Your reputation as a killer? she wanted to shout, but instead she lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Fear not, for being seen kissing an Empire boy with a reputation for having kissed half the girls in the camp’s brothel would ruin my reputation.”
Inclining her head, she murmured, “Good day and good fortune to you, Primus.” Then she turned and started back toward the laundresses’ tent, praying to the spirits that she’d not misjudged how best to lure him in.
“Wait!”
Relief flooded her, though she kept walking.
“Silvara!”
Giving a sigh, she turned. “Yes?”
Pulling off his helmet, Agrippa scrubbed a hand over his hair. “Do you play cards?”
She lifted one eyebrow.
“I suppose dice is out, then,” he muttered, then said, “Drink?”
Given she needed to keep her temper in check, that seemed a poor plan. “Not with Empire boys.”
“Wise.” He exhaled a slow breath, his eyes searching hers. “Do you want to…uhhh…talk?”
“You want to talk?” She crossed her arms under her breasts, tilting her head. “I can’t say I trust your intentions, Agrippa.”
“What if we invite Agnes?”
He took a step closer and her heart flipped as he smiled. He’s your enemy! Quit allowing yourself to see him otherwise!
“If I’m being honest,” he said, “all of this is just to make Agnes jealous so that she takes me back.”
“Not until the bruises fade, boy! Your face looks like a cart drove over it,” the old woman’s voice filtered out from the tent, and chagrin passed over Agrippa’s face.
A laugh tore from Silvara’s lips and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle it. Not because it was loud but because it had been genuine. Except Agrippa caught her wrist, his hand warm through her sleeve as he tugged her fingers away from her lips.
“You should laugh more,” he said, and for the first time, his eyes were as serious as his voice. “You deserve to have more to laugh about.”
With her family’s survival hanging by a thread and her nation on the brink of being conquered by the Empire, the last thing she should be doing was laughing.
Put steel in your heart, Carina’s voice whispered inside her head. Be a hero for Bardeen.
“Be here at dusk,” she said. “And don’t be late. Agnes is a stickler for promptness.”
He grinned. “On my honor, I’ll be here.”
7
Marcus
“Ah, there you are, Legatus.”
Marcus looked up, his back cracking from hours bent over Hostus’s desk while he did the older commander’s paperwork. Grypus stood in the tent, looking as ill at ease as Marcus had ever seen him. “I’m surprised to see you here, Proconsul. Was your wife not anticipated in Melitene today?”
It was putting the cart before the horse, in Marcus’s opinion, but in anticipation of soon holding Hydrilla, arrangements had been made for Grypus’s wife to join him. Which, given he currently resided with four significantly younger women, might explain Grypus’s consternation.
“Yes, a truly joyful day,” Grypus answered, his tone conveying the exact opposite. “But I find myself buried beneath the weight of duties and I fear taking the time to ride to Melitene and back will have consequences.”
Given Grypus had no duties besides writing the occasional letter, this seemed unlikely, but Marcus gave a sympathetic nod.
“And as it is, Legatus, I fear Lucretia will insist on returning with me to camp.” Grypus gave a long sigh. “She is a loyal woman with a strong sense of wifely duty, which may overcome her good sense. She doesn’t understand the hardships she’ll have to endure in a legion camp, and I don’t wish to upset her fragile constitution.”
“You speak reason,” Marcus answered, struggling to keep a smirk from his face. “It is no place for a woman of quality.”
“I knew you would understand.” Grypus swatted him on the shoulders. “You will find the words to convince her that remaining in a good Cel fortress like Melitene is the better choice.”
Understanding smacked Marcus in the face. “You wish me to go? Surely she’d be distressed not to be greeted by her husband?”
“An unfortunate sacrifice that must be made, I’m afraid.” Grypus started to the front of the tent, then paused. “Legatus…”
“Yes, Proconsul?”
“Don’t make me regret trusting you with this task.”
Marcus waited until he was gone, then grimaced, wanting nothing to do with this particular errand, but there was no helping it. Abandoning the stacks of paperwork and hoping—foolishly—that Hostus would be understanding of why it wasn’t complete, he went to his own tent to change, passing Felix on his way. “Fancy a gallop to Melitene and back?”
His friend frowned. “To what end?”
“Convincing Lucretia Grypus to remain there rather than to come here and disrupt her husband’s activities.”
Felix laughed. “When we were studying at Lescendor, did you dream of such venerable duties?”
“Nightly. There is no greater honor than facilitating a senator’s infidelity.”
“You could bring her back.”
Marcus feigned cutting his own throat, staggering sideways and then laughing. “I’m not going to kill my career just yet. Get an escort ready.”
Felix shook his head. “I’ve drills to oversee—the men are already in the field. But Agrippa’s back from patrols. He can arrange it.”
Annoyance ran through Marcus, though it was unjust. Serving as Marcus’s bodyguard was Agrippa’s job, not Felix’s. “Tell him to run drills instead. I’d rather you came with me. A good showing of rank might temper the domina’s anger at her husband’s absence.”
Felix gave him a long look. “It wasn’t the first time you’ve ordered him whipped and it’s unlikely to be the last. Avoiding each other will only make things worse.”
Marcus crossed his arms, glowering at his friend. “I’ve no reason to avoid him.”
“And yet you are. And judging by the speed with which Agrippa skuttled out of camp this morning to go on patrol, he’s avoiding you.” Stepping closer so he wouldn’t be overheard, Felix added, “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but the men seeing you two at cross-purpose is divisive. A nice gallop through the country is an excellent way to mend your fraught relationship, which is to the benefit of the Thirty-Seventh.”
Marcus wanted to argue, to give voice to the hundred reasons he could think of why it would be better if Felix rode with him instead, but the amusement in his friend’s eyes silenced them all. “Fine. Tell him to ready an escort. And someone get me my horse.”
In typical legion fashion, his escort was ready in minutes, and by the time Marcus was dressed, Agrippa was already waiting outside with his horse, petting the animal’s nose. But at the sight of Marcus, he said, “To Melitene, sir?”
“Yes. Grypus’s wife is arriving and I am to greet her.” He waited for an inevitable quip, but Agrippa only nodded and held the reins while Marcus mounted, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Agrippa was clearly angry.