Titus wheezed, “What did he do to me?”
“You know damn well what he did,” Teriana snapped. “You knew he was Ashok, which meant you knew exactly what he could do. You just didn’t think your own dog would bite you.”
“Ashok?” He stared at her, rheumy eyes filled with such confusion that Teriana wondered if the corrupted had also stolen his wits.
“Yes, Ashok,” she said. “Unless you’ve forgotten the man you conspired with to have me kidnapped. The man who threatened to send me back in pieces if Marcus didn’t retreat from Aracam. The plot that nearly saw the legions trapped between two armies. Remember that?”
Next to her, Marcus let out a slow breath, but she didn’t care if he was annoyed with her outburst. What she cared about was that even on his deathbed, Titus was still gods-damnedlyinglike he could somehow get out of this alive.
“You think I—” Titus broke off in a wheezing cough that shook his fragile body. “No,” he finally gasped out. “Wasn’t. Me.”
“I know it was you, Titus,” Marcus said. “Ashok was paid with Cel dragons, which I forbade being brought across the seas. Dragons that were stamped with Cassius’s visage, which were not in circulation when we left. To whom else would Cassius give them but his own son? You put your own legion at risk in your quest for power.”
Titus studied him for a long moment, then he asked, “You truly believe I’d do something thatstupid? You really think I’d risk my men just to make you look bad?”
Unease prickled across Teriana’s skin, because if not Titus, then who?
Racker chose that moment to arrive, the surgeon uttering several colorful curses at the sight of Titus. Kneeling next to the legatus, he pressed fingers to his throat, then gave Marcus a shake of his head. “He’s dying.”
If the revelation terrified Titus, he didn’t show it. “From the moment we met, you thought the worst of me, Marcus,” he whispered.“Was it becausehe’smy father? If you want the truth, I hate him. He murdered my mother.”
Teriana tensed, it suddenly dawning on her how little she truly knew about Titus. That he was Cassius’s son was no secret to anyone, yet not one of them had ever asked for his opinion of his father.
“No. It’s because you’re manipulative, backstabbing, and power-hungry,” Marcus retorted.
“And you’re not?” Titus let out a wheezing laugh that turned into gasps for air. “Every legatus fits that description, even the puppy they’ve sent you to train. It’s how we get to the top.”
“But you made it personal,” Marcus said in a low voice. “I know the gold came from you, Titus. I know if I have your tent searched that I’ll find the rest of it. Do you really want your last words to be lies?”
“You’ll find more gold in my tent.” Titus’s skin was blanched pale. “I won’t deny that. But I’m no traitor to pay the enemy to do my dirty work. I paid one ofyourmen to spy on Teriana for me.” Titus sucked in a rattling breath. “Hehatesyour girl, Marcus.Hatesyou breaking the rules. Can’t say I’m shocked he risked his own brothers, but it wouldn’t have been to ruin you. It would have been to give you a chance at redemption.”
“Who?” Marcus demanded. “Give me his name, Titus, or I swear that I’ll have you buried in the latrines.”
Titus grinned, his gaunt face twisting in a way that made Teriana cringe. “Kiss. My. Ass.”
It was as though the defiance stole the last vestiges of his energy, for the second the words passed his lips, Titus’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body began to shudder. “Tell my father… tell him. Tell him that—”
What final words Titus wished passed on to Cassius died with him, for only a rattling breath exited his lips.
Then he was still.
Racker reached forward and drew Titus’s eyelids down, but no one spoke. Teriana looked around, finding the tent had been cleared of nearly all the men. Lev, who was Titus’s second—now the acting legatus—was the only member of the Forty-First remaining. He stared at the corpse of his commander, then cleared his throat. “What are your orders, sir?”
Silence stretched, the tension in the tent so thick it was hard to breathe.
“Arrange for him to be buried with full honors,” Marcus eventually answered. “Mark him in your books as a casualty of war, dead at our enemy’s hands.”
“Yes, sir.” Lev stooped, picking up Titus’s fragile body, but then he paused. Looking down at Marcus, he said, “I… I don’t want to be in command. I don’t have the stomach for it.”
Marcus’s face was emotionless as he regarded Titus’s second, then he said, “Felix will lead the Forty-First until such time as the Senate can address the chain of command. You will serve as his second.”
Relief flooded the young man’s eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
At Marcus’s nod, Lev departed, Racker following with mutters about examining the body.
“This isn’t how it’s done,” Felix said quietly. “The Forty-First needs to be under the command of one of their own.”
“He’ll rally.” Marcus rubbed at the back of his skull, wincing. “Until then, they need a steady hand, and I need certainty that they’ll do as they’re told.”
