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

out of the tent, water filling her boots as she followed Servius through the camp, which resembled a giant mud puddle.

“The wet is making everyone cranky.”

Undoubtably true, but that wasn’t the source of the tension she’d witnessed in Marcus’s tent. She’d seen them argue with one another before, but they’d always given off the sense of being unified, their arguments directed toward achieving a common purpose. Whereas what she’d seen in there was anything but unified. “Thought you lot were used to discomfort?”

“We are.”

They passed a pair of young men shouting at each other, both their chests tattooed with a 37. They silenced when Servius cast them a dark glare, but it picked right back up again. And it wasn’t just them. The half of the camp occupied by the Thirty-Seventh felt sullen and on edge, whereas the Forty-First seemed business as usual, groups not on duty congregating under tarps while they ate, banter and laughter drifting into her ears.

The Thirty-Seventh had taken more casualties, partially because they alone had participated in the battle with the mercenary army, but also because the older, more experienced legion had undertaken the more dangerous positions during the siege of Aracam. Except she’d witnessed their grief, and this … this was something else. “It’s not the rain, Servius. What’s wrong with everyone?”

Her big friend scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, sending droplets flying. “When the top dogs quarrel, it affects the whole pack. I have to hand it to you, Teriana. If your goal was to fracture this legion, you’ve done a mighty fine job of it.”

“You know that’s not what I want.” The words came out in a rush. And on their heels, she reminded herself that only last night, she’d been visited by a Gamdeshian spy. But while playing with relationships and jealousies might be the way some people created trouble, that wasn’t who she was. She had her limits when it came to deception.

“So you say.”

“I didn’t plan for any of this to happen.”

“Sure.”

Tentatively, she asked, “Did Felix get angry about the other girls…” Because undoubtably there had been others in Marcus’s bed before her.

“No reason to.” Servius’s voice was clipped. “Was always professionals and never the same girl twice. As it should be for any man in service to the Empire.”

She flinched, realizing that Servius was angry at her. “It’s over, anyway. He says he can’t trust me.” Never mind that she’d woken last night wrapped in his arms, his heartbeat a steady thud against her back, his breath warm against her ear. Never mind that she’d been a twist of desire and anguish, unsure of whether to wake him with hungry kisses or to extricate herself and weep into her pillow. She’d gotten her answer when he’d woken, horror that had nothing to do with the leaking tent apparent in his eyes.

“Bullshit.” Sliding to a stop, Servius loomed over her, his usual good humor absent from his face. “It’s not over. At least, not for him.”

Her heart skipped, emotion making her stomach flip.

“I want to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that this isn’t an act on your part, Teriana. And if you want to prove that, convince Marcus to reconcile with Felix. Because while the men respect Marcus, they like Felix, and right now they’re all wondering whose side to take if they split irrevocably.”

As if that were so simple. Teriana bit the inside of her cheeks, wishing Servius knew that the source of the conflict wasn’t her but the fact Felix might have betrayed Marcus. And that unless Felix could be proven innocent, the rift between him and Marcus would only grow. But it wasn’t her secret to tell.

She opened her mouth to say that she’d try, but before she could speak, shouts filled the air. Both of them turned to see a brawl spill out of the mess tent, a crowd swiftly forming as fists flew.

And blood.

“You have to be joking!” Servius snarled at the men, then he leveled a finger at Teriana. “Go back to the command tent and wait there until I get this sorted.”

Without waiting for a response, he stormed toward the brawl, roaring curses and threatening to crack skulls.

Beyond the ruckus, Titus exited the mess tent. Cassius’s son paused to watch the men pummeling one another, the very faintest smile of amusement growing on his face. Then he walked away.

Teriana watched him go, her skin prickling with unease, because Titus was Cassius’s son and she knew he wanted control. And she didn’t think there was much he wouldn’t do to achieve command of this mission. Even if gaining that control meant ripping the Thirty-Seventh apart from the inside out.

 19LYDIA

Washed, her hair woven into a tight braid that she twisted into a knot at the back of her head, Lydia walked next to Quindor in the midst of their escort as they made their way to the palace.

Emmy came with them.

Bundled in a thick woolen cloak that must have been taken from one of the High Lord’s homes, she skipped next to Quindor, his gloved hand clutched in hers. She chattered the entire time, switching from topic to topic in the way children do, appearing for all the world like a happy young girl. And though the Grand Master could see as well as Lydia that she was a walking corpse, he pandered to her, answering her endless questions with seemingly no end of patience. The guards in their escort, however, kept a healthy distance from Emmy, watching her as much as they did their surroundings.

The fortifications of the palace, always strong, had been bolstered in the few hours since the King’s return. Archers patrolled the tops of the wall, eyes watchful, and at its base, at least a hundred men stood in the gap between the wall and a secondary barrier that had been built of sharpened stakes pointed outwards. At the sight of Quindor, the soldiers moved a section of it to allow them passage, the guards at