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

your free hours, while at the same time, adhering to the curfew placed upon trainees.”

Biting down on an argument, she nodded.

“But for now, you need to go make yourself presentable,” he said. “King Serrick, as well as several of the High Lords, have arrived in Mudaire in the company of the Royal Army. He has requested your presence at the palace.”

The Royal Army. Her heart skipped. That meant Killian was here.

 17MARCUS

He’d slept like the dead, and for the first time in a very long time, he might’ve slept past dawn.

Except the tent started to leak.

Splat. Marcus twitched as something wet smacked him on the shoulder. Splat. Another drop.

“What’s dripping?” Teriana muttered, and he realized with a start that he’d curled around her during the night, and his traitorous body was not displeased with the situation.

Face burning, Marcus sat upright and glared upward while he got himself under control, seeing the spot where the rain had soaked into the waxed canvas and several other dark spots that suggested it would soon have company.

And it was no wonder.

Rain hammered in great sheeting torrents, the faint roll of thunder the only sound in the quiet camp.

“Shit.” Teriana had sat as well, and she was pointing to the corner. “We’re flooding.”

“Amarin!” Cursing loudly, he rose and strode out into the main tent, only to find his servant frantically storing maps in their chests as water rained from above, filling the bowls and cups he’d placed under the leaks. “I see you’re aware of the problem.”

The older man scowled. “Never seen rain like this. What a mess.”

Discomfort was one thing, but the endless damp was a breeding ground for disease. Stepping out into the deluge, Marcus shielded his face from the pounding rain, walking barefoot through the mud to the sodden guards. “I need the engineers in my tent, now. And find some dry canvas to tarp over command. Send someone into Aracam to buy it, if needed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Striding back into the tent, he found Teriana busy helping Amarin. She was fully dressed, and Marcus became abruptly aware that he wore only undergarments, which were soaked through so he might as well have been naked. And despite modesty having been driven out of him by life in a legion camp, his face once again burned red. Fortunately, Teriana was looking anywhere but at him.

“Expect another couple months of this,” she said. “When it rains in Arinoquia, it rains.”

“Noted,” he managed to say before hurrying to the back to dress.

When he returned, his head engineer, Rastag, arrived, sparing him having to talk to Teriana. Which was well, because he couldn’t think of anything to say and the thought of suffering in silence made him want to run back out into the rain.

A full head shorter than Marcus, Rastag was about as wide as he was tall, his black hair shaved regulation short and a pair of spectacles balanced on his nose. He had light brown skin and the look of someone with more than a few provinces contributing to his bloodline. Rastag was a terrible fighter, infamous for his ability to trip up an entire line of men and for the time he accidentally stabbed himself. But he could build anything.

“Sir.” Moving to the table, the engineer slapped a schematic down on a dry spot, not bothering to ask why Marcus had called him here. “My proposal for a drainage system for the camp.”

Glancing at the detailed illustration, Marcus said, “I think we need more than that.”

“Undoubtedly, sir, but it’s always best to build on—”

“A good foundation,” Marcus finished for him. “You’ve mentioned that once or twice.”

“Wooden—”

“I’d prefer something more permanent,” Marcus said, then felt Teriana’s questioning eyes on him and lost his train of thought. “Umm … Something made out of stone, like Aracam and Galinha—”

“But with more bloody headroom,” Servius interrupted, having arrived in the middle of the conversation. “Morning, Teriana.”

“Morning, Servius.”

A quick glance revealed that she was now sitting on one of the stools, sipping from a steaming cup, her eyes currently swirling seas of turquoise. She twisted one of her black braids around her index finger, gaze fixed on her tea. So deeply and profoundly beautiful that he couldn’t help but question his sanity for taking intimacy off the table. It was the right choice, he silently told himself. We need to be able to trust each other.

If that were even possible.

“Marcus?”

He jumped at Servius’s voice. “Right. More headroom. Speak to Felix about which men to use for the construction. And speaking of Felix, where is he?”

“Sleeping off a hangover,” Servius said. “He made close friends with a bottle of rum last night.”

Unbidden, the memory of how Felix had looked at him when he’d returned filled Marcus’s head, along with the knowledge that Felix only drank to excess when he was upset. Shoving away the thought, he said to Rastag, “Give him another hour and then have someone rouse him.”

“Understood.” The engineer saluted and started for the exit, passing Gibzen on his way out.

“You got Racker’s report yet?” the primus asked without preamble.

Marcus took his time answering, sitting on one of the stools and taking a sip of water even as he noted how the scar along the primus’s jaw pulled as the muscles beneath flexed. Given Gibzen was alarmingly devoid of empathy and sentiment, his displeasure wouldn’t be over the loss of lives. “No. Why?”

Gibzen shifted on his heels, but before he could speak, Racker stepped inside. Casting a glare at Gibzen, the Thirty-Seventh’s surgeon said, “I have my discharge report.” Pulling out a wax-wrapped sheet of paper, he handed it to Marcus. Eighteen names and numbers, one set of which belonged to Miki. Feeling Teriana’s scrutiny, he asked, “And Quintus?”

“Will be in fighting form within a couple weeks.”

Gibzen snorted, and Marcus bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from reprimanding him. “What of his state of mind?”

“He is distressed, as is expected, but he’s steady enough.”

“Bullshit,” Gibzen snapped. “Everyone here knows he’s going to snap the moment Miki