an elderly man, as well as the boy Nic’s age who clung to him tightly.
Tears trickling down her face, she moved through the prone forms of her people, touching the hair of those younger than her, as well as one of their parents or grandparents.
“That’s forty-five,” Hostus said when she was through, his voice bored. “Pick up the pace, Teriana. I haven’t got all day.”
She stood frozen in place, eyes skipping from person to person, realizing that she was not only choosing who would live, she was also choosing who would die if she didn’t make her deadline.
How could she pick one over the other? Did she choose the elderly, for they were least likely to survive, or did she choose the young, for they had their whole lives ahead of them?
Panic made the world spin, and she started to reach for the second mate of one of the ships, only for the man to turn his head away from her.
She froze, realizing a second later that he was making the choice for her: not him.
All around her, the strong, both men and women, were turning their faces away from her, guiding her hand without whispering a word.
She heard Hostus’s hiss of irritation that they were stealing the pleasure he took from watching her suffer.
Teriana ignored him, in stead walking among her people, taking their guidance. The elderly. The ill. The injured.
The god marked, of which there were three.
“You’re at ninety-six,” Nic said from where he stood next to a glowering Hostus. “The others have already begun to make their way to the harbor.”
Scanning the remaining men and women, she stepped toward a massive man with biceps as thick as her thigh. He recoiled, giving a slight shake of his head, but she said, “You will protect them.” In quick succession, she chose three more known to be fine fighters, giving them the same instructions.
“Finally,” Hostus muttered. “That was tedious. Get out of there, Teriana, I’m late for my midday meal.”
She didn’t want to leave.
Didn’t want to abandon her people in this miserable prison under the guard of Hostus’s men. Wanted instead to exchange herself for one of them, because if anyone deserved to be here, it was her.
But she doubted Cassius would let her off so easily.
“Stay strong,” she said. “I will free every last one of you, I swear it.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Hostus drawled. “Not even Marcus can do what you committed to do within six months, which means at least some of these brave and self-sacrificing sailors are destined for the gallows. Or the stadium.”
Her stomach filled with unease as every eye in the prison shot to her. Six months felt like an eternity to keep them imprisoned, but if Hostus said otherwise, then…
“It can be done,” she swore to her people as one of Hostus’s men caught her by the shoulders. “I can do it. It’s possible. I’ll get you out.”
Her words echoed hollowly down the hallways as the legionnaires dragged her away, but it was the ones inside her head that were the loudest.
What have I done?