Page 245 of Scorched Earth
“He will follow it to the letter unless we violate the terms,” Lydia answered for the third time. “They take legal documents very seriously.”
“Civilized,” Pitolt muttered. “Honorable. Far better to deal with such men than that witch from Derin.”
Helene rested an elbow on the table. “You are so fortunate to be escaping all this madness, Lydia. With how efficiently these Empire legions travel, I rather think that you’ll be in the lap of luxury within the week! All of this will feel like a bad dream.”
“I pray so,” Lydia murmured, and to keep up his role, Killian muttered, “You don’t have to do this, Lydia. You don’t have to go with them.”
“Have you ever thought that she might want to?” Helene snapped. “By the Six, Killian, she’ll be going back to wed theDictator.He’s arguably the richest and most powerful man on Reath, and she’ll be away from all of this.”
“It is not a matter ofwant, Your Grace,” Lydia said quietly. “It is a matter of doing what is right. With these concessions, Mudamora will gain a powerful ally. They will aid Malahi in reaching Deadground, and I’ve no doubt that the blight will soon be a thing of the past. All at the cost of Malahi’s gold and my…” She swallowed hard. “My chance to be with Killian.”
“And we thank you for your sacrifice,” Helene repeated. “Truly, Lydia, you are a proper martyr. I think I will have a monument created that is dedicated to what you have done.”
Instead of answering, Lydia gestured to the sea. “There they are.”
Two ships approached, though one dropped sails and fell back, keeping far distant in the deep waters. The other continued on, then dropped anchor.
The wind blew vigorously, causing the Torrington banner to flap wildly, wrapping around the flagpole.
“Fix it,” Helene hissed at the servants. “How are they to take me seriously if I don’t appear to be in control?”
“We cannot control the way the wind blows, Your Grace,” High Lord Pitolt muttered, wiping sweat from his face. “They will take you seriously by virtue of the crown on your head and your ability to make this agreement.”
The wind was, indeed, beyond their control, yet Killian noticed that the crimson and gold banners on the Cel ship blew out straight, the strange serpent that Lydia told him was called a dragon seeming to writhe and dance on the wind. The ship had anchored in deep water, and he watched with interest as he got his first look at the legions of Celendor.
They were every bit as well trained as Agrippa had said they would be, disembarking in longboats with total organization and precision,armor and weapons polished and shining in the sun. They formed neat ranks on the beach, watchful and alert until the full company of two hundred had disembarked, what looked to be a hundred more remaining on the deck.
Exactly as Killian had anticipated.
The legionnaires pressed toward the pavilion, marching in lockstep to the beat of a single drummer except for the man who walked at their head, a crimson cloak floating out behind him. The legionnaires were similar in age to Killian himself, every one of them fit and hard, marked with scars that came with years of combat. It was hard to see their faces beneath their helmets, but the bare skin around their elbows and knees varied in hue from pale as Lydia to dark brown, a visible reminder that the Senate stole children from every place it conquered.
And all of them bore the same marking on their breastplates as Agrippa had tattooed on his chest.
37.
These men were Thirty-Seventh legion, yet as they crossed the long stretch of pristine white sand to stop a short distance from the pavilion, Killian did not need Lydia’s slight shake of her head to know that the man at their head was not Marcus.
Not enough arrogance.
Vicious disappointment filled Killian’s stomach even though Agrippa had cautioned him that it was unlikely that Marcus would come himself. “He stays behind the lines,” Agrippa had said.
“Coward.”
Agrippa had only rolled his eyes. “His strength is the brain between his ears, not his sword arm. You’re a bit opposite in that regard.”
Killian pushed the remembered conversation from his head in favor of focusing on the man who led the force before him.
Removing his strange crested helmet, the leader tucked it under his arm and approached the table. His blond hair clipped extremely short and his face clean-shaven. His skin was golden—not from the sun but almost as though he’d been brushed in golden dust—and the eyes roving for any sign of threat were a turquoise blue. He was good looking, but Killian sensed the threat beneath the polished surface—this man was dangerous.
“Welcome to Mudamora, Legatus,” Helene declared. “We are most grateful to stand on the threshold of a great alliance that will see the dark queen Rufina and her forces expelled from our borders, and our lands made green again by the grace of the great Celendor Empire.”
To the man’s credit, he didn’t so much as blink at Helene’s gross misinterpretation of this situation, only inclined his head. “Well met, Your Majesty.” He spoke clear Mudamorian but with the same soft accent that Lydia had when she’d first arrived. “It is my honor and privilege to accept your commitment to the governorship of the Empire. Under the Senate’s stewardship, all will soon be brought to rights.”
“You are a blessing in our darkest hour, Legatus.” Helene smiled and fluttered her eyelashes.
“Centurion, Your Majesty,” the legionnaire answered. “The legatus sends his regrets that he was not able to take this momentous meeting in person, but his obligations are many.”
“I see.” Helene’s smile faltered, but she swiftly recovered and rose to her feet.
