Page 18 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

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 rapid thump, 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 save those 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!”

“He didn’t come back,” Servius snapped. “Titus’s men caught him.”

Quintus went still. “Teriana?”

Her name was a knife to the gut, tearing down the walls Marcus had built up around the emotions he felt for her. And the lies he’d told to her.

“Wasn’t with him,” Servius snapped.

“Is she alive?”

“She’s in Celendrial,” Marcus answered, because he could see that Quintus cared, and rewarding that was worth Servius slamming him sideways against the bars like Marcus was no more than a ragdoll.

“I said, be silent!”

Stars filled Marcus’s vision, everything spinning, but he heard Quintus say, “Celendrial? Shit. How?” before he was hauled out of earshot.

Servius unlocked the cell at the far end, then threw Marcus inside.

He stumbled over his own feet and fell to his knees, nearly colliding with the shit bucket before he caught his balance.

The bars slammed shut behind him, and Servius crossed his arms as he moved to stand in front of the cell opposite.

From down the hallway, Quintus shouted, “I told you that she wouldn’t abandon her ship! I told you that something happened to them!”

“Quintus, shut up or I will cut out your tongue and shove it down your throat!” Servius roared, his voice reverberating through the stone structure.

Marcus winced at the noise. His head throbbed, exhaustion weighing him down, for adrenaline was not enough to overcome the hunger and deprivation Titus had inflicted upon him. Still, he risked asking, “What has Quintus done to deserve being locked up?”

“What hasn’t he done would be a shorter list.” Servius gave a sharp shake of his head, then leveled a finger at Marcus. “I told you to be quiet.”

Easing to his feet, Marcus sat on the cot and watched his friend stew, knowing that Servius hated the silence and would feel compelled to break it.

The muscles beneath Servius’s brown skin flexed, his jaw working back and forth, brow creased with a scowl.

Sure enough, only a few moments passed before his friend crossed the corridor and gripped the bars.

“Do you have any idea of what your desertion did to the Thirty-Seventh? Do you have any idea what a mess things have been since you went running off into the sunset with Teriana?”

“I didn’t—”

“Be quiet!” Servius rattled the bars, face darkening with anger. “I’m doing the talking!”

Silence stretched, then Servius spun away, turning in a circle before gripping the bars again. “We’ve lost one hundred twenty-four of the Thirty-Seventh since you’ve been gone.”

Marcus’s skin turned to ice, his stomach hollowing. “How?” he asked, though what he really wanted to know was who. Whose names were now struck from the ranks of the Thirty-Seventh with the word deceased written next to them.

“Titus ordered us to press into the interior. There are things in there. Creatures and… and we don’t know what.

We find men slaughtered if we find them at all.

” Servius let out a ragged breath, shaking his head.

“It hasn’t gone well under Titus’s command, but without the Senate’s approval, Felix is only acting legatus. What could we do?”

Rise up.

The thought screamed its way into his head, instantly to be dismissed, for following the chain of command was so instinctive to his men that they did it as naturally as breathing.

Marcus’s hands fisted because without his protection, everything he’d feared would happen to his legion had come to pass.

“Why the interior? It was never the target.”

Servius spread his arms wide. “What else? Xenthier. We all knew you dragged your heels in the search for reasons of your own, but Titus raced after every rumor like a rat terrier. He wants the glory of conquest, and that’s not happening with only two legions.

Not against a target like Gamdesh. We needed a route back to secure more resources. ”

“There is a genesis in the abandoned city,” Marcus replied. “But the terminus is in the middle of Sibern. Don’t send anyone.”

“You don’t give orders. Not anymore.”

Servius’s voice was frosty, but Marcus didn’t miss the way his friend’s jaw had tightened. They’d found the stem in the collapsed temple.

“Whomever you sent is likely in the belly of Sibernese wolves. Or frozen, given that it’s the depths of winter.”

Curiosity flickered in Servius’s brown eyes, but all he said was, “Good thing Titus doesn’t trust us, then. Sent two of his own.” Servius seemed to be gathering his thoughts, trying to determine truth from fallacy. “You… you’re saying you have been in the East?”

Marcus didn’t answer.

With a few pieces of information, the seed was now sown, curiosity a far more powerful creature than the full story itself. He could see the questions forming in Servius’s eyes, each of them undermining the truth that the Thirty-Seventh had come to believe about his desertion.

Except, in the end, it didn’t matter what Servius thought. The decision of whether Marcus lived or died was in Felix’s hands. “How has Felix held up?”

The question had slipped out, and while Marcus was tempted to blame exhaustion and his rattled brain for the error, the truth was that he was desperate to know Felix’s state of mind.

Servius was quiet, and that alone made Marcus’s stomach plummet.

Yet it fell lower still as his friend said softly, “He had half the legion hunting for you. Refused to believe that you’d desert, especially with Quintus ranting that Teriana would never abandon her people.

He was convinced you were in the temple when the floor collapsed and went through the xenthier involuntarily.

Was all any of us could do to keep him from ordering an entire century of men after you. But then—”

Servius broke off as the sharp clack of legion-issue sandals against stone filled the building, his gaze going up the hallway.

“I’ll speak to the prisoner now.” Felix stepped in front of Marcus’s cell. “Alone. Take Quintus with you—I’ve no interest in his incessant need to involve himself.”

Servius wavered, appearing ready to argue, but then he slammed a hand against his chest. “Yes, sir.” With no further comments, he disappeared from view.

A lock clicked and hinges creaked, then Quintus was shouting, “She wouldn’t have done it! Wouldn’t have left them! Don’t believe the lies, Felix! No matter what you think of him, Teriana wouldn’t have—”

There was the sound of a fist thudding against flesh, then Servius’s muttered, “Shut your bloody gob, Quintus,” and the thump of the door shutting.

Leaving Marcus and Felix alone, the only sound the rising storm of Thirty-Seventh voices outside the prison calling for his blood.