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

that would drive a pack out of their territory, regardless of the risks. Marcus had hundreds of Sibernese in the ranks of the Thirty-Seventh: every one of them had claimed it was true.

He’d brushed the stories off as nonsense—myths told to frighten foolish children away from any thought of wandering.

Now he was starting to believe that in not believing, he’d been the fool.

The wolves yelped and barked outside the shack, and Teriana stirred restlessly in his arms on the narrow cot. After he’d cleaned and bandaged the claw marks on her arm and wrist, she’d wordlessly accepted some narcotic he’d retrieved from the bottom of his belt pouch, the waves of her eyes dull and muddy and entirely unfamiliar in their defeat.

It would’ve been kinder to give her hope. To lie and say it was possible for them to make it out of here alive. But he’d been cold and rattled and angry, his head spinning from hypothermia, and it had been easier to spout the bitter truth.

You are such a bastard.

Angry with himself, he eased his arm out from under Teriana’s neck and stood, feeling the confines of the tiny space pressing in on him. He’d never liked small spaces. Never liked being contained. Had always needed to walk—to get away—to be alone in his own thoughts. A habit that had caused Felix endless consternation over the years.

Does he know I’m gone?

His chest tightened as he envisioned Felix’s face when he received the news. In his mind’s eye, he could see the thoughts that would march through his second’s head. Firstly, that Marcus had gone wandering and that the men had panicked when he couldn’t immediately be found. Then, when no runner arrived on the heels of the first pair with news that it was a false alarm, that something had happened to Marcus while he was wandering. Then—

His thoughts scattered as his eyes landed on Teriana’s sleeping face, one hand curled beneath her chin.

They’ll send word at the same time that Teriana is missing.

Felix will think I’ve deserted. That I’ve abandoned him and the Thirty-Seventh to be with her.

And with the things that had been said during their argument, Marcus could hardly blame him.

“No,” he muttered, resuming his pacing. “The trackers will find evidence we were attacked. They’ll know something happened. That we were killed or kidnapped. They’ll tell Felix.”

But there was no blood. No bodies. It was possible they’d find the xenthier, but that would be even more damning, because it would look as though he’d discovered an easy escape and taken it. Or worse, they’d send a team after him and they’d end up here.

“Shit!” he snarled, then kicked his already-dented cup across the shack with a loud clang.

Teriana muttered and stirred, but the narcotic pulled her back down a moment later.

How much longer until a change of command took place? Two days? Three? Felix would rise to acting legatus of the Thirty-Seventh, but until his rank was confirmed by the Senate, which clearly wasn’t possible, Titus would be senior to him. He’d take control of the mission. Control of the Thirty-Seventh. Control of Marcus’s men.

Panic curled in his guts, his chest tightening like a vise at the thought of Cassius’s backstabbing traitor of a son being in command of the Thirty-Seventh. Titus didn’t care about their lives, which meant he wouldn’t blink at sacrificing them to achieve his ends.

I need to get back.

They need me.

I need them.

His breathing was coming too fast, his chest too tight, an attack lurking. “Breathe,” he muttered. “Breathe. Think about what you need to do to get back to them.”

Turning to the map on the wall, he assessed the situation, knowing there were only a handful of routes out of Sibern. He plucked a charred twig from the stove, added another log to keep the flames burning bright, then began to calculate. Miles they could reasonably travel in a day. Contingencies for weather and injury and the need to hunt for food.

Stretching until his back cracked, he added the number of days, his guts twisting as he arrived at a total.

He’d never been away from his legion for more than a day. His heart rate escalated again, a faint wheeze filling his ears with each breath.

Get it together!

His eyes flicked to the map, going to the jagged ridges demarking the Sibernese Teeth. Calling the damned things mountains was a misnomer, because they were more like shards of splintered rock reaching to the sky. There was a route through, but only experienced climbers dared travel that path, and the Teeth claimed more than a few every year. To go through them would cut their journey’s length by weeks or more, but the risks … No, the long road it was.

What are the obstacles?

Lack of food. The wolves. The distance between shelters. The cold.

Break it down to increments.

They needed to make it to the next shelter. The wolves would be driven into their dens for the daylight hours, so all they needed to do was run twenty miles in snow in about eight hours.

It’s possible. You’re both strong. Both fit.

The wolf was silent now, likely dead or near to it, and it would be frozen solid by dawn. Still, they could hack off as much meat as they could carry, which solved the issue of food for a few days.

What about the cold?

He was wearing a tunic, a belt, and sandals. Teriana was somewhat better off in linen trousers, a silk blouse, and a leather vest, but even though her boots came up to her knees, the leather was too thin to provide much warmth. They had the wool blankets, which were legion standard issue, but even if they cut them up, they wouldn’t make for enough clothing in this sort of cold. And the temperature would only drop with each passing day.

There will be more blankets in the next shelter. All you have to do is make it that far.

Picking up one of the blankets, Marcus rubbed the fabric between his fingers.