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

an eternity that she’d been away from them now, but while there had been days that their absence had made her feel like she was drowning in grief, she also knew there had been days when she’d barely thought of them at all. Guilt slapped her in the face, because maybe if she’d kept her heart and her mind where they were supposed to be, she wouldn’t be here right now. “Will Titus tell my crew I’m dead?”

“It would be in his best interest not to,” Marcus replied. “Your presence in our camp ensured their continued compliance. He won’t jeopardize that given he has no route back to Celendor if things go awry.”

And there would be no way for them to find out given that she’d dispatched Bait and Magnius to Taltuga, Gamdesh, and beyond. They’d be waiting, maybe Aunt Yedda sending her little trinkets and gifts only for Titus to toss them thoughtlessly into the fire.

“You’re burning dinner.”

“Shit!” Leaping to her feet, Teriana used her knife to flip over the smoking strips of meat, which were more than a little blackened on the bottom side. “Sorry. Not that you should be complaining. I’ve never eaten worse in my life than in your camp.”

Marcus laughed. “Don’t like porridge?”

Rolling her eyes, Teriana said, “Seems to me that Campus Lescendor has a real gap in their curriculum. Your men can build a castle with three twigs and a handful of mud, but they can’t even serve porridge without lumps in it.”

“A purposeful gap, I think.” He inspected the pelt with a critical eye before extracting a whetstone from his belt pouch and setting to work on his knife blade. “I don’t think they considered refining our palates in their best interest. Feeding a legion is expensive enough without filling it with fussy eaters.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

The wind chose that moment to howl across the plains, sliding through the small gaps in the shack walls. Icier than it had been all day, it drew gooseflesh to Teriana’s skin, despite the heat of the stove. Sibern’s winters were fierce. Deadly. Storms that went on for days, piling up snow until it was deeper than a man was tall. Being outside today had bordered on torture, and this was only the beginning of it. “Don’t suppose you’ve read about making snowshoes.”

“I have. We don’t have the materials, so you might want to pray that it doesn’t snow.”

“I don’t think the Six can hear me.” And even if they could, why would they listen, given what she’d done? What she continued to do. Sighing, Teriana dumped the cooked meat onto a tin plate and set it on the ground between them. “Enjoy.”

Marcus sat, one leg crossed beneath him, one knee up, his elbow hooked around it. Picking up a piece of meat, he bit into it, eyes on the glowing fire. His hands were reddened and scraped from labor and the cold, knuckles raw and bleeding in a few places. He’d stripped off much of the clothing he’d made, but what remained was coated with blood, and a red smear bisected the scar on his face. His cheeks and chin were slightly rough with stubble, something she’d never seen on him before, as all the legionnaires were required to be clean-shaven. It made him look older than his nineteen years, and was not, she decided, unappealing. Quite the opposite.

He chose that moment to turn back to her, and her cheeks warmed at being caught staring. “Thank you,” he said. “For … frying dinner.”

Taking a bite to cover her embarrassment, Teriana chewed, then said, “Don’t get used to this domestic situation, Marcus. You need to hold up your end.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Domestic?”

Why had she chosen that word? Her cheeks burned hotter. “Aye, domestic. I’m not running twenty miles every day only to have to cook dinner while you kick your heels up next to the fire. Do you even know how to cook?” She shook her head and cast her eyes up to the ceiling. “Never mind, you’ve probably got six cookbooks committed to memory or some nonsense like that.”

He bit his bottom lip, then shook his head. “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you on that count. Lescendor’s library didn’t have a section on cooking.” His eyes fixed on her face, firelight reflecting off them. “I’ll have to make it up to you in other ways.”

Her stomach flipped. “You’re never a disappointment.”

Marcus looked away, the muscles in his jaw flexing. Then he froze. “Do you hear that?”

“The wind?” There was most certainly a storm rolling in, the howl of the wind incessant as it hammered the sides of the shack.

“No,” Marcus muttered. “Listen.”

The wind shrieked, making the stove’s chimney moan and sparks fly. It eased for a heartbeat, and that was when she heard it.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

“What is that?”

Marcus stood next to the wall, head down as he listened.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

“What?” Teriana demanded, climbing to her feet. “What are they doing?”

He bent to touch the ground, his face growing pale. “They’re digging.”

 41LYDIA

Sitting in a chair in the library, Lydia stared up at the ceiling, reconciling herself to the fact that she was losing this battle. The ship with the remaining healers had arrived, and tomorrow, the purging of Mudaire would begin.

A purge she’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that she’d be part of.

Sighing, she set to the task of shelving books, having given up on finishing her organization. And as it was, soon this library—and all of Mudaire—would be burned. The loss of knowledge made her cringe, but there wasn’t the time or resources to remove all these books, and in order to prevent people from returning to the city—and inevitably falling victim to the blight—the King would have to see it destroyed.

The door opened, and Lena and Gwen walked in, the latter carrying a bowl and a crust of bread. “You missed dinner. Again.”

“Sorry.” Lydia put a book on a shelf. “I got caught up.”

“You do need