Page 156 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

LYDIA

Agrippa rode away from the white tent, but he’d not gone far when a roar of anger surged across the space between the armies.

The orderly ranks of the Thirty-Seventh had fallen apart when Agrippa had ridden into their midst, but now it was a raging mass of men in front of the white tent while the other legions watched, unmoving.

Agrippa himself did not look back, and Lydia did not think his grim expression was because of the earthquake they’d just experienced.

“What are they doing?” Malahi demanded. “What’s happening?”

“They’re tearing one of their own apart. I don’t know why.” Killian lowered his spyglass as Agrippa cantered up the slope toward them, his face ashen.

“Who is that man?” Malahi demanded of him. “Why are they killing him?”

“It’s Thirty-Seventh business.” Agrippa leaned over the side of his horse and vomited. Wiping his mouth, he muttered, “Legion betrayal. Legion justice. Not our problem.”

Already the legion ranks were reforming, the only sign of the violence the swath of blood-soaked grass in front of the equally splattered tent. Of Marcus, there was no sign.

And as the sun fell behind the slope, whatever was happening within the army below was lost to shadows.

“Teriana and the others succeeded. I was there when he got the news, and that earthquake was the Gamdeshians getting rid of Marcus’s path back to them,” Agrippa said as they rode into their own camp, swiftly explaining what he’d learned.

“Unfortunately, I think Teriana’s actions, in coming a day too late, might have pulled us out of the frying pan only to cast us into the fire.

All those legionnaires are totally cut off from supplies and water, which means the only way they can get it is by taking it from us or moving south and taking it from Serlania.

They’ll strip the land as they go, then take every ship in port and head to the relative safety of the Southern Continent.

Without the Empire to supply them, they’ll be like a swarm of locusts wherever they go. ”

“What was Marcus like?” Lydia moved her horse close to Agrippa’s. “Was he himself?”

“Yes. And no.” Her friend met her gaze, and in the torchlight she could see his cheeks were damp.

“He reminded me very much of you when we were fleeing Derin. Different versions of himself that were very much at war with each other. How this goes for us is going to depend on which part of him wins out. Though in truth, once all the other legati learn the nature of their predicament, even if he wants to show us some level of mercy, they may not allow it. Hungry men are dangerous men.”

“What else happened in that tent?” Killian asked. “We saw a commotion going in and out.”

Agrippa was quiet for a long moment, then he said, “Nothing you need to know. Thirty-Seventh business.”

“If he’s still trying to capture Lydia, I need to know.” There was a hint of anger in Killian’s voice. “Don’t let your loyalties sway now.”

“They haven’t swayed.” Agrippa dismounted in front of Dareena’s tent, then helped Malahi off her horse.

“Cassius wants Lydia dead. The Corrupter wants Lydia dead. And Marcus… I think part of him wants to blame you for him losing Teriana, so he doesn’t have to come to terms with it being his fault.

” He was quiet for a minute. “He said he loved her, and the Six as my witness, I think he was telling the truth.”

Lydia slid off the side of her own horse, handing Gwen the reins. “Despite what she’s done?”

“Who can say? But what I do know is that Teriana was right that the Thirty-Seventh is the hill that he’s going to die on. This is no longer about conquest, it’s about survival, and if it is between us and them, he’ll strip us of every mouthful of food we have with no regrets.”

“Then we need to move against Deadground tonight.” Lydia took Killian’s arm as they entered the tent. “Before he moves against us and we lose our chance.”

The four of them encircled the table with the map Astara had provided of Rufina’s camp, complete with pools of blight.

“Our only choice is to throw everything we have at fighting through the blighters and corrupted to reach the xenthier stem,” Agrippa said.

“We do it knowing that many will subsequently die of blight poisoning, but if we can destroy it, we give all the civilians a chance to survive after the legions strip them of everything.”

The tent flaps opened, and Dareena appeared.

“I wish I had better news,” she said. “But the blight has breached our lines at multiple points and is spreading south at speed. The dogs scenting the paths beneath the ground show that it is flowing southeast and southwest, suggesting that Rufina is routing it around the Cel army, but I have no doubt that Serlania is her goal.”

Sickness pooled in Lydia’s stomach. They were out of time.

“So far no one has presented as infected,” Dareena said. “But I’m going to do rounds with Killian’s dog myself. It’s better than sitting. I can’t sit anymore.”

