“What?” The word slipped from her lips, horror filling her heart.
“It’s true, Silvara,” her brother said, eyes bright with tears. “They crawled out of a tunnel beneath the city. Then they attacked from the rear. He killed Father.” Tears flooded down his cheeks as he pointed at Agrippa. “I saw him do it with my own eyes.”
She turned to stare at him, her boots sliding on the ice and snow. “Please tell me it isn’t—”
Her words were cut off by Agrippa rising with blinding speed, somehow loose of his binds. He ripped the knife from Carina’s hand, elbowing her hard in the stomach. Then he threw the knife.
Silvara stood frozen as it flew past her cheek. A meaty thunk filled her ears as the knife struck Hecktor, and then Hecktor was pulling her backward.
She saw Agrippa’s eyes fill with horror, and then she plunged beneath the frigid surface of the river.
The cold was a slap to the face, sending ripples of pain through her body as she struggled to get her head above the rapids. Her skirts twisted around her legs, pulling her down, and spirits help her, she needed to breathe.
Then arms locked around her.
For a heartbeat, she thought it was Hecktor’s spirit, trying to drag her under, but then her head broke the surface and she heard Agrippa shout, “Quit fighting me! I’ve got you!”
She clung to his neck, water washing over her face and making her choke and gag. And in the distance, the roar of the waterfall grew. Rocks slammed against her legs, everything blackness and cold, and then they jerked to a stop.
“Climb!” Agrippa shouted in her ear, pushing her up onto a rock.
Her nails scrabbled against the stone, her body sluggish and her muscles weak, but then she was out of the water. Coughing, she sucked in breath after breath. Spirits save her, but she was cold.
“Silvara!” Agrippa gasped out her name, and she turned to see him clinging to the rock, the current trying to rip him back into the flow. “I need you to pull me up.”
Instinct had her reaching for him, but then she paused, looking down. “Is it true? Did you lead the attack?” A shudder ran over her. “Did you kill my father?”
He clawed at the rocks, struggling to get enough of a grip to pull himself up. “I’ll tell you everything. Just help me up.”
Footsteps thudded against the ground, and she looked up to see Carina and Jac running toward them. She had to choose. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know if I killed him. How could I?” Agrippa’s teeth were chattering as wildly as her own, the faint moonlight reaching through the clouds illuminating the panic in his eyes. “You told me they were dead. If I’d known—”
“Would knowing have made a difference?”
“The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.”
He reached up for her hand, but she pulled back, afraid to let him touch her lest he undo her resolve. “You slaughtered my people! Attacked them without honor from behind! How could you believe that wouldn’t hurt me?”
“There is no honor in war!” His body was shaking, the cold taking hold of him. As it was her. “It’s your life or theirs. That’s the way of it.”
She shook her head sharply, fury rising in her chest, because she didn’t agree. The honor came from fighting for what was right, not because some rich politician told you to do it.
“I didn’t have a choice.” His nails scratched the rock, slipping. “Hostus and the Twenty-Ninth were going to see us all dead if we didn’t take control. If we didn’t do it our way. This was the only way to protect my men.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, a decision forcing itself upon her.
“Silvara!” She heard her brother call her name, but she ignored him.“You lied to me!”
“And it’s the only smart thing I did!” Agrippa shouted at her. “Because if I hadn’t, all my men would be dead and Hydrilla still would have fallen! I trusted you and you betrayed me! Stabbed me in the back. It was you who leaked information to Hostus that saw Marcus nearly beaten to death. And you should thank your spirits he lived or else it wouldn’t just be your father who died, it would be every person in that cursed fortress!”
“I did what I had to do to try to save my people!”
“So did I!”
Carina and her brother were nearly on them, weapons in their hands. And they wouldn’t hesitate. “When will you Empire boys see that the path they push you down is not the path you must follow? When will you see that there is another option, if only you’re willing to fight for it?”
He glared at her, but she could see his strength faltering, the cold winning where weapons had not.
“You made your choice, Agrippa. And it was to be the villain.” Her voice was bitter, filled with all the anger and hurt in her heart. Because how different would things have been if their stars hadn’t been crossed? If they hadn’t stood in opposition? If the world was not as it was? “And I’ve made my choice as well.”
37
Agrippa
Her heels struck out, catching him hard against the shoulders and knocking him back into the river.
Water closed over his head, the current slamming him against rocks as it hurtled downstream.
Clawing to the surface, he gasped in a breath and reached for the bank, but he couldn’t get a grip.
The roar of the waterfall was deafening, drawing ever closer, and there was no chance of him escaping the flow.
“Help!” He tried to scream, but water filled his mouth and he choked. And no help would reach him in time.
You can do this, he ordered himself. Survive the drop and get to the bank. That’s all you have to do.
The sound of falling water was like thunder now, his heart fueled by terror and the desire to live live live.
Deep breath. He lifted his head, looking toward the drop.
Only to realize he was on the wrong side of the river. That instead of heading toward the falls, he was being dragged to where the current split and half of the water disappeared down a hole.
Panic flooded him, and he swam hard, trying to get across.
