Page 44 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)
MARCUS
In the days that had passed since he’d dispatched the letter with Astara, it was all Marcus could do not to stare at the sky every time he stepped outside, eyes hunting for the shape of the giant hawk returning with a reply.
Kaira will agree. She won’t abandon the Maarin.
A thought that repeated through his head day and night even as he prepared for the alternative.
“Letter via the Bardeen stem, sir.” Gibzen set a carefully packaged formal missive on the table. “You need anything?”
Marcus picked up the sealed tube, opening it to find a message written in Wex’s familiar hand. A list of genesis codes, dates, and times. Atrio should almost be in Emrant, which meant the timing would work out perfectly.
At the bottom of the list, Wex wrote,
This is an expensive and risky experiment, and one strictly forbidden by the Senate after the debacle with the Nineteenth. It will be coming out of your budget, Legatus, not mine, and if it goes badly, you will be the one to take the fall. I look forward to hearing the results.
Wex.
Marcus smiled, then tucked the letter into his belt pouch for safe keeping.
The Nineteenth Legion had accidentally set off explosives at a minor transport genesis in northern Celendor two years prior, the fatal and costly consequences buried in paperwork and propaganda, but Wex wasn’t one to allow one idiot’s mistakes to ruin a good strategy for all.
Being of the same mindset, Marcus typically would use colored smoke for this task, but given the stems in question were entombed, it had to be noise.
Something loud enough to be heard through rock but not so violent as to cause alarm, so he’d settled on firecrackers.
Specific patterns to be repeated throughout specific dates, and Marcus had no doubt that Wex had needed to buy up the supply of every fireworks maker in Celendrial for the task.
Atrio would hear the pattern, note the date, and the results would tell Marcus exactly the genesis stem that led to Emrant.
In theory, at any rate.
The experiment wouldn’t be needed if Kaira cooperated, because once she cracked open the tomb, all the dead path-hunters she’d find inside would have information about where they’d come from. But if she didn’t…
She will. She won’t abandon Teriana’s people.
But if she didn’t, all the work that Titus had put into securing an alliance with Katamarca would prove its worth. All that remained once he had his target confirmed was a formal request for more reinforcements, which in truth, he suspected were already mustering at Hydrilla.
A formal request I’ll never make, because Kaira will see the merit of this plan.
Marcus stared at the map before him, head still aching mercilessly, every part of him looking forward to the midnight hour when he could silence the pain and his parade of anxieties for a few hours.
It was then that he noticed how cold it was in the room, his skin prickling. As he looked up, it was to find Gibzen still standing next to the table, watching him.
There was a strangeness to the other man’s gaze, and Marcus asked, “Have you discovered anything more?”
Gibzen handed him a page. “Men who were on guard duty in the time leading up to when Teriana was kidnapped. I put a mark next to the ones who don’t like her.”
The list was so messy it bordered on illegible, half the names misspelled, and nearly all with a mark next to them. “Why is your name on this list?”
With a mark next to it, no less.
“To be thorough, sir. It’s not personal, but I don’t like her much. She tried to bribe me once to keep something from you, and that never sat right.”
“What did she want kept from me?”
“Her wanting to talk to Miki and Quintus alone, sir. I though it risky, given that Quintus wasn’t in the finest mood. Turned out to be nothing, but rubbed me wrong.”
Nothing, indeed, and Marcus scanned the list again, but no one leapt out at him as having acted strangely. Which made it yet another dead end. “Keep digging.”
“Yes, sir.” Gibzen departed, and Marcus swore the cold left with him, the air returning to the usually muggy heat of Arinoquia.
Only for Austornic to appear.
The boy came around the table, then handed Marcus a crumpled letter with a familiar wax seal. “Fell from the sky.”
Marcus’s heart broke into a gallop, his pulse a dull roar in his ears as he examined the seal.
She’ll agree.
She has to agree.
She won’t abandon Teriana’s people.
Cracking the wax, he fought to keep his fingers from shaking as he slowly opened the letter.
You, and the Empire, can kiss my ass.
Kaira
Marcus stared at the writing, reading it over and over, searching for a message within the message that contained a different answer than this.
But there was nothing.
His head throbbed so painfully he could barely think, and Marcus dropped the page to press fingers to his temples, the room suddenly too bright.
Vaguely, he saw Austornic pick it up, though he didn’t read Gamdeshian.
“I take it diplomacy has failed,” the boy said. “Now we have to go to war against an enemy who knows our precise target and intentions. So what is our new plan?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus muttered, even though he very much did know.
Once Atrio confirmed the stem in Emrant, Marcus would take it by force. Hundreds, if not thousands, would die, with more succumbing in the trail of starvation and disease that war left in its wake. He would win, because he always did, but the cost…
Marcus rested his head in his hands.
“We need a plan.” Austornic slammed the page down on the table. “We’ve spent time and resources we didn’t have on this.”
Anger rose in his chest that this child dared to criticize him. A boy whose knowledge of war was limited to books and practice blades and drills. “Do you think I’m not aware?”
“Then why did you bother? Because don’t tell me that you truly believed the Gamdeshians would agree to this.”
“Maybe”—Marcus slammed his palms against the table—“because instead of sending me a legion of men, Cassius sent me you. I need men who can fight; instead I have children that I need to feed and clothe and mind like a gods-damned nursemaid. Go find a ball to occupy you and your playmates, boy, and leave the matters of war to those old enough to understand the consequences.”
Silence hung heavy in the room.
“I’m not sure a day went by at Lescendor that I didn’t hear your name.
” Nic’s voice was cold. “The prodigy held up as the golden standard that every one of us was desperate to achieve. Everyone idolized you. Everyone wanted to be you. I came here believing I’d be following a commander who held to the highest standards of conduct only to discover you are no better than Hostus and the rest, holding everyone to the rules except yourself.
So drunk on your own power that you think you can do whatever you want and damn the consequences to everyone else. ”
“And?” Marcus’s voice dripped venom, and he hated himself for it. Hated how the idealistic boy he’d once been had turned into the villain he now was.
“And you’re a fucking disappointment,” Nic answered. In a swirl of crimson cloak, he departed the room, the doors shutting with a loud thud.
Shoving aside his chair, Marcus went to the sideboard and extracted a bottle of wine, tearing the wax seal from the top and downing several gulps.
His eyes fell on the circle of wax affixed to the side, which bore the symbol of a galloping horse.
Vintage from House Calorian in Mudamora.
Killian Calorian’s family estates, but though he was curious about the man, Marcus could not waste time thinking about commanders on other continents.
He returned to his chair, drinking from the bottle as he stared at Kaira’s letter.
He did not want this war.
Did not want to slaughter his way northward.
It’s who you are, a voice whispered up from his thoughts, and a sudden waft of cold flowed over him. It’s what you do.
A knock sounded at the door. “Yes.”
One of his men entered carrying a tiny box. “A delivery from a Katamarcan goldsmith in Aracam.”
He set it on the table, eyes flicking to the wine bottle, then he departed.
Marcus studied the box for a long moment, then took a mouthful of wine. And another. The horse on the bottle appeared to move, mane and tail rippling in the wind, head tossing.
Like it was taunting him.
With a sudden fit of rage, Marcus hurled the bottle against the wall.