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

“Then you’re just as much a coward as the rest of the family.”

Marcus stepped closer to his sister, shoving Tiberius back when he tried to move between them. “Allow me to remind you, Cordelia, that you could end this. That you could go before the Senate and confess this family’s crimes. That you could bear the burden of this family’s destruction. After all, you have the least to lose.” He searched her eyes, so similar in color to his own, then leaned down so they were nose to nose. “But it’s easier to get me to do the dirty work, isn’t it?”

Cordelia didn’t so much as blink. “If it were my secret to tell, I would fall on my knees before all of Celendrial and confess. But more than anyone else, Marcus, it’s yours.”

Scowling, Marcus turned away. “I need some air.”

He strode out into the gardens, barely seeing the greenery and statuary, and went to a large fountain depicting nude lovers entwined in an embrace, water spraying from their mouths. It hadn’t been here when he was a child, and he stared at it, wishing with all his heart that he’d never come back here.

“I need to speak to you in private.”

He turned to see Cordelia standing behind him, her expression grim. “About what.”

She hesitated, then met his gaze. “About the Maarin girl … Teriana. You need to part ways with her.”

His irritation that yet another person was raising this issue clouded the more pressing question of how she knew. “Talk to the Senate. Or Cassius. Neither seem inclined to allow me to part ways with her.”

Cordelia huffed out an annoyed breath. “I’m talking about her role as your wh—”

“You even think of calling her that and this conversation is over.”

“And there’s the proof. You’re not usually so easily baited. Especially not into revealing your secrets.”

Scowling at her, Marcus said, “It’s none of your blasted business who is or isn’t in my bed, Cordelia.”

“Except that it is. Everything you do, every choice you make, impacts our family, and so I’ll make it my business.” She shifted her weight, fussing with the folds of her dress. “Especially when what you’re doing gives Cassius more leverage.”

“What difference does my relationship with Teriana make?” he demanded, despite the question being woefully naive: Cassius wielded information like a weapon.

“Tiberius told me that eyebrows rose during your meeting with the Senate. You’ve a reputation for never unnecessarily endangering your men, but despite the Sibern path being a woefully ill-equipped avenue for retreat, you argued in Teriana’s favor. Your bias toward the Maarin is apparent, and that undermines everything you say on the matter.”

He knew that. But what else could he have done? “We’ll be gone again soon enough.”

“You still need to end it. Your being with her is immoral, Marcus. She’s your prisoner, and all the sweet words and passionate embraces in the world won’t change that.”

His jaw tightened, and he didn’t answer. This was always the way with Cordelia: she used the truth, knowing it would do the fighting for her. “I didn’t make her do anything, if that’s what you’re accusing me of. It was her choice.”

“Which doesn’t excuse you in the slightest.”

As if he didn’t know that. As if he hadn’t been willing to give up everything in order to make what was between him and Teriana right.

“End it.”

“No!” The word tore from his lips, and he jerked to his feet, pacing back and forth before leveling a finger at his sister. “I have given up everything. I won’t give up her unless she wills it.”

Cordelia looked away, lowering her face and rubbing at the side of her belly as though soothing the child within. “I didn’t want to bring this up, but you give me little choice.”

“Why stop now?”

“Fine.” She squared her shoulders. “Did you kill Lydia Valerius?”

Of all the things for her to say, he hadn’t expected that. “You know the answer.”

“I suspect the answer. You’ve never admitted it.”

Because it was easier to pretend it had never happened that way. “Yes, I killed her.”

“Personally? By your own hand?”

Between his teeth, he said, “Yes. I drowned her in Cassius’s baths and put her down the drain. Happy?” Not entirely how it had gone, but the result was the same.

She flinched, lifting a hand to press her fingers to her mouth. Softly, she said, “He thought it was something like that. Not you, specifically, but that she’d been killed in the baths.”

“Who?”

“Her father.”

Senator Appius Valerius. The man who even now had Teriana in his home. Marcus’s blood ran cold.

“We’ve become close in recent months,” Cordelia continued, “unified by our mutual hatred of Cassius, though Appius believes our motivations entirely political. But he confessed to Tiberius and me his belief that Cassius, having used his betrothal to Lydia to secure the consulship, decided to have her killed rather than to go through with the wedding.”

“He’s not wrong.”

“I know.” Cordelia’s jaw worked back and forth, then she said, “Did Cassius tell you why he wanted her dead?”

“No. Only that she was a liability and that he wanted it done.” And he hadn’t pressed for more details. “From what he said to her in her final moments, Lydia had clearly been publicly disparaging him, so I assumed that was the reason.”

“Oh, Marcus. Everyone disparages Cassius, even his followers. Even if she’d loathed him, he wouldn’t have cared enough to kill her.”

His pulse was galloping, his stomach hollow. “Why, then?”

“Because she was connected to the Maarin.” Reaching up, Cordelia caught hold of his hand, pulling him onto the bench next to her. “Lydia had few friends. Never mind that she was bookish and peculiar in her pursuits, her blood wasn’t patrician, and you know how we can be.”

It felt like a vise was closing around his chest, his breath coming too fast.

“Appius told me she had one close friend. Closer than close, in truth, for Lydia loved this girl like a sister. A Maarin girl.”

“Teriana.” He