But it was too late.
Sucking in a breath, he plunged down into darkness.
He fell with the water, both his legs snapping as he struck rock, then he was twisted sideways, blackness all around. He slammed against the walls of a tunnel, his body in agony, his chest spasming with the need to breathe.
You can do this you can do this you can do this!
But it hurt so much. And his eyes were filling with a growing glow of white light, and he needed to breathe.
Then there was nothing.
38
Silvara
She realized her error too late, a choked scream tearing from her lips as she saw Agrippa dragged not toward the falls where he had a hope of survival, but toward the yawning black opening of the plunge hole. She lunged to her feet, intending to race to help him, but then hands hauled her back.
And in horror, she watched as Agrippa was dragged down into darkness.
Murderer.
“Silvara, we need to go!” Jac and Carina pulled on her arms, trying to draw her away from the riverbank.
“I didn’t think you had it in you, girl.”
A rough voice split the winter air, and they whirled to find a legionnaire standing a dozen feet back, weapon in hand. Then the moon peeked through the clouds, illuminating his face, and Silvara recognized one of Agrippa’s men. Clenching her teeth, she waited for him to strike, but he only laughed.
“The great Agrippa, meeting his ends at the hands of a girl.” His shoulders shook. “Shame I’ll have to keep this story to myself.”
Carina lifted her knife, but he only smirked. “Peace, woman. The girl did me a favor. I’ve been trying to get rid of Agrippa for a very long time. Would’ve been better to do it myself, but such is life. Now what to do with you three.”
He drew closer and Silvara’s eyes skipped from the stitched wound on his cheek to his eyes. Cold and predatory, they made her want t
o freeze in place. Made her want to run for her life.
“My first instinct,” he said, “is to kill all three of you and tell the boss it was you who murdered his man, but…I’m not sure that quite delivers the message I’d hoped for.”
“Which message is that?” The question slipped from her lips, disgust for this young man whom Agrippa had likely trusted twisting her guts.
“That trusting Agrippa was a mistake,” he answered. “That choosing him over me, who had his back from the beginning, was a mistake.”
Anger rose in her chest, but before she could speak, Carina said, “What do we have to do for you to let us go?”
“I’m glad you asked,” he said, and Silvara listened in cold silence to his plan before saying, “No.”
“Don’t be a fool, girl,” Carina hissed. “The boy is dead and you killed him. An Empire legionnaire and an officer. They catch you, you’re dead. He’s giving you an out.”
But at what cost? Already she’d murdered him, but to help this creature drag Agrippa’s name through the mud? She couldn’t…
“The rebels who escaped are heading north,” the legionnaire said. “Move quick and you can catch them. Live another day, fight another day.”
“And why would you want that?” she demanded, barely feeling as her brother wrapped his cloak over her shaking shoulders. “It means more fighting for you.”
“Fighting’s my bread and butter, and what’s more, I like it.” He took a step toward them, and it took all her willpower to hold her ground. “And besides, you’re just a weak little girl. I fight you today or I fight you tomorrow, makes no difference to me.”
I am not weak. Rage rose in her chest, the desire to lash out nearly consuming her. Except it would accomplish nothing but prove his point, because physically, she was weak. Whereas if she lived and learned, she might one day prove to him, and to those like him, that strength didn’t always lie in a blade. May allowing me to live be his mistake, she thought, not fighting to live be mine. “Tomorrow it is.”
He huffed out a laugh of amusement. “You two get yourself gone. And you,” he pointed at Carina, “come with me. If you don’t sell this lie, mark my words, I’ll hunt you down and gut you.”
With Carina in tow, he headed back toward the legion camp, leaving Silvara to lead her brother back to her tent. There, they swiftly packed her belongings, her heart aching as she slipped Agrippa’s weapons into her satchel. His gladius, she picked up last, it heavy in her hands. The pommel had the Cel dragon stamped on one side and a 37 on the other. A symbol of the Empire and its oppression over all it cast its shadow over.
Yet as she stepped out into the night, the faint light of dawn glowing in the east, she belted the weapon around her waist.
Because for her, it would be a symbol of something else entirely. For her, it would symbolize freedom. For Bardeen.
And for herself.
39
Marcus
The wait for news was interminable, especially with Hostus grinning like a cat on his chair and Grypus’s expression darkening with annoyance the longer he was forced to cool his heels.
But he’d have rather the tension lasted forever, for when Gibzen stepped back inside the tent, his expression grim, Marcus’s stomach plummeted.
“No sign of him. Or the girl. But this one,” he motioned for an older woman to step forward, “has information.”
The woman took one look at Marcus and then prostrated herself on the carpets, quivering with terror.
“What’s your name?” he asked. “And what do you know about my man and the laundress…?”
“Silvara, sir,” Miki said quietly, his jaw working back and forth. “That’s her name.”
“I’m called Carina, dominus,” she said, and Marcus grimaced at the honorific, because he was not the master of these people. “Silvara and your man…they’ve been carrying on together for some time—everyone knew it. He’d been spending the nights with her and such.”
