Gilded Serpent Danielle Jensen (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

Holding the silence and enjoying the way they clearly wanted to press her, but were refraining, she said, “That’s Legatus Marcus of the Thirty-Seventh Legion.”

Both boys’ jaws dropped. “You can’t be serious,” Pullo finally said. “That’s the Thirty-Seventh’s legatus?”

“Why?” she asked. “You heard of him?”

“Have we heard of him?” Norin demanded, his voice cracking. “He’s only the most famous—”

Pullo gave him a shove. “She’s teasing, you dunce.” Brow furrowing, he said, “The Thirty-Seventh’s supposed to be conquering the Dark Shores. The Maarin—” He broke off, giving his head a shake. “Thought I recognized your name. You’re the girl who was supposed to show them the way.”

“Guilty.”

She could see that they were desperate to ask her more, but there was a knock at the door and an older man entered, carrying a medical kit with him.

“I hear you fell afoul of Hostus,” he said, setting out his supplies and then gesturing at her to take a seat.

“Aye. He’s a right prick, that one.”

Pullo and Norin both smirked, but the medic gave her a steady look. “He is that. But he’s also the consul’s right hand, so best you keep your opinions to yourself.”

Though it should come as no surprise that Cassius would keep a man like Hostus about to do his dirty work, Teriana’s stomach still soured. For months, Cassius had been a distant threat, and while out of sight had not meant out of mind, now she was within easy reach. And the only thing standing between her and him was Marcus.

And he no longer had the Thirty-Seventh here to back him.

She sat still, clenching her teeth as the medic silently cleaned the cut on her neck, muttering that she was lucky she only needed a few stitches. He bandaged the wound, then departed, leaving Teriana to clean herself up as best she could with two thirteen-year-old boys in the room. She’d only just finished when there was another knock, one of the boys standing guard in the hallway leaning in. “The commandant has asked the legatus to attend him in his office. You are to accompany him, miss.”

Trying to curb her unease, Teriana stepped into the hallway.

Marcus was waiting.

And it was as if all the months they’d spent together had been erased and he was once again the devil who’d watched her be tortured. Who’d used everything and everyone she loved to force her to take him and his men across the world in search of conquest.

They’d shorn his hair, and his cheeks were freshly shaven. He was once again dressed in the tunic and armor of a legionnaire, a crested helmet tucked under one arm and his weapons belted at his waist. The breastplate had a 37 stamped on it, looking as though it had come fresh from the forge, which she supposed it probably had. And as he turned away to stride down the corridor and his crimson cloak drifted out behind him, the golden dragon glaring at her, eyes malevolent.

They stepped out into the sun, where a relative mob of young boys waited, all of them scrambling into straight lines at the sight of Marcus, fists pounding chests as he strode past. Nodding at them, he headed toward the center of the fortress city where the largest building loomed, its wide copper dome having gone green with age, and with every rank of boys he passed, there was a thunder of salutes.

“Your fame precedes you,” she said, but he only glanced down at her, saying nothing as the doors to the building swung open ahead, the boys guarding them standing straight.

You were such a fool, she silently whispered to herself. Such a fool to believe he’d give all this up for you.

Where the leather of her boots was silent against the marble floors of the building, Marcus’s sandals clacked loudly, the echoes reverberating off high ceilings painted with scenes of legion conquest. Through another set of doors, and despite herself, Teriana gasped as it was revealed to be an enormous library.

Four stories high, the shelves were full of books and scrolls, the main level encircled by twin layers of shelves full to the brim with more volumes. At the center, there were six large wooden tables, next to which stood perhaps a dozen boys wearing only their tunics and weapons. Marcus nodded at them as they stood to attention but carried on to the door at the far side of the room, only then pausing. “Wait here.” His blue-grey eyes flicked to Pullo. “Do not let her out of your sight.”

“Yes, sir,” the young centurion said, and Marcus disappeared into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Right,” she muttered, then turned to find all the boys staring at her. “Hello.”

They all nodded their heads, eyes full of curiosity. “This is Teriana,” Pullo said. “She’s the Maarin girl that took the Thirty-Seventh and the Forty-First to the Dark Shores.” He frowned, then turned to look at her. “You did get them there, didn’t you?”

“Pullo,” a boy at the center of the group said, “it’s not your place to ask such questions.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Stepping away from the door lest she be tempted to eavesdrop, Teriana circled the room, staring up at the seemingly endless shelves. On the second level, the shelves were broken up at equal intervals with nine enormous golden plaques. They each had a different symbol on top, and beneath the symbol were ten smaller plagues with numbers engraved in them, the one at the top given more prominence than the rest. And on each of the nine save one, a familiar number held that prominent spot: 37–1519.

Marcus’s legion number.

“They’re there,” she finally answered. “They have control of a nation called Arinoquia.” Then she pointed. “What are those?”

The boy who had chastised Pullo cleared his throat. “There are nine tests potential legates undertake prior to graduation. Those numbers belong to the highest-scoring individuals over the past one hundred forty-two years.”

Teriana whistled between her teeth. “No