Page 57 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

TERIANA

It all happened with what felt like impossible speed.

Logically, Teriana knew speed was the Empire’s greatest weapon, their control over countless xenthier paths allowing them to transport both men and information so quickly that their enemies had no chance to prepare.

Yet even with Quintus filling her ears with information about relay systems and men trained to find the fastest route for information to travel, her stomach still dropped when word came that the Thirty-First legion had crossed through the Bardeen stem and were on their way to Aracam.

Marcus didn’t even give them the opportunity to unpack.

He allowed the older legion only part of a night’s rest, the majority of which they spent fraternizing with the Thirty-Seventh, and then the entire camp began the process of readying to board the fleet of ships waiting in Aracam’s harbor.

The plan to invade via a bridge over the Orinok was apparently only a ruse so that Kaira would send soldiers to defend the fortress there, lessening the defenses of Emrant.

Though last she’d heard, five hundred of the Thirty-Seventh remained there with Rastag, working steadily on the bridge.

Though this was the path Teriana had chosen to walk, there was a part of her that desperately wished to backtrack and find another road, especially once she got a look at the Thirty-First. Well into their twenties, the legionnaires were hard in a way that even the Thirty-Seventh hadn’t achieved, but it was how they interacted with Marcus’s legion that made the reality of what she’d unleashed so terrifying.

The Thirty-Seventh treated the Fifty-First like little brothers.

The Forty-First like an irritation they had to put up with.

But the Thirty-First? These men they treated like comrades, for they’d fought side by side more than once.

She’d watched Marcus walking with their legatus, Zimo, who was a tall man clearly born to Faul Province, judging from his midnight hair and the shape of his eyes, and they clearly got along swimmingly.

“They were a few years ahead of us at Lescendor, and Marcus is friendly with Zimo because of a deal they made over soap,” Quintus had told her with a yawn when the Thirty-First arrived.

“Good men to have at your back. Even better to share a drink with, but don’t gamble with them. Notorious cheaters.”

“Noted.” She’d watched the older legionnaires pass their tent, eyes raking over her with cool curiosity. This was what would be invading Gamdesh. This was the force she’d brought to the West.

Her allies.

Yet as the thousands upon thousands of Empire legionnaires made their way to Aracam’s harbor, Teriana knew it was too late to go back.

Though the shocking inefficiency of the process was giving her many more hours to come to terms with it.

“This is a mess.” She wiped sweat from her brow as she watched two groups of men from different legions trying to converge down a street, their centurions barking at each other that they had the right of way.

Where hours before they’d been friends and comrades, the disorganization, compounded by the incredible heat of the day, had several of the centurions looking close to blows.

And noise of the same was coming from across Aracam as Marcus’s army, nearly twenty thousand men, all tried to move toward the harbor to be loaded onto the waiting ships.

It was already late afternoon, the sun low on the horizon, and only a third of the Thirty-First legion had been loaded onto the ten newly arrived Katamarcan ships.

At this rate, it would be past midnight before the fleet could set sail.

Quintus pulled off his helmet to wipe sweat from his brow, which was furrowed as he panned the chaos of shouting, sweating legionnaires.

“The signals are all conflicting,” he said.

“Whoever is giving out the orders must be drunk. I don’t envy the punishment Marcus will dole out, because this will have him right pissed off. ”

Teriana was inclined to agree. Yet as she shaded her eyes to better see Marcus where he stood at the end of the dock with a group of officers, the only sign he gave that he was aware of the disorganization was the scowl on his face each time he glanced toward the city.

Her instincts jangled in her head, nothing about this process a reflection of Cel efficiency, and certainly none of it a reflection of the way Marcus ran his legions.

“Why isn’t he doing something about this?” she grumbled to herself, touching the tiny ship resting against her cheek, where it had been since Marcus had put it there. “If this carries on, we’re going to have legions fighting legions in the streets of Aracam.”

“It is a bit out of character.” The amusement in Quintus’s voice caused her to glance sharply at him as he added, “One might almost wonder if it were by design.”

“To what end?” she demanded. “Is he trying to convince any spies watching that he’s so disorganized that he’s not a threat? They’ve been watching this camp for months; there is no chance that they’re going to be fooled.”

