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

hands folded in her lap. Her blond hair, which hung in long ringlets, was held back from her face with combs made of gold and pearl—exactly how she’d worn it when he was a boy, although now it was shot through with silver. She wore a gown typical of a patrician woman, tourmaline silk that left one shoulder bare, the other crisscrossed with delicate golden chains that matched the belt cinching the waist. Though she must have heard their approach, she did not move from her study of the tiled floor.

Then she took a shuddering breath and rose, lifting her face to meet his gaze. “We are pleased to have you in our home, Legatus.”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” It was a struggle to get the words out. A struggle to breathe.

Silence fell between them, the tension of far too many things unsaid keeping anything from being said at all.

Then she stumbled across the few paces between them and fell to her knees in front of him, pressing her face against Marcus’s shin. “Forgive me, please forgive me. I should never have let him take you. Should have protected you, run away with you, whatever it took to keep you safe.”

The world swam around him, details of the room—new and old—coming in and out of focus. “Domina…” He didn’t know what else to call her. Couldn’t bear to call her Mother.

She looked up at him, face streaked with tears, her pale blue eyes swollen and red. “He told me the physicians said you would die no matter what we did. That if we allowed you to go instead of your brother, that at least we’d have one son who survived. But I have regretted it. Every single day.”

He felt dizzy and ill, nausea rising in his stomach, every inch of him wanting to escape the situation. To escape this confession.

“For the longest time, I thought you were dead.” She was sobbing, her fingernails digging into his legs. “That you were buried in a numbered grave at Lescendor. And he”—she spit the word at his father—“never deigned to tell me otherwise.”

“It was for your own good,” his father protested. “I feared you’d lose yourself and go after him if you knew the truth, and we all know what the consequences of that would’ve been.”

“Damn the consequences!” His mother screamed the words, and Marcus flinched. “I deserve them. You deserve them. He is our son, and we sacrificed him because he was sick.”

He was going to pass out. Blindly, Marcus reached out and caught hold of a table, the vase on it rocking. Then he heard the measured click of heels, and his sister’s voice cut through the air. “Oh, get up, Mother. Don’t subject him to your dramatics.”

Swishing past him, Cordelia reached down and hauled their mother to her feet, pushing her bodily down on the couch. Picking up a decanter of wine, she poured a generous glass and forced it into their mother’s hand. She filled another glass with lemon water and finally turned to face Marcus, pushing the glass onto him with the same authority she had their mother. “Perhaps some refreshment before we unearth the family skeletons.”

He drank deeply, the room slowly ceasing its rotations, allowing him to focus on his elder sister. She wore her blond hair in a tight coronet of braids, her blue-grey eyes rimmed with kohl, and the silk of her dark blue dress curved outwards over her stomach. Pregnant. Yet another life whose safety he needed to worry for.

“It’s good to see you alive, brother.” Cordelia’s jaw trembled, then she wrapped her arms around his neck, her necklace clanking against his armored chest. “I’m not sorry for the things I said to you, but I did come to regret that our last meeting ended in anger. I thought that would ever be how you’d remember me.”

“How is it that you two had opportunity to speak?” their father demanded.

Cordelia let go of his neck, stepping back a pace. “Not your concern, Father.” To Marcus, she said, “Perhaps you’d care to take a moment before dinner to rid yourself of the city’s dust and change into”—her brow furrowed—“more comfortable attire. I noted a young man from Lescendor was here delivering a package, so I assume they sent you what you might need.”

“Thank you.” Inclining his head to his mother, he said, “Domina. Senator,” then followed Cordelia out of the room.

She led him through the corridors and up to the second level, bypassing the room that had once been his and stopping in front of one that had belonged to his brother. “My husband is keeping Gaius occupied, but they’ll both be along shortly.” Her fingers on the latch, she hesitated. “I’m sorry for her behavior. I’d hoped to arrive before you to prevent her dramatics.”

“It’s fine.”

She gave a slight shake of her head. “It’s not. She behaves as though she were not culpable in the decision—as though she were blameless. I half-think she’s managed to convince herself that she’s the victim.”

He hated that word. “I don’t need you to protect me, Cordelia. Not from her. Or anything else.”

“Habit.” She opened the door. “I need to speak with you alone after dinner. There are things you need to know that by necessity must be kept between us.”

“Concerning what?”

Her jaw worked from side to side. “The Valerius girl. Lydia. She—” A servant appeared up the corridor, and she broke off. “Later. You need a clear mind for the conversation ahead.”

Unnerved in every possible way, Marcus entered the room, closing the door behind him and flipping the latch. The space was filled with every possible luxury, but he ignored it all, going instead to the open window, which faced Valerius’s property.

Where Teriana was, even now.

He hated being away from her. Not only because he couldn’t ensure her safety, but because without her, he felt not himself. Around her was the only time he felt he could truly breathe, and deep down, he knew that a selfish part of