Page 158 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

MARCUS

The torches crackled in the mist, not a breath of wind stirring the night air.

Even so, Marcus could smell the blight, every breath he took tasting like foulness and rot.

Handing off his horse, he walked a few paces and then paused, his eyes catching on a narrow ribbon of black in the ground that was so inky dark it seemed to consume the torchlight.

Bending low, he examined the blight, watching it shift and swirl as though it watched him back.

A reminder of the stakes. What he’d lost. And what would remain lost if Lydia and her companions didn’t deliver.

The Fifty-First are dead. Austornic is dead.

Grief and guilt threatened to drown him, but Marcus instead used the emotions to fuel his focus. Lydia said they could be saved, but it was only possible if he succeeded tonight.

Stepping over the blight, Marcus carried on alone to the tent that had been set up for him, aware, as he sat, that he was very much on enemy ground.

Even so, there was some degree of peace in the moment, for he couldn’t recall the last time he’d sat entirely alone with nothing but his own thoughts for company.

Even when the legion gave him space, he was still surrounded, still watched, and though to be without them now should put terror in his veins, Marcus found himself breathing easily as he waited in the silence.

His mind drifted, as it always did, to Teriana.

The hair ornament he’d taken from Gibzen was on a string around his neck, the tiny ship pressed against his chest. Little more information had been received since the moment he’d learned his supply lines had been cut off, but the fragments of information were enough for him to piece together what Teriana had done.

The history books would speak of the technicalities, of how she’d coordinated the theft of explosives from multiple locations across Reath, then used the Maarin network to organize an attack on xenthier stems, severing supply lines.

Of how the Maarin, a nomadic nation with no military, had defeated Celendor, who held the greatest armies in the world.

But Marcus saw it differently. Where he’d gone through life making enemies, Teriana had been making friends, and the single greatest thing she’d done was make allies out of those he’d trod upon, creating a unified force unlike any Reath had seen.

The technicalities paled in comparison to that achievement, though he wished with all his heart that he’d be able to hear about them from her own lips.

A sharp pain formed in his chest, and he rested an elbow on the empty table, breathing deeply until it faded.

Not that it ever went away. The loss of what had been between him and Teriana was an aching wound that would never heal.

He’d always associated pain with weakness, but this pain made him stronger.

Made him remember himself. Made him remember what truly mattered.

A noise like a canvas tarp being snapped filled the air, followed by a faint thud. Marcus tensed, scanning the darkness beyond the tent for the source of the sound, and a deimos stepped into view.

Remaining seated, he watched the monstrous winged creature walk closer, then stop, the woman seated on its back sliding to the ground. For all the deimos was dangerous, every instinct in his body screamed that she was the real threat; danger seethed around her like a dark cloud.

As Rufina approached, Marcus rose to his feet and inclined his head. “Your Majesty. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

“Legatus.” She took the seat opposite him, watching him with midnight eyes ringed with fire. “I confess I’ve longed to meet you for some time. Your exploits across the Endless Seas are rivaled only by your accomplishments in the south. I dare say, you live up to every bit of your reputation.”

Marcus wished with all his heart that wasn’t the case, but for now he needed to be the man who’d earned his repute.

“You have the advantage, Majesty, for you are something of a mystery to me. Queen of Derin. Marked by the Seventh. Mistress of the blight. Bane of Mudamora. Sworn enemy of our common problem, Killian Calorian.”

Rufina’s jaw tightened slightly at Calorian’s name, which Marcus could appreciate, because he felt much the same way about Mudamora’s general, but all she said was, “Hardly a mystery, then. What else is there to know?”

He had a thousand questions, the most critical being how well informed she was.

By both mortal and supernatural sources.

There was no doubt in Marcus’s mind that the Seventh knew his heart and mind, but whether he’d communicated that to Rufina would only be known if Marcus was still alive at the end of this conversation.

“Whether I should call you enemy or ally.”

Rufina’s full lips curved, and she leaned forward, the rings on her fingers glittering in the torchlight as she purred, “Which do you want to be, Marcus?”

Since it was what she was offering, he took the opportunity to look her over.

Dressed in black leather that clung to every curve, she appeared little older than he was himself, though given that she was corrupted, she could be his grandmother’s age and he wouldn’t know it.

Her long dark hair hung in silky waves and a lock of it pooled on the table next to her elbow.

Ivory skin without flaw stretched over high cheekbones and a straight nose, but it was hard to see her as beautiful with eyes like the pits of the underworld itself watching his every move.

Eyes that may well have watched while Nic and the rest of the Fifty-First had died slowly and painfully, and the hate Marcus felt for her and her master was rivaled only by his hatred of Cassius.

Everything about this creature disgusted him, but he gave her an appreciative smile.

“I think we could be friends, Majesty. But only if we come to certain accommodations.”

Rufina’s head tilted as she considered, and he wondered if her power allowed her to hear the too rapid beat of his heart. If she knew that his confidence was a long-practiced act that hid his fear, this would all go to shit, leaving him dead or worse. But all she said was, “I’m listening.”

“Your blight is a problem,” he said. “Not only do I desire to keep my men among the living, there is no profit to be had from a wasteland full of walking corpses.”

“You might prefer them dead, Legatus. They are much more obedient.”

He huffed out an amused breath. “Obedient to you, which I think presents obvious problems for me.”