Nights? He’d told Agrippa to break it off. Hadn’t thought it would require an order.
“And the plot thickens…” Hostus murmured. “Proconsul, what do you think of this revelation? Such poor behavior on the part of your golden children?”
Grypus didn’t answer, but Marcus could feel his eyes on him. Waiting to see how he handled the situation.
Looking at Miki and Quintus, he said, “Is this true?”
They reluctantly nodded.
Shit.
“She was quite taken with him,” Carina continued. “With his charm and with all the gifts he gave her and the promises he made.”
“What promises?” His heart was thundering in his chest, because while Agrippa had his faults, making false promises wasn’t one of them.
The woman lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “She wouldn’t rightly say, dominus. Only smiled and said that they’d never be parted.”
“Bullshit,” Quintus snarled. “She’s lying.”
The woman cringed, shrinking down against the carpets. “I swear it’s true, dominus. I’ve naught to gain from lies. And tonight, after the battle, I saw him go to her tent. Saw them leave, him wearing civilian clothes and both with supplies on their backs.”
“This is very damning information, indeed,” Hostus said, and Marcus fought the urge to turn around and strike him. Instead, he said to Gibzen, “They’ll have left tracks in the snow, go—”
“Already done,” Gibzen said. “Soon as I heard her story, I sent men looking.”
“Such a good dog,” Hostus said, clapping his hands. “He’d make an excellent replacement for your deserter.”
Every man of the Thirty-Seventh in the tent flinched at the word.
Deserter.
Except Marcus didn’t believe it. Didn’t believe that Agrippa would abandon his brothers. Not when he knew this legion needed him. He was just taking the girl somewhere out of reach of the Twenty-Ninth. He probably thought that he’d be back before anyone noticed him gone. And if not for Grypus wanting battle stories, he might have been right. “Agrippa is no deserter.”
“Are you so sure about that?” Hostus asked. “He was your rival at Lescendor, no? And is it not true that you ambushed him in the hallways of that glorious institution? Had your enforcers beat him until he conceded to your authority?” Hostus laughed. “Me, I would’ve killed him, but you? You, Marcus, made your rival an officer.”
Who told you? Marcus wanted to scream, because those were Thirty-Seventh secrets, his secrets. “One of the many differences between us.”
“And tonight… You ordered Agrippa to lead the vanguard, which meant almost certain death. Miraculously, he survived—hero to the Thirty-Seventh—but the glory goes all to you. I imagine that left a bitter taste, no?”
His head was throbbing, waves of dizziness threatening to bring him to his knees, his tunic glued to him with blood. “Agrippa isn’t so vainglorious. You mistake him for yourself, Hostus.”
Agrippa does love the glory… Had he underestimated how much?
The older legatus shrugged. “Perhaps. But you still have no explanation for where he’s gone.”
And maybe if Hostus and his men weren’t watching, weren’t listening, he’d have turned a blind eye for the sake of all Agrippa had done for him. But they were, and Grypus still had the power to change his mind about their freedom if he saw Marcus not adhering to legion law.
So he nodded once at Gibzen. “Hunt them down.”
40
Agrippa
He blinked, sunlight burning into his eyes, the world blurry.
And the pain.
A sob tore from his lips because never in his life had he known suffering like this, but the motion sent shooting stabs of agony through him. Things were broken. Vital things.
Things that couldn’t be repaired.
But he wasn’t dead yet.
Pushing himself up with his unbroken arm, he screamed through his clenched teeth, looking down to see one of his ribs jutting out through the t
orn fabric of his tunic, which was soaked with blood. More bone protruded from his shin, and as he stared at the damage, blood ran down from a slice in his scalp, filling one of his eyes with red.
He was frozen, but the air was hot, the sun high in the sky. And around him wasn’t a snowy redwood forest but jungle, the banks of the river he sat next to carving a gap in the dense canopy.
Where am I?
How am I here?
There was only one way, which a glance over his shoulder confirmed. From the distant cliff protruded a glittering stem of black xenthier crystal from which gushed the frigid waters of the river in Bardeen. And as he blinked, he saw there were redwoods scattered amongst the jungle trees, towering sentinels that reached above the canopy to the sky.
Dropping his eyes back to the water, he saw a face and jumped. Only to realize it was the corpse of the rebel he’d killed on the banks—the older man. The man he’d murdered believing Silvara was in danger.
Her face filled his vision, her dark eyes filled with anger and resignation. You made your choice, Agrippa. Her voice was loud in his ears. And it was to be the villain.
Guilt twisted through his pain, but also anger because how could doing what he had to in order to protect his family be wrong? How did that make him the villain?
You killed her father.
“I didn’t know her family was in the city,” he tried to shout, though it came out as a gasp. “It’s not my fault. I never wanted to hurt her.”
But you did.
“I didn’t mean to.”
Your choice your choice your choice, her voice whispered.
Crunch.
The sound of snapping branches echoed over the roar of falling water, and Agrippa looked across the river flow to see a pair of golden eyes staring at him. Striped fur. Teeth as long as his little finger.
Tarnished Empire (Dark Shores) Page 22
