Dark Shores Read online

  “He’s mine,” she said. “See, look. Maarin as they come.”

  Marcus’s only reaction was an irritated grunt, and he didn’t let go of Bait. If anything, his grip tightened. “Let him go,” she demanded.

  He ignored her, and Bait started thrashing and cursing.

  “Bait, shut up. Marcus, let him go. He’s one of my crew. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “Considering I’ve met all of your crew and this is the first time I’ve ever seen this boy, you’ll excuse me for not believing you.” In one swift action, Marcus flipped Bait onto his back and then pinned him down. “How did you get aboard?”

  “Get off me, you filthy Cel scum!” Bait snarled. “I’m going to slit your throat and string you up for the seagulls!”

  “Really?” Marcus lifted him up and thumped his head against the floor. “How did you get aboard?”

  Someone pounded on the door, and the locked handle jiggled. “Legatus, sir? Is everything all right?”

  Marcus stared at the locked door, then glanced at the window and swore. “Let them in,” he snapped at Teriana. She scuttled across to the door and unlatched it. Two legionnaires were inside in an instant, pushing her out of the way.

  “Who’s he?” one of them demanded.

  “Good question.” Bait struggled furiously under Marcus’s grip, but he was all gangly limbs compared to the solid muscle of the Cel legatus. “How did you get aboard?”

  “I stowed away,” Bait spit. “It was easy. You Cel are all blind dogs.” He then let loose a string of curses that included no fewer than six languages, three of which he had no business using in front of the Cel. Not that it mattered anymore.

  The two legionnaires grumbled angrily and Teriana winced. Only Marcus seemed immune to Bait’s insults. All he did was glance in her direction and say, “I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he’s even worse than you.” He then surprised her and Bait both by letting her friend go and sitting back on his heels. Bait sat upright, and for a moment Teriana worried he was going to take a swing at Marcus, but he clearly thought better of it.

  “Magnius with you?” she asked quickly in Mudamorian. She knew he had to have been at one point; there was no other way Bait could have caught up with the ship.

  “Aye,” Bait replied. “And he’s got plenty of questions for you. And so do I, the first of which is: Why in all the depths of the underworld are you sharing a room with him?” He scowled in Marcus’s direction.

  The legatus frowned. “Enough. You don’t have to speak in Cel, but you bloody well use a language I speak fluently.”

  Bait smiled; then he started barking.

  In an instant, both legionnaires had their gladii out. Teriana’s heart leapt into her throat, and she readied herself to push between them and her friend. She was fairly certain neither of them would stab her. Fortunately, she was saved from having to test that theory when Marcus waved a calming hand in their direction. “Either you’re a fool or you’ve got a death wish, boy. You do realize there is nothing stopping me from gutting you and tossing you overboard to feed the fish?”

  “You promised the safety of my crew if I helped you,” Teriana said, her fingers cold.

  “The crew listed on the document you signed,” Marcus replied. “This one’s name wasn’t on that list, and I’m not about to start guaranteeing the safety of every idiot you claim is part of your crew.”

  Bait grew quiet, the whites of his eyes bright against his dark skin as he finally realized how much trouble he was in. Teriana licked her lips, trying to think of a way to get Bait back into the water. Even without Magnius, he was more than capable of swimming to shore. Getting past Marcus and his men would be impossible—they were armed and far more capable fighters. The only chance she had was convincing them to toss him overboard without injury.

  She let her shoulders slump as though in defeat. “Be merciful then. Throw him overboard so that the sea can take him.”

  Bait’s jaw dropped. “Teriana?”

  “Be merciful,” she repeated, lowering her head.

  The only sound in the cabin was the creak of the ship and Bait’s anxious, heavy breathing. Cautiously, she peered through the braids that had fallen across her face. Marcus had risen to his feet, and he was staring at her, brow furrowed. When their gazes met, he looked away first. “Put him in with the rest of her crew,” he told his men. “Make sure he gets there in one piece,” he added when the men jerked Bait to his feet none too gently.