Her aunt twisted on her heel and left, leaving a trail of frustration and helplessness in her wake.

No one spoke, the weight of what was to come pressing down and down.

Lena stepped into the tent. “The Cel have sent a messenger,” she said. “He said they want to talk terms.”

“You mean surrender?” Agrippa demanded. “I already told him no!”

Lydia met Malahi’s gaze. “You might be able to destroy it without me. If it’s still me the Cel want, it might be that handing me over gains you the time you need.”

“No,” Killian snapped. “I’ll not hand you over.”

But Malahi gave a tight nod. For the sake of Reath, they’d both make this sacrifice, but Lydia could not deny the fear in her heart.

“Send the messenger in,” Lydia forced herself to say. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

Lena disappeared, and Lydia turned her back on the entrance, drawing in breath after breath to compose herself, to control the fear rising in her chest as her demons approached. “I’ll talk to him, if you want. You don’t have to do this,” Malahi said softly, but Lydia shook her head. “I can do it.”

She heard footsteps, the rustle of tent canvas, and then Agrippa hissed between his teeth, “Oh fuck me, you have bigger balls than I thought.”

Dread pooling in her stomach, Lydia slowly turned and found herself staring into familiar blue-grey eyes.

Legatus Marcus inclined his head. “It’s been a long time, Lydia.”

In a flash of motion, Killian moved, the tip of his sword stopping just shy of Marcus’s throat.

Marcus did not so much as flinch, only said, “Careful, Calorian. While I understand that cutting my jugular might provide a certain pleasure, the consequences of your impulsivity would cause you to regret the action sooner rather than later.”

“I’ve never had cause to regret cutting off a snake’s head.” Killian’s tone was murderous, and though Lydia knew she needed to take control of this situation, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t get past the fear that was drowning her like Marcus had once tried to drown her in the bath.

“Ah, but this snake is more of a hydra. Cut off this head and you’ll only have a dozen more with equally sharp teeth looking to bite.

Or, if you require clearer speech, there are a dozen men in my camp with the training and experience to take over my role.

The change in command will happen without hesitation, offering you no opportunity to take advantage of chaos brought by men jockeying for position. ”

“You think your death won’t matter?”

“On the contrary, I think it will matter a great deal. Rather than thousands of men amenable to negotiation, you will have thousands of men looking for revenge. But you hold the sword, Calorian. The choice is yours but make it quick. Time is short.”

Killian lowered his sword, though he didn’t sheathe it.

“Why are you here?” Lydia finally managed to make her tongue unfreeze, but her whole body still felt like ice.

“To talk about our mutual problem.”

“Then you talk to me,” Killian said. “You don’t get to speak to her after what you did.”

“I’m not in the habit of negotiating with the second-in-command,” Marcus answered. “I will speak with your queen, or I will speak to no one. I would say the choice is, once again, yours, Calorian, but if you respect your queen’s authority, the choice is hers .”

Every part of Lydia wanted to run from this conversation, terror twisting her stomach into ropes and binding her chest like a vise.

Logically, she knew that made no sense. Marcus was mortal, unarmed, and would not win in a fight against Killian.

Would not win in a fight against her . Yet Lydia couldn’t make herself answer.

Could only stand in place, trembling. Because it wasn’t Marcus she feared, but rather what he represented.

Her helplessness.

Her weakness.

Despite everything that had happened since, Lydia once again felt like the girl she’d been in the baths. A pawn used by Cassius, then discarded, ineffectual in all her attempts to defend herself.

The only thing that still burned in defiance was her anger. It was no longer anger at herself, but anger at those who used their power to cause terror in others.

In three steps she knew were so quick she’d seem a blur to him, Lydia closed one hand around his neck, her dark half latching upon his life. With her free hand, she pushed Killian back, because this was her fight. Not his.

“I’m not the girl you tried to drown in a bath any longer, Legatus,” she said softly. “I’m no longer weak. No longer defenseless. So show care with what you say, or this breath will be your last.”

Marcus’s pulse remained steady beneath her grip as his eyes locked on hers. “You were never weak.”

She blinked, his words not what she’d expected.

“Weakness is giving up. You fought to the bitter end and beyond,” he said. “The gods of this land might have made you physically stronger, but the will to fight was always there.”