There’d been no sign of the Thirty-Seventh mobilizing in their camp outside Aracam, but she knew all too well how quickly that could change. That thousands of men could be standing out of sight on the plain beneath the ridge, waiting for the command to attack.
And the imperators knew it, too.
“According to your customs, as allies who fought alongside one another as equals, we are entitled to a portion of the defeated enemy’s wealth. According to your laws, the amount we are entitled to is decided by numbers. For you to stand here and say otherwise tells me that not only do you not consider us your allies, but that you consider the lives of the two hundred thirty-three brothers I lost in this fight worthless.”
Splat.
No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe. The imperator who’d objected coughed, then said, “Perhaps we’ve been hasty. Ereni, sit. Let us negotiate so that we might all remain friends.”
Neither Marcus nor Ereni moved, blood pooling on the table between them.
Sit down, Teriana wanted to scream at Marcus. Don’t be like this!
The battle of wills seemed a stalemate, then abruptly, Ereni sheathed her sword and sat. Marcus waited a heartbeat longer, then settled into his chair, revealing that his throat was coated with blood. Part of her was afraid for how badly he was hurt, but the other part wanted to slap him, because it hadn’t needed to go this way.
“What amount would you be willing to accept as compensation?” Ereni asked, the words clipped.
“You would treat us as mercenaries?” Marcus huffed out a breath of disgust. “We are legions of the Celendor Empire. We do not fight for hire. You, Ereni, should be glad for that, else you’d be very much in my debt.”
Teriana closed her eyes, struggling to keep her composure as she realized the depths of his strategy. The legions had paid for everything they’d taken in their time here, incurring not a single debt, while at the same time working for Ereni’s clan without ever demanding compensation. Not giving the Arinoquians any cause to claim them anything but the perfect ally.
Had he known this moment would come?
Had he planned for this?
And what would he do, given that the Arinoquians were refusing to name him ally in this and he was refusing to be treated as a mercenary?
It was a stalemate that would end in violence if one of them didn’t concede, and Teriana’s gut told her that Marcus had no intention of backing down. And from the look on Ereni’s face, neither did she.
Splat.
10MARCUS
Marcus felt giddy, and more than a little light-headed, as they trooped back into camp, the horses struggling to pull the loaded wagons through the sticky mud. The wet bricks of gold and silver glinted in the faint sunlight, and his men moved from their campfires to watch as he walked toward his command tent.
He’d done it. Against the odds, he’d done it.
The commotion of the men drew Felix and Titus and the rest of those lingering over maps and strategies out into the rain, and his second’s blue eyes widened as they lighted upon the procession. “What’s all this?”
“I told you not to worry about our coffers.” Stepping past Felix, Marcus ducked into the tent, handing his helmet to Amarin, who also took his sodden cloak. Picking up a bottle of rum and a stack of tin cups, he circled the table full of maps and paperwork, setting full cups in front of each of the stools.
The group followed him in, taking their places.
“I was under the impression you were organizing a split of Urcon’s coffers among the clans, sir,” Felix finally said. “Though it appears you had another plan in mind.”
Servius snorted, then reached for one of the cups, which he drained in two long swallows. Slamming it down on the table hard enough to make it shake, he said, “I’m going to get some sleep.” Without waiting to be dismissed, he strode from the tent.
Teriana picked up the cup in front of her, then shook her head and set it back down on the table. “I’m going to see after Quintus and Miki.”
She was angry with him. Part of him wanted to go after her, to make her understand why he’d done things this way. But the other, spiteful part of himself thought she deserved a taste of how it felt to be deceived. “Gibzen, go with her. And stay with her.”
The primus made a face but then drained his cup and started after Teriana. Pausing at the entrance to the tent, he said, “I’m neither suited to nor interested in this line of work, sir. You ought to consider choosing someone else from the ranks to guard your … asset.”
“I’ll think on it,” Marcus answered, his good mood rapidly fouling. “But for now, you will follow orders.”
Gibzen gave a sour salute, then disappeared from sight, leaving Marcus alone with Felix and Titus.
Titus picked up his drink and took a mouthful but said nothing. Felix crossed his arms, expression grim, yet he also remained silent.
Which one of you is it? Marcus sipped at the rum but didn’t taste it. Which one of you betrayed me?
“By Arinoquian custom, we were entitled to a portion of Urcon’s wealth,” he finally said. “Sixty percent, to be precise.”
Titus grinned and shook his head. “Tidy profit for a half a day’s work.”
“I take it the imperators were not pleased.” Felix jerked his chin toward Marcus’s bleeding neck. “That needs stitches.”
“Ereni doesn’t like having things sprung upon her, but we came to an understanding,” Marcus answered, curbing the urge to touch the stinging wound. “The allied clans will leave Aracam no later than tomorrow. They have what they came for, so there is no sense lingering. Especially not given the amount of gold they all have in their possession.”
“You