  He waited until the three had left the cabin before going to the door and latching it. He then went to the window and stared at the moonlit wake. Teriana stayed fixed in place, her feet refusing to move. “Why’d you let him live?” The words croaked out of her dry throat.

  “You asked for mercy.”

  Marcus didn’t turn around to answer her, only rested his elbows against the ledge, shoulder muscles flexing from the motion. He was stripped down to the linen undershorts that the legionnaires wore beneath their tunics, and her eyes latched on numbers tattooed harsh and black against the golden skin of his back. 1519. She felt the sudden urge to touch them—to see if the mark of the legions felt different from the rest of him. But before she could move, he turned to face her.

  “Why do they mark you like that?” she blurted out.

  He glanced at the 37 inked on the right side of his muscled chest. “It’s a mark of honor,” he said, and she thought she caught a faint hint of anger in his tone. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  “But I do!” The words were out before she could think. “I do understand that one. Just not the other…”

  One of the muscles in his jaw twitched. “For expedience. It’s useful in identifying deserters. And in identifying the dead.”

  Pulling the window shut, he started toward the bedroll laid out on the floor. “Go to sleep, Teriana. And in the morning, urge your new crew member to exercise a bit of caution. I’ll dole out the punishment if one of my men kills him, but that won’t make your friend any less dead.”

  She nodded, but Marcus didn’t look at her as he pulled the covers up and rolled to face the wall.

  Dimming the lamp, she replaced it on its hook and got under her own blankets, her mind reeling. Why had he spared Bait’s life? He’d had no obligation to do so, and her idiot friend had certainly done a good job ensuring his own demise. She had no doubt Marcus had let him live for a reason, but what could it be? Was it so he could use Bait against her in the future? She ground her teeth in frustration. Why could she never predict how the Cel legatus would behave?

  Rolling over, she buried her face in the pillow and forced all the questions from her mind. Bait had said their guardian was here, and it was long past time they spoke. Cautiously, she stretched out her mind. Magnius?

  I am here.

  A wave of relief passed through her, and Teriana realized how afraid she’d been that Magnius had turned his back on her. Things have happened.

  I assumed there was a reason my ship was full of Cel. There was no missing the anger in his voice. The souls of many of our people have passed on. He listed the names of the Quincense crew members who’d died and then the names of the Maarin of the other ships who’d been killed. The pillow beneath her face was damp by the time he finished.

  I didn’t know what to do. And rather than explain what had happened, she remembered it, knowing Magnius would see and feel it as she had. She didn’t justify or explain her actions; she didn’t need to. He would make his own judgments.

  He was silent for a long time after she finished her remembrance, and if not for the weight of his mind in hers, she would have thought he’d left.

  You are not forsaken, he finally said. Madoria has a different path in mind for you.

  Teriana exhaled with relief, but it was only momentary. What do you mean, a different path?

  The dominion of the Six is in grave danger. Visions of a great battlefield played through her mind, the piles of the dead and dying filling her w
ith horror. She recognized banners of the Twelve Houses of Mudamora soaking into the blood and the muck, crushed beneath the feet of an army. An army with the burning circle of the Seventh emblazoned on the flags they carried. The vision blurred and flickered, and abruptly she was staring at the rear of a fleet of ships, the golden Cel dragon flying high in the rigging, open seas ahead of them, darkness behind. Enemies approach from both sides.

  And here she was, trying to open the door so one of those threats could come waltzing through. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth, as she wondered if Magnius was about to tell her that the ocean paths were closed, that despite everything she’d done, her crew was doomed to die.

  Will you open the path for me? she asked reluctantly.

  If it is what you want.

  Teriana dug her fingers into the blankets. She didn’t know what she wanted. Whether she was in this position because her goddess had chosen her or by chance, it was in her power to stop Marcus, if she was strong enough. She could refuse to open the path and suffer the consequences.