Rufina lifted one shoulder and smiled.

“Is it within your power to cease the spread of the blight?” he asked. “Or have you unleashed something that is beyond your control?”

She was silent for a moment, and Marcus waited for her to hedge, to give him a vague answer, but then she said, “It is within my control to cease the spread, should I desire to do so.”

“Do you?”

“Not yet.”

“That’s a problem.”

“Only for you.”

Battles were won and lost by knowing one’s opponent. In understanding what it was the other side wished to achieve and what they were willing to do to achieve it. Power. Wealth.

Revenge.

Though Marcus did not know this woman’s story, the rightness of the latter settled upon him, because there could be no other motivation to justify the wasteland Rufina left in her wake.

What did power mean if there was no one among the living to control?

What did wealth mean if there was no one to flaunt it before?

There was only one thing total destruction achieved, and it was vengeance.

The torches crackled as the tension between them simmered, and he said, “It’s a problem for you as well, Your Majesty, because if you won’t give me what I want, this is how it’s going to go.

I will withdraw my armies and cool my heels in Gamdesh while the united armies of Mudamora and Anukastre go to war against you.

It will be long and taxing, but eventually they’ll triumph.

At which point I’ll make my move, returning to Mudamora, crushing its weakened army until they submit to my authority and then funneling the fruits of your failure back to the East.”

Rufina did not so much as blink as she said, “I’ve heard your funnels were destroyed by the Maarin.”

He’d been prepared for her to know that detail, but Marcus still silently cursed.

“All the more reason for me to withdraw to Gamdesh and put my resources to securing more paths. For I assure you, the Maarin’s gambit will not work twice.

” Resting his elbows on the table, Marcus said, “We can work together and both achieve what we want, Your Majesty. Or you can make yourself a problem that I need to solve, which will not go well for you. I will get what I want, one way or another. I always do.”

Silence.

Silence was normally his weapon, but for all everything he’d said was true, Marcus felt as though he was on the backfoot, the desire to keep talking, to elicit some form of reaction from her nearly overwhelming him.

“And why is it,” she finally said, “that you believe that Mudamora will triumph when their dead all rise to serve me?”

“Because the blight has risen and been destroyed before.” He gave her a slight smile, then spun a lie she had no reason not to believe.

“The library in Revat was a wondrous source of information, although I was not the first to discover the secrets within it. That honor goes to Kitaryia Falorn, though I have looked upon what research she left behind. Our shared enemies know how to destroy your greatest weapon, so I strongly suggest we destroy them first.”

Rufina’s eyes narrowed, the first reaction he’d managed to provoke.

“I’ve given the Mudamorians an ultimatum: hand over Kitaryia Falorn and Malahi Rowenes or die. Given the threat they are facing, I think they will leap at the opportunity.”

“They can leap all they want at it,” Rufina answered.

“Killian Calorian will not stand idle while harm comes to his queen, and our mutual deserter Agrippa is remarkably good at causing trouble, especially where Malahi Rowenes is concerned.” Her head tilted.

“I heard Agrippa paid you a visit today. What did he say?”

“A great deal about fighting for the side of good.” Marcus shrugged. “He’s always been easily swayed by women. Likes to play hero. I think when it comes down to it, he’ll show his true colors.”

“Yet instead of killing him, you killed one of your own.”

Whether she had a spy in his ranks or was watching from afar, Marcus wasn’t sure, but he suspected lying would not serve him well. “I don’t suffer those who betray me to live. Agrippa’s time will come.”

“They won’t surrender either woman,” Rufina said after a long moment of silence. “It has to be done by force. And it needs to be done now.”

“Why? Time is our friend, not theirs. I’ll not spend the lives of good men when time and hunger will do the work for me.” He gave her a long look. “And in truth, the same could be said of you. Why haven’t you attacked?”

She didn’t answer.

“Afraid you’ll lose to Calorian? Again.”

Rufina’s jaw tightened.

“I think you wear Derin’s crown not because you enjoy the tedium of rule but as a means to an end,” he said. “Let us ally to achieve that end, because in doing so, we will both be satisfied.”

“What is it that you think I want?”

“Revenge,” he answered. “Against the Six.”

Rufina’s breath caught.

“I’m sure you are aware of the Empire’s sentiment toward paganism,” he continued.

“What happened in Galinha, Aracam, Emrant, and Revat. What has happened to every one of the marked who has stood in my path.” Leaning across the table so that his mouth was near her ear, Marcus murmured, “We can tear them all down, you and me. You will have your revenge, and I will have it so that none stand above us, save the ones we serve.”

As he sat back in his chair, Marcus could see the yearning behind those eyes ringed with fire.

Part of him wondered what wrong she’d suffered to allow her desire for revenge to consume her so.

To allow hate to burn away her humanity until she cared not for those she crushed beneath her feet in pursuit of her goal.

Then Rufina’s gaze focused on him again, and she said, “You desire to rule the world, don’t you, Legatus?”

“One might argue that I already control most of it.”

She huffed out a soft breath that held grudging admiration, but then said, “You wish for everyone to dance to the beat of your drum, but what will you do when there’s nothing else to conquer?”

Marcus allowed the darkness that lurked in his own soul to stare out at her. “There’s always something to conquer, Your Majesty. Ally with me in this fight, and I will show you how to rule the world.”