All the tension that Amarin had worked away returned to Marcus’s neck, and his head renewed its throbbing. “I haven’t even seen a report on injuries much less signed off on discharges yet, so perhaps don’t berate me for something I’ve yet to do.”
Her eyes, turbid seas of distress, narrowed. “I’m pissed off at you as it is, Marcus, so perhaps you should watch your tone.”
They glared at each other, and as always, she won.
“Miki’s back is broken, and the surgeon says he’ll never walk again. He told me that you’ll be discharging him from the Thirty-Seventh and sending him to languish on the island with the rest of those who can’t fight.”
Never walk. Grief, heavy as lead, clamped down on his shoulders, and Marcus slumped back on the stool. “If he can’t walk, he can’t fight. If he can’t fight, he can’t serve. I won’t have a choice.”
“Why can’t he stay here? Aren’t there other tasks he could do? Not being able to walk doesn’t make him useless, you know.”
“I never said it did!” Anger flooded through him, chasing away his grief, because though he’d been in this situation dozens of times before, it never got any easier. Back east, when he discharged men who could no longer march, they were returned to Celendor. They were paid out the balance of their earnings, and the Senate’s army of administrators ensured they were cared for. At least, for a time.
But sending men back home wasn’t an option, so since they’d reached the Dark Shores, he’d made do with other solutions. “It’s how it’s done, Teriana. If we were forced into a hard march, it would be a burden on the rest of my men to have to carry them. And…” He grimaced. “It’s bad for morale to have them around camp.”
“That’s a disgusting reason.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
Her jaw worked back and forth, misery painted across her face. Then she said, “Let Quintus go with him.”
“Quintus will recover.”
“Physically, maybe,” she retorted. “But being separated from Miki will destroy him. They need each other, Marcus. They love each other.”
As if he didn’t know that. “Do you think that the other men I discharge aren’t loved? That their loss doesn’t hurt those they leave behind? I can’t make an exception for Quintus or I’ll have dozens of other men in here asking for the same! I especially can’t do this for him, given that everyone would know it was you…”
“That asked you to do it,” she finished for him. “So not only were they injured in defense of me, any chance of them being together has been destroyed because of me.”
“They knew the risks. And the outcome would be the same if Miki had been injured taking Aracam. I don’t make exceptions.”
Except for you.
“Please.” She met his gaze. “Please don’t do this to them.”
He wanted to say yes. For their sake. For hers. “No exceptions, Teriana. Don’t ask me again.”
“Why?” She gave a stool a violent kick, sending it tumbling across the tent. “Why do you have to be this way? Why can’t you for once do the right thing?”
Exhaustion and pain and frustration slammed down on him, and Marcus felt his temper crack. “Let’s not forget that there are those among the Arinoquians with the power to heal Miki. To heal all my men who are lying in that tent, injured beyond a surgeon’s ability to repair. You could help them, but you choose not to in order to protect the people of the West. Just as I choose not to, in order to protect you.”
She looked as though he’d slapped her, and Marcus recognized instantly that he’d gone too far.
“I’m sorry.” Rising to his feet, he added, “I shouldn’t have said that. This is my burden, not yours, and you shouldn’t be made to feel otherwise.”
Teriana stared at the dirt floor between them, face lowered, but he still saw the glint of a tear running down her cheek. “It’s true though, isn’t it?” She lifted her head. “Aren’t we just a pair?”
“Split loyalties always make for difficult choices.”
And it always ended badly.
“Racker hasn’t delivered his report on injuries just yet,” he said slowly. “Things could change. Miki could improve—I’ve seen it happen before.” He didn’t add that the Thirty-Seventh’s surgeon was rarely wrong. “I don’t want to fight about something that might resolve itself without our intervention.”
She gave a slow nod. “Fine. But that doesn’t absolve you of explaining that bullshit you pulled with the clans.”
Grimacing, he righted the stool, gesturing for her to sit and doing the same once she was settled. “My men need to be paid, Teriana. And they need to eat.”
“But you have—” She glanced toward where the chests of coin had once sat, her eyes lingering on the two that remained. “I see.”
“It spends quickly.”
She was quiet, her brow furrowed. “Fine. I understand why you took the gold. But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me what you intended to do. Or anyone else, from the sound of it.”
The silence stretched between them, tension mounting with each passing second.
“Because…” He swallowed hard. “As much as I might wish otherwise, I can’t trust you.” Reaching into his belt pouch, he dropped the scrap of paper he’d received from the Katamarcan queen in front of her. “Right now, I’m not entirely certain that I know you, Princess.”
Teriana picked up the scrap of paper, and Marcus felt every muscle in his body twist with tension over what she would say.
“I’m not a princess,” she finally answered, setting the note back down. “I don’t hold that much power over my people.”
“But Ereni said that you do hold that much influence. With the Maarin. And with other rulers in the West?”
She bit down on her lower lip, then gave a reluctant nod.
“Is this the only letter you sent?”
“No. I sent one to Gamdesh as