  What would Marcus do? she wondered. Would he kill her quickly or would he put her to torture again in an attempt to change her mind? A slow-building icy fear crept through her. She hadn’t been strong enough to stomach having her fingernails pulled off. Why did she think she’d be able to resist blurting out anything and everything to get them to stop if it came to it again? Even if she did and they killed her, it still didn’t mean the Cel would be stopped. Marcus was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He’d work his way through her crew, maiming and torturing every last one of them until someone agreed to open the path. Her dying wouldn’t stop the Cel; it would only delay them. She’d just be passing the burden to her crew. Visions of Yedda and all the rest falling under legionnaire blades filled her mind, and her stomach twisted.

  There was no way she could stop the Cel and save her captured people. And in her heart, she knew which one she would choose. Which meant she’d failed already.

  I’ve told you before, Teriana: there is more than one way to cross the world.

  The pain in her jaw eased, and she considered his words. You think that even if we deny them passage, they’ll find another way?

  Madoria believes it inevitable. Others do not.

  So we give up? The very idea of it tasted sour. Let the Cel conquer the West and drive the gods from Reath?

  An echo of laughter that held no amusement filled her head. Do not deny them passage, Teriana. Let them through, then defeat them.

  “I don’t know how.” She bit her lip, realizing she’d whispered the words aloud, and lay still for a long moment, waiting for any sound of Marcus stirring.

  Don’t be so sure, Magnius’s voice filled her head. And remember, Teriana, he who desires passage must be the one to request it.

  Teriana blinked as the guardian retreated from her mind. Was it possible that Madoria wanted her to bring the legions through the path?

  The faint light of the lamp was enough for her to see Marcus’s bare shoulder. Without a doubt, Marcus was the he Magnius had referred to. Which meant she had a very interesting conversation in her future. It had been one thing to convince Lydia of the existence of a demigod. It would be quite another to convince a Cel legatus to beg a boon from a sea serpent. Quite another thing indeed.

  21

  MARCUS

  While the morning sun was bright, the hold of the ship was dark, forcing Marcus to walk blind for several strides before his eyes adjusted. The space normally dedicated to cargo was filled with his men, and those who were awake quietly rose and saluted him as he passed, mindful of their dozing comrades. The air stank with the smell of too many men in too small a space, though it was much improved with the absence of vomit.

  These were the best of his men. They were the strongest, the fastest, and the smartest of the Thirty-Seventh, but they were also the worst when they got bored. They tended to pick fights—not with one another but with whoever else was about. And in this case, that meant Teriana’s crew. Which was the last thing he needed.

  Although Servius had already been through, Marcus made his rounds, checking their kits, ensuring armor was gleaming and blades were sharp. His presence kept them on their toes, but he knew he was doing it to keep his mind busy.

  “Good morning, Legatus,” Servius said with a grin as he approached. Gibzen silently saluted, but Marcus didn’t miss the feral gleam in the primus’s eyes. He was first of the Thirty-Seventh’s centurions because he always got the job done, but he had a mean streak. Gibzen had been born in the tiny province of Timia, and when he’d arrived at Campus Lescendor he hadn’t spoken a word of Cel. He had quickly received the reputation of being one of the worst bullies of their year, and he had been Marcus’s most persistent tormenter until he’d negotiated a truce in exchange for teaching Gibzen to speak Cel. After that, he had become one of Marcus’s staunchest defenders.

  “I slept like a babe last night,” Servius said, stretching his arms wide. “How about you?” The grin on his face could only be described as shit-eating.

  Marcus scratched his arm, absently looking around. “What I don’t understand is where he could have hidden.”

  The other two grunted and nodded. “Lad’s only got half a foot,” Servius said. “I’d have noticed that if nothing else. Plus he’s the only boy of that age in her crew.” The big legionnaire frowned. “What was he doing sneaking in there anyway? Do you think they’re…?” His frown turned into a full scowl.

  “I didn’t ask, and I don’t really care,” Marcus replied. “What I do care about is how he managed to stow away undetected for an entire day.”

