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

the Thirty-Seventh and Forty-First have established themselves. I wish to inspect the stem’s position, for it will soon be supplying us.”

“Yes, sir,” the centurion said, fumbling with the lock, which was already rusting from the damp.

And that was when Marcus heard a commotion in the distance. His head, as well as those of the soldiers before him, turned, eyes going immediately to the group of men sprinting in their direction, weapons in hand. On their breastplates, he could just make out a 29.

“What’s this all about?” the centurion muttered.

“Not my concern.” Marcus stepped into his line of sight. “Now get the lock open.”

Frowning, the man twisted hard on the key, the lock popping open with an audible click.

“Stop him!”

Shouts from the Twenty-Ninth men filtered up to them, and the centurion’s eyes widened. “Apologies, sir, but perhaps—”

Marcus shoved the man out of the way. Shouts of alarm filled his ears, but he ignored them, pushing open the gate and then slamming it shut. Catching hold of a piece of lumber, he braced it against the gate, knowing he was buying himself only seconds.

Ahead, a dark pit loomed, ropes anchored to posts dangling into its depths. He raced toward it even as wood splintered behind him.

“Stop, sir!” someone shouted. “They say it’s not safe!”

Lies. Especially given that hesitation would cost him his life.

He slid to a stop, his stomach flipping as he gazed into the blackness, unable to see the bottom.

You’ve been through the Teeth. You can do this.

And if he didn’t, he was dead.

Catching hold of one of the ropes, Marcus swung over the edge, his feet scrambling against the wet earth as he lowered himself down into the darkness.

Down and down.

The stream had carved the path, but though it had been since widened by human hands, it felt too narrow. Too close.

Like he was climbing down into the underworld Teriana so feared.

“Pull him back up!”

He was rising. Men hauling on the rope, dragging him back to the surface.

No.

He had come too far. And too much depended on his success.

So Marcus let go.

Air whistled past his ears, and he tried to slow his descent by dragging his arms against the walls, roots and rocks cutting into his arms and hands. Then his feet struck the ground, the impact twisting one of his ankles and rattling his spine.

Ignoring the pain, he dropped to his knees, feeling the walls for an opening.

There.

It was a narrow tunnel that sloped downwards, and he crawled into it, trusting it would take him where he needed to go.

Trying not to imagine being buried alive down here.

He could see nothing, could hear nothing, though he had no doubt that the Twenty-Ninth still pursued. He had to hurry.

Sweat poured down his face and into his eyes and Marcus blinked, realizing he could now faintly see. The glow of a xenthier stem—it had to be!

But a faint draft that stank of male sweat drifted past him.

Hurry!

Heart pounding, he crawled forward, rounding a slight bend. And then it was there. Glittering crystal that was equal parts alluring and terrifying.

What if this isn’t the one? his terror whispered. What if they made an error in the codes? This could take you anywhere!

A hand closed around his ankle, hauling him backward.

Shouting, Marcus kicked hard, whoever it was behind him cursing in pain as his foot connected.

Go!

Scrambling, Marcus reached forward and closed his hand over the stem, bracing himself.

The world turned white, and all around him was nothingness. And it seemed to go on forever, as though he’d been lost in some in-between space. Marcus screamed, but there was no sound.

There was nothing.

“Ooof!” He landed on his back with a thud, but before he could orient himself, nausea took hold, offering him barely enough time to roll before his guts rose. He dug his fingers into the cut stone beneath him, stomach heaving, the world spinning. And he had only the briefest moment to note that the air smelled of jungle before everything went dark.

 112KILLIAN

Like a trio of bloody cowards, the corrupted had drawn straws to see which one of them should tell Rufina that Agrippa had spirited Malahi away. The woman drew the short straw and hurried off in the company of the soldier who’d brought the news.

Leaving Killian with two corrupted, a set of manacles, and a prison door to contend with.

Taking his time wasn’t an option.

Although thanks to Agrippa, at least time was something he had.

In hindsight, Killian realized that it had only been when Rufina was about to kill him that Agrippa had revealed Lydia’s presence in the fortress and her true identity, the clever bastard banking that Rufina would be enticed enough by the prospect of turning Killian into her general to spare his life. That Agrippa had thrown Lydia under the cart wheels would still earn the smart-ass a punch to the face when Killian got out of this mess, but he did have a level of grudging admiration for the ruthless effectiveness of Agrippa’s plan. And for his ability to think on his feet.

Sitting on the filthy floor, Killian stared back at the two men watching him, shifting restlessly so that they wouldn’t notice when he finally took hold of the heel of his boot and extracted the lock pick wedged into the leather.

“Do you think Rufina killed the messenger?” he asked. “She doesn’t seem the sort to take bad news very well.”

Mustache spit through the bars. The glob struck the molding straw in front of Killian, giving him a good excuse to jerk farther backward into the shadows. “The Queen does not harm the chosen out of hand.”

“You so sure about that?” Killian asked, resting his wrists behind his bent knees, slipping the pick into the lock. “Because quite a few of you died in the battle at Alder’s Ford.”

“That was Agrippa’s doing!” Mustache snarled. “Not the Queen’s.”

“Ahh, Agrippa.” One lock came loose, and Killian chuckled to muffle the noise. “I confess, I have trouble keeping track of whose side he’s on.”

“His own!” Mustache stepped closer