Gilded Serpent by Danielle Jensen (top 10 novels txt) 📕

“They’re all rigged,” Marcus grumbled, glaring at the bottles as though they’d personally insulted him. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that it’s fun.”

“How is losing a game you have no chance of winning any fun?”

She considered pointing out that she had just won, but instead said, “Sometimes it feels like you know everything except how to live.”

Marcus was quiet, then he looked away. “I never felt there was much point.”

Why? she wanted to ask, because she knew it wasn’t a trait that could be wholly blamed on the legions. Not given most young men in the Thirty-Seventh lived and laughed as well as any civilian. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her cheek against his. “Do you still feel that way?”

The silence stretched for long enough that she thought he wouldn’t answer. And then he said, “No, I don’t.”

 79KILLIAN

He had never been so hungover in his entire life.

“I’m never having a drink again,” he groaned, rolling into the pillow to block the sunlight and then yelping as his broken nose protested, forcing him to instead pull the blanket over his head.

“An admirable goal.” Lydia’s voice was tart. And as he peered out from under the blanket, he saw she was packing their bags. “We’re to meet Agrippa and Baird prior to midday, and assuming you didn’t lose all our money gambling, we need supplies.”

He opened his mouth to say that he always came out ahead when gambling, thought better of it, and instead pulled a handful of silver from one of his pockets. “Here.”

“Get up, Tom.” Her expression was cool. “Some breakfast will make you feel better.”

The thought of eating did not make him feel better. “Can’t you—”

“I am not healing your hangover, so don’t even think of asking.”

Groaning, he dragged himself off the bed, wondering where she’d slept. If it had been next to him. The thought of it appealed to him more than it should have, but then he caught sight of the blanket draped over a chair near the fire, and disappointment flickered through him.

Guzzling down a few glasses of water, he asked, “Am I recalling correctly that you told me last night Agrippa is Cel?”

“I’m surprised you remember.”

He scratched at his beard. “Did you also tell me to take his shirt off?” He remembered her saying something to that nature, but why he’d want to do so, Killian had no notion.

Lydia exhaled an aggrieved breath. “If he’s from the legions, he’ll have a tattoo of his legion number on his chest and then his identification number across the back of his shoulders. Not that it really matters—just an uncanny coincidence.”

She was upset. He could see it in the stiffness of her body. Hear it in the clipped tone of her voice. “The gods are meddling, Lydia. There are no coincidences—not for us.”

“Then I suppose time will tell why we’ve crossed paths with him.” She slung her pack over her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Downstairs, the common room was infinitely quieter than it had been the prior night, with only a handful of patrons, Agrippa among them.

“Good morning,” he said, looking remarkably well, all things considered. “I’m surprised to see you down here so early.”

Killian shot a meaningful look toward Lydia, who was speaking with one of the serving girls, and Agrippa laughed. “My sympathies. Spent too much of my life forced to rise at dawn, so now I find that I can’t sleep a minute later, no matter how hard I try. Baird, however, will sleep the day away if I let him.”

Killian slipped onto the bench across from him and accepted a glass of water from one of the girls. Knowing that this young man was from Lydia’s homeland—a homeland that had invaded Arinoquia with an eye for conquest—made him more interested in taking Agrippa’s measure.

He was much shorter than Killian was, perhaps shorter than Lydia as well, his skin a golden-brown hue. His clean-shaven chin had a dimple in it, and Killian supposed he was good looking enough. He was broad-shouldered, and the flex of the muscles beneath his shirt suggested they saw some use. According to Lydia, these legionnaires were trained from childhood to be soldiers, and though he’d seen no proof yet of such skills, there was something about Agrippa that warned Killian he’d be dangerous if provoked.

“Eat.” Lydia shoved a plate containing runny eggs and dry toast in front of him, then sat down on the bench. “Good morning, Agrippa.”

He gave her a slow smile that had Killian revising his good opinion of him. “Good morning, Gertrude. I understand you’ll be journeying with us across the Liratoras.”

“So I was informed.” She took a mouthful of the runny eggs, and Killian nearly gagged, pushing away his plate. “I expect I’ll be needing some warmer clothing for such a trek. Could you point me where I might go to purchase such garments?”

“You’ll be fine dressed as you are,” Agrippa answered, resting his elbows on the table as he studied her. “But you might want to get yourself a few more weapons, because the wildmen are an issue.”

She cast a sideways glance at Killian, then asked, “Wildmen?”

“As the story goes, Mudamora used to exile its criminals over the wall. Most died, of course, but some survived and made a life for themselves in the mountains. But doing so turned them a touch … feral.”

“Are they the only threat?”

“If they were the only threat, I wouldn’t be charging ten gold pieces a head to escort people across the mountains. But don’t worry, love, I’ll keep you safe.” Agrippa winked, and Killian would have hit him, but Lydia’s steely expression was quickly wiping away the other man’s smirk. Having been subjected to that very same glare, Killian almost pitied Agrippa. Almost.

“How many people do you take at a time?”

“Ten, usually,” Agrippa answered. “But we’ve some children with us this time, so it’s to be twelve.”

Then a loud series of thuds filled the air, and Baird tumbled down the stairs,