Quintus lifted one shoulder. “How should I know? It’s not like Marcus shares his plans with me.”

Or with her.

Teriana’s already tense muscles balled into tighter knots of anxiety. “Don’t give me excuses, Quintus. You have fought under his command all your life—you have at least an idea of what he’s planning.”

Quintus shoved his helmet back down on his head.

“The only thing I know for certain is that the plan that was communicated to the legion isn’t Marcus’s plan.

Other than Felix and Servius, and possibly Nic, I suspect not a single soul knows the entirety of what he’s got cooked up in his head.

I’d hazard that even Zimo has only been given instructions pertaining to his part in all of this.

All we can do is wait and see how it plays out. ”

Out of the corner of her eye, the black tower of the Seventh moved.

Teriana stumbled into Quintus, a gasp of horror tearing from her lips because the tower was leaning over Aracam, the eyes carved into it watching the legions with cruel malevolence. Then she blinked, and it was standing straight again.

“Did you see it move?” Quintus said quietly.

“Yes.” It felt like lunacy to admit, but though the legionnaires were all carrying on as they had, Teriana had seen what she had seen.

“I’ve seen it.” Her friend eyed the tower. “And I’ve heard others muttering the same. The Arinoquians say it is sentient, a vessel for the Seventh god, but the centurions say it’s just heat sickness getting to those on duty.”

“It’s not heat sickness.” Her throat was dry. “Tearing down the other towers gave the Seventh god power here. They need to be rebuilt.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Teriana rubbed her hands up and down her arms, chilled. All of this was on her. All of it.

Turning back to the harbor, she asked, “How long has he been negotiating with Queen Erdene?”

How long has Katamarca been an ally of the Empire?

“Queen Erdene made overtures to Titus not long after you two disappeared,” Quintus said. “She wanted formal trade terms with the Senate once paths between the East and West were safely established, likely assuming that the best terms will go to the first movers.”

“What’s in it for her?”

Quintus shrugged. “The Katamarcans seemed eager to be the Senate’s new allies. Titus suggested they become the first Cel province in the West.”

“I take it Titus failed to mention that Erdene would be deposed so a Cel senator can assume governorship?”

“I’m sure he kept that to himself,” Quintus answered.

“Though it’s possible she knows. The Maarin aren’t holding back, if the rumors coming into Aracam’s ports are accurate.

Katamarca’s military is weak, so she likely hopes by aiding the Empire in a move north, we’ll spend our strength against Gamdesh, giving her a fighting chance if we ever look south.

In a sea of poor options, she chose the most intelligent path. ”

“How is this intelligent?” she demanded, well aware of her own hypocrisy given she was also an ally to the Empire.

Quintus didn’t answer, and Teriana glanced at Marcus, only to find him still at the end of the docks, crimson cloak swirling on the breeze, the gold thread of the dragon gleaming in the sun.

His helmet was tucked under his arm, armor freshly polished, but even from this distance, she could tell he was tired.

And no wonder, because in the days since he’d fired back at everyone who’d thought he’d lost his nerve, he’d not ceased working.

The flow of information coming in and out of the camp had been nonstop.

Messages from spies up and down the coast. Messages from the Empire, which all came via heavily armed escort.

Messages he sent back, guarded with equal care.

From dawn until well past the midnight hour, and though he seemed steady on his feet, the way Racker had been storming about camp recently told Teriana everything she needed to know about the surgeon’s thoughts on the matter.

Teriana, next time, don’t break.

She touched the tiny ship, remembering the feel of his fingers braiding her hair.

He hadn’t meant that he needed her to hold her ground when faced with a charge on a battlefield.

He’d meant that she needed to trust that he had her back, no matter what came next.

And that she had his, even if the gulf between them was as wide as ever.

She did trust him. Yet seeing those Katmarcan naval vessels sail into the harbor demonstrated just how hard rolling back this invasion would be after her people were freed.

“I suppose it never occurred to me that any of the rulers in the West would ally with the Empire,” she said.

“I believed they’d fight until the end.”

Her skin crawled, and Teriana shifted her gaze from Marcus to the Corruptor’s tower, but it stood static. Nothing but stone.