Though Teriana hadn’t thought the proconsul had even noticed her presence, Grypus’s eyes found her with unerring precision. Within them, she saw not just intelligence but cunning, and Teriana instinctively understood why Marcus was worried. Grypus crooked his finger at her, and she reluctantly approached.
“Teriana of the Maarin.” He looked her up and down. “Cassius sends his well wishes and his congratulations on your success. It seems any concern over your ability to deliver on your promises was misplaced, for you have delivered with time to spare.”
“Have my people been freed?” she asked, not interested in his games.
“Not yet.” His gaze flicked to Marcus, who had moved within arm’s reach. “It is my duty to confirm that Emrant is indeed securelyunder Celendor’s control, at which time I’ll send a missive formally declaring you have fulfilled your obligations. Though I do understand your impatience given Hostus’s control of Celendrial’s prison. Vile piece of work, that man, and while I understand the reasons Cassius had for selecting him, I cannot say that I support the decision. Hostus is a feral dog that should be put down before he bites the wrong hand.”
She shivered, and Grypus smiled, eyes cold. “But let us take these matters to more private accommodations. Preferably with chilled wine and food. Travel always leaves me famished.” He took hold of her arm. “Lead the way.”
His palm was warm and surprisingly calloused on her bare arm, and Teriana curbed the urge to pull away from him. The proconsul was baiting Marcus, that much she could see, and though Marcus showed no reaction as he fell in next to Grypus, she could feel his tension. Understood it, because while a matter of hours ago it had felt like they were firmly in control of the situation in Emrant, it now felt as though that control was slipping through their fingers.
If they’d ever really held it at all.
“I imagine you’re eager to be away from the legions, Teriana,” Grypus said as they stepped into the cool corridors of the fortress. “They serve an important purpose, but legionnaires are base creatures. We train them to be that way—to be more animals than men. Though I’ve spent years in their camps, I’ve never enjoyed it. It is only out of loyalty to Mother Empire that I endure their coarseness. I can only imagine what it has been like for you, as a young woman.”
There was no good answer. “They’ve treated me with courtesy.”
Grypus made a soft humming sound of amusement. “Yes, yes. I’ve heard about your indiscretions. Marcus is something of a different creature, patrician born as he is. You remember how I speculated that your blood was blue, Marcus? Everyone else was squawking with surprise when Domitius finally claimed you, but not me. I sensed your superiority in breeding from the moment I met you. Good patrician stock rises to the top of every legion at Lescendor.” Then he cast a glance in Nic’s direction. “Though not always.”
Nic did not so much as blink at the slight.
“The best of every year at Lescendor rises to command.” Marcus’s tone was bland. “As to my own blood, it is as red as any other man in the Thirty-Seventh’s. The Empire is my father and my mother. The men of the Thirty-Seventh are my brothers. I am a legionnaire.”
Grypus laughed at the refrain all the legionnaires were taught tosay when asked about their parentage. “Oh, what a glorious politician you’d have made, Marcus. Mark my words: you’d have risen to the consulship itself had you not had the misfortune of being born second. Your father’s misfortune as well, for your brother is an idiot of the first order. Even your sister has a better mind than him, though she’s tarnished by her husband’s weak politics.” He cast a sideways glance at Marcus. “Your mother is busy making matches for your younger sisters, aided by your status, to be sure. I’d half considered putting Lucretia in the grave so that I might secure one of them, but the blasted woman will likely outlive me, if not kill me herself with her ceaseless badgering.”
“My sympathies for your plight.” Marcus gestured to an open door. “In here, if you would.”
The large room had been largely cleared of furnishings and décor to be used as Marcus’s center of command, but traces of the wealth of Gamdesh still remained in the heavy rosewood table, matching chairs upholstered in brilliantly patterned silk, and ornate molding. The walls were painted deep plum, one wall dominated with a heavily gilded mirror. The rectangle of unfaded paint on the opposite wall suggested that the mirror had once reflected a piece of art.
Amarin waited with his arms crossed behind his back, though he swiftly moved to pull out a heavy chair for the proconsul, who wrinkled his nose at the expensive furniture and stayed standing. “Wine.”
Amarin poured him a glass of chilled wine, and then said, “Food is being prepared and will be brought shortly.”
“It should be ready now,” Grypus muttered with no regard for the fact he’d come early. “It is well that I brought my own servants, else this would be a truly miserable experience. Pour the girl some wine.”
Amarin handed Teriana a glass, and she took a sip, barely tasting it. “Are you satisfied with the paths, Proconsul? As you say, I do not wish my people to spend any more time in Hostus’s care.”
“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you.” Grypus looked her over. “You must have been quite a distraction.”
He reached out to touch her face, but just before his fingers brushed her cheek, Marcus’s hand closed over his wrist. “Do not touch her.”
Grypus’s jaw hardened. “You forget yourself, boy. You’ve been given too long a leash for too long a time and have it in your head that you possess real power. Remember that the Senate owns you. Iownyou. You have no more say than a dog, and like a dog, you will be put down if you choose to bite.”
“I’ve not forgotten anything.” Marcus’s voice was frigid, but the murder in his gaze made Teriana clench her teeth in fear of what he might do, so she swiftly said, “Is the Senate’s word good or not, Proconsul? Because I think you’ll find your power to negotiate much reduced if you withhold approval of these paths when they are clearly viable.”
“You trying to goad me with threats, girl?” Grypus spat.
“I’m not threatening you with anything,” she replied. “But ask yourself if stringing me along or provokinghim”—she nodded at Marcus—“is worth sabotaging your ability to achieve much larger goals.”
She watched the wheels turn in the proconsul’s gaze, then he jerked out of Marcus’s grip. “Cassius has already claimed the glory of conquering the Maarin. You are worth nothing.” Turning to the table, he snapped his fingers. “Paper and ink.”
Amarin swiftly obliged, and Grypus wrote a message that the paths were secure and would serve the Empire well, and that Teriana’s obligations were fulfilled. He signed it and waited for Amarin to add a blob of red wax, which he stamped with a golden seal. “Here.” He shoved it at her. “Go collect what remains of your miserable people.”
Marcus gave her a tight nod, and Teriana snatched up the page and hurried to the door, Quintus opening it ahead of her. “Come on.” He hauled on her arm. “We need to go.”
She tripped over her sandals, uncertain why such haste was required but knowing that it was. Quintus pushed between Grypus’s servants, who approached with trays laden with food and wine, and it felt like Celendor was already assimilating its new conquest.
Teriana looked down at the expensive paper she clutched in her hands, trusting Quintus to guide her through the corridors as she read and reread the words.