  Servius and Gibzen exchanged uneasy glances and shook their heads. “Should have strung him up by his guts from the mainsail,” Gibzen said. “I heard what he said to you—Thirty-Seventh doesn’t tolerate that kind of disrespect. Makes us look weak.”

  Marcus didn’t entirely disagree with the primus’s sentiments. “We need them,” he replied. “To get there and, if needs be, to get back.”

  “We need her,” Gibzen argued. “And enough of them to sail the ship. No more.”

  All the men in the hold were silent, watching and listening. Marcus struggled to keep his face smooth. It wasn’t that Gibzen had never questioned his decisions before, but he knew not to do it in front of the men. That he was doing so now was troubling. One of the desirable aspects of this mission was that it got the Thirty-Seventh out from under the Senate’s thumb, which meant Marcus could do things his way. But it also meant that he no longer had the power of the Empire to enforce his orders and maintain his ranks—it was all on him now.

  “I believe it’s advantageous to maintain what goodwill we have with Captain Teriana,” Marcus said, knowing he needed to come up with justification for his decision to spare the Maarin boy. “She’ll take care of disciplining her crew.”

  “She’ll.” Gibzen spit a glob of phlegm onto the deck. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?—that we’re dealing with a girl.”

  “The problem,” Marcus said, “is apparently your shortsightedness, Primus.” He spoke loud enough that everyone could hear. “The captain and her crew know everything there is to know about where we are going, whereas we know next to nothing. If we keep them happy, we have an asset we can use. But turn them further against us? Then we go in blind or worse.” He let the corner of his mouth twist up. “We’d still win, but any fool knows it would come with a greater cost.” He stepped forward so that he and Gibzen were nose to nose. “I don’t know about you, Primus, but my pride’s tough enough to take a few insults for the sake of saving the lives of my men.”

  Gibzen stared him down for a heartbeat, then nodded and dropped his gaze. “Another reminder as to why you’re the one in command, sir.” He shifted his attention to the watching men. “What are you lot staring at? Next rotation on deck now, or you’ll be scrubbing out shit buckets for the rest of this miserable journey.”

  Marcus gave Servius a warning look to keep an
eye on the primus, then made his way back on deck.

  His explanation had sounded good. A logical reason for not punishing the Maarin boy for his insolence. Unfortunately, it hadn’t crossed his mind until Gibzen had questioned him.

  Marcus dug his fingers into the wood railing, remembering the calculated way Teriana had tried to save her friend from what she presumed was Marcus’s bloodthirsty nature. He hadn’t spared the boy because it was a good idea but rather because he wanted to show her he wasn’t just a killer. “Idiot,” he muttered, then turned around so that he could see what was happening on deck.

  The Quincense was quite unlike any ship he’d sailed aboard, and he’d been on plenty. She was beautifully made and well cared for, her sleek lines and gleaming surface making it seem as though she were alive rather than a structure made of wood and nails. Despite having only half their blue sails up, she flew across the sea with speed that was curtailed only by the need to keep the other ships in sight.

  The crew, too, were different. They sailed with the ease with which most people breathed, reacting instinctively to changes in the wind or sea with only the occasional order from whoever manned the helm. They worked hard but not always. Even now, a group sat conversing in a circle on the deck. More than crewmates. More than friends. They were family. And the ship wasn’t just their livelihood; she was their home.

  A home you stole from them.

  Marcus shoved the thought away, focusing instead on his men, who were all staring up into the rigging. Casting his gaze upward, Marcus watched as a nimble Maarin sailor named Jax climbed, his muscled legs bare from knees to ankles, revealing mahogany skin. He wasn’t the only crew member who appeared to have a parent or ancestor outside the seafaring race, though all possessed the color-shifting eyes that rippled like waves. Ancestors, he suspected, given the Maarin reticence to discuss the topic, who hailed from one of the innumerable kingdoms of the Dark Shores. Servius had made several attempts to pry the information out of Jax and Yedda, and even the cook, Polin, but in all matters pertaining to the West, the Maarin only shrugged and told Servius to direct his questions to their captain.