Gilded Serpent

about ready for you to give them instructions on how to wipe their own asses.”
At Teriana’s words, several of his men smirked, and Marcus gave them cold stares before turning to her. “A change of regime is a delicate time for any nation. Better that I be specific in my orders, that way if things go poorly, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.”
“How magnanimous of you.” She flipped the braids the wind had pushed into her face back over her shoulder, revealing the bruises on her cheeks. Her split lip. Her right hand was pressed against her ribs, and though he knew they were only bruised, he also knew from experience how each breath hurt, the pain escapable only in sleep.
Which was an escape he couldn’t afford to give her. “I’ve a job for you.”
“Oh?” She didn’t look surprised. “Do tell, Legatus.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but whereas once she’d have been mocking him, now her tone served to deceive everyone else. To hide a secret.
“I’ll explain once we’re in Urcon’s fortress.”
Under the watchful eye of Gibzen and his men, they made their way to the fortress at the center of Aracam. Like all of the buildings in the city, it did not exceed two stories, but what it lacked in height it made up for in sprawl. Surrounded by a solid stone wall with only one gate, it was a maze of buildings his men were still in the process of searching, but at the moment, there was only one structure that concerned him.
They ducked to enter the building, following Gibzen through the narrow corridors lit by smoking torches. It felt more like walking through a series of caves than a structure built by the hands of men. The ceiling was so low that Marcus had to stoop as they walked, and he idly wondered how Servius was managing.
Ahead, two of his men flanked a heavy door, which they opened at the sight of him, forced to press their backs against the walls in order to allow room to pass.
“I bloody well hate this place!” Servius shouted as they entered. “If you’ve any kindness in you, sir, don’t ask me to stand. It would mean risking what brains I have left to these cursed ceilings.”
“Consider yourself at ease while I give Teriana the tour.”
She said nothing, following him into the next chamber, which was heaped with gold and silver and gemstones. Chests of coins were stacked haphazardly against the wall, jewelry and silverware mixed in together with sculptures of ivory and bronze, the wealth beyond anything Marcus had ever seen, and there were six more chambers of it. All of it covered with dust. Stolen away and then forgotten.
Teriana cleared her throat. “You’d better not be asking me to swindle Ereni and the other Arinoquian imperators, Marcus. Because the answer is no.”
“I’m not.” Leading her deeper into the treasury, he stopped only once they were out of earshot, pushing the door to the chamber shut. Dust puffed in his face and he coughed, knowing that he’d be risking one of his attacks if he stayed in here much longer. But he wanted to be alone with her.
“What, then?” Her tone implied that she expected him to ask something of her that she didn’t want to give, and Marcus’s chest tightened. Would that ever stop? Could it?
“I need you to put a total on this wealth. And I need it within the next two days.” And then, because he didn’t want it to sound like an order he had no right to give her, he added, “Please.”
Teriana’s eyes widened, and she gave the room an appraising once-over. “Marcus—”
“It has to be done. We currently have seven armies sitting outside of Aracam—”
“Gods, no wonder you need me to do this. You can’t even count. There are eight armies outside Aracam.”
Despite himself, Marcus laughed, catching hold of her waist and pulling her against him. She slid her arms around his neck, and for a heartbeat, he forgot about his headache. Forgot about politics and traitors and blood. “My army doesn’t concern me. It’s the rest of them.”
Tangling his fingers in her wet braids, he rested his cheek against hers, staring at a pile of golden cups, tasting the dust in the air. “The clans united for the sake of ridding themselves of Urcon, but now that he’s dead, it’s only a matter of time before they start fighting among themselves. If that happens, I’ll either have to choose sides or force my own authority down on their heads, neither of which is appealing.”
“Don’t fancy yourself the new ruler of Aracam?”
Grimacing, he shook his head, then leaned back against the wall so he could meet her gaze. “No. Nor am I interested in another battle on the heels of the one we just won. My men need a chance to breathe.”
And he needed a chance to carve out a life for them in this place while at the same time pretending he was still following the Senate’s—and Cassius’s—orders.
“The clans are expecting to receive a share of the plunder,” he continued. “I’d like to give it to them and have them on their way before they start trying to take what they feel they’re owed from the people living in this city.” He had other reasons, too. Pressing reasons, but they weren’t ones he dared to share.
“There’s nothing to take. Urcon and his men stripped this city clean as much as he did the rest of Arinoquia.”
Letting go of her, Marcus reached down to pick up a woven basket. A tin cup. A leather belt. Not treasure, but items that had had value to someone. “There is always something to take.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Servius’s voice echoed through. “The representatives from the clans are here.”
Time was of the essence, but Marcus still felt a flash of irritation at the interruption. Stolen moments, that was all they ever had. “Tell them to wait.”
“More secrets to tell me?” She tilted