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

she allowed herself to be led out of the Curia and into a waiting litter. Lydia’s father sat inside with her, pulling the curtains closed as the bearers rose, the litter swaying from side to side.

“You are under a great deal of scrutiny, my dearest girl,” he said softly, “So it’s best we save conversation for a place with fewer ears.”

Which was just as well, because she could barely think. Could barely breathe. She’d thrown all the West to the Empire’s wolves and had nothing to show for it. Her people were still imprisoned, and if Cassius followed through on his threats, soon that would be the least of their concerns. “Did he try?” Her words sounded distant in her own ears. Like they weren’t hers at all. “Did Marcus try to free us?”

Lydia’s father was quiet for a time, the only sound the tread of the Fifty-First surrounding the litter. Horror filled her stomach, because if Marcus hadn’t at least tried, what did that mean?

“Yes, he did,” Valerius finally said. “Vehemently. But in doing so, he revealed a bias toward your people, which called into question his judgment on the matter.” He hesitated, then added, “Cassius has no desire to see the Maarin freed, but in this, his actions have merit. We cannot abandon those boys without a way to retreat, and being dropped in the middle of Sibern in the dead of winter is not acceptable. That Marcus argued otherwise raised many eyebrows, mine included.”

Had he always known this might happened? she wondered. And if so, why didn’t he tell me as much?

The litter was climbing the hill now, the men bearing it breathing hard from the effort of the climb. Moving aside the curtain, Teriana looked out at the walls and gates enclosing the vast villas, the scent of the sea drowned out by the endless flowers filling the gardens, an army of servants tasked at attending to them. Everything about this place catered to the lives of the few, and gods, but she hated it. Hated how once she’d loved coming here, had loved being surrounded by wealth and luxury unlike any other on Reath, had loved one of them like a sister, only to be betrayed by her.

Because if there was one truth she knew above all else, it was that this was Lydia’s fault.

And so as they entered the grounds of the Valerius manor, Teriana didn’t hesitate in demanding, “Where is she?”

Not waiting for an answer, she strode into the house where she’d spent so much time it felt like a second home. Teriana pushed past the waiting servants and took the stairs two at a time. Walking down to the library, she flung open the doors.

Only to find the room empty.

Which made sense. Lydia didn’t live here now: she was Cassius’s wife. And therefore unreachable, because as furious as she was at her ex-friend, Teriana wasn’t stupid enough to go after her in Cassius’s house.

Faint panting filled her ears, and she turned to find Senator Valerius leaning against the door frame, a hand pressed against his chest.

“I want to see her,” she demanded. “Send her a message to come here immediately and explain to my face why she betrayed me.”

His shoulders slumped, and he heaved in a deep breath. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Why?” She balled her hands into fists, half a mind to take her rage out on him instead.

“Because,” he answered. “Lydia’s dead.”

 102MARCUS

On numb feet, he walked next to his father as they exited the Curia, Senator Domitius heading toward a large litter carried by eight servants.

“I’ll walk.”

His father glanced at him, and Marcus realized with a start that he was now taller than him. That his father, who had once held unquestionable authority in his eyes, was slender and fragile, his eyes marked with wrinkles and his hands with age spots.

“Of course you would,” he answered. “How silly of me. I shall walk with you.”

“Do not feel obligated, Senator.”

“A brisk walk clears the head, and it will give your—” He broke off. “My wife time to prepare the house.” Gesturing at one of the litter-bearers, he said, “Run ahead and tell Drusilla that Legatus Marcus will be our guest tonight.”

The man sprinted up the street, leaving Marcus and his father to follow, the litter and a dozen men of the household guard trailing after.

Lifting a hand to his mouth and coughing, Senator Domitius murmured, “We are being watched. Though I suppose you know that.”

“It’s no surprise.”

They walked in silence for several minutes, passing under dripping aqueducts, civilians and peregrini alike stepping aside at the sight of them.

“What are the Dark Shores like?” his father asked abruptly. “They are the focus of so much of our attention, and yet you’re the first to have actually seen them.”

Not answering the question, Marcus instead posed his own: “Cassius hasn’t gotten any of the other Maarin to talk?”

“No. They’ve remained reticent, I’m afraid. Though he has left off in executing them.”

“Good. I gave my word, and I’d be unhappy to hear it had been broken against my will.” Even so, Marcus suspected that Cassius was still availing himself of dark rooms in the slums in the attempt to extricate more information from the captive Maarin. It was the currency with which he did business, more so than even gold.

“Valerius has been militant in their defense.”

“Do you know why?” The mention of the senator’s name caused uneasiness and guilt to rise in his guts, a reminder that the girl he’d murdered had friends. Family. And given Marcus hadn’t been arrested upon arrival, they likely had no idea what had become of her.

Before his father could answer, a rotten apple flew past Marcus’s face.

“Cel pig!” a peregrini woman shouted. Then she threw something else in his direction. Marcus stepped out of the way, but his legs were still splattered with overripe tomato as the mess struck the paving stones.

“Apologies,” his father murmured, snapping his fingers at the guard to clear a path. “The peregrini grow bold of