shifted as something caught his attention. A heartbeat later, she heard it. A rhythmic beat, growing louder with every passing moment.
“What is that?” someone demanded.
No one spoke; then Spurius, her father’s guard, said, “It’s marching men.” His head cocked as he listened. “A whole legion, by the sound of it.”
No one spoke, all eyes going to the entrance to the Forum. The noise grew louder, thousands of feet striking the ground in unison, the crash of drums and blaring of horns barely audible over the thunder. Lydia’s skin turned cold despite the heat, some instinct deep in her core recognizing the threat of that noise.
A legionnaire on a white horse was the first to enter the Forum, crimson cloak with Celendor’s dragon picked out in gold falling over his mount’s hindquarters. His face was partially concealed by a helmet, which bore the red crest marking him as an officer, but she didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. The 37 stamped on the steel over his chest answered that question.
This was Legatus Marcus of the Thirty-Seventh Legion.
“Who gave them leave to enter the city?” Basilius demanded.
Her father coughed, drinking deeply from his glass before he said, “They don’t need leave on Election Day. They’re citizens, and they are of age now. It’s their right to vote.”
The Thirty-Seventh Legion had the right to vote, but more important—and what Lydia was certain everyone was thinking—was that in having been recalled to Celendrial, the legion had been given the opportunity to vote.
Two more officers on horses entered behind the infamous legatus, and then the legion itself poured into the Forum, the tread of their feet making Lydia want to cover her ears. Making her, in some base and primal way, want to run for her life. Which was utter lunacy given that these young men were blades of the Empire. And yet as her eyes passed over their ranks, steel and hard muscle, scars and grim faces, she could well imagine the terror these men instilled in those they fought against.
The officers reined in their horses in front of the rostrum, faces expressionless as they watched the legion fill the Forum with neat rows until it was at capacity. Then the legatus lifted his arm and silence fell across the enormous space. Music silenced. Feet stilled. No one even seemed to breathe, not even the senators standing beneath the portico, who were masters and commanders of these men.
The legatus dismounted and pulled off his helmet, revealing a face that was as attractive as was rumored. The legions were made up of young men from every province of the Empire, but his golden skin was that of someone with Cel heritage. His fair hair was shorn nearly down to the scalp, his cheekbones high, and his mouth set in an unsmiling line. He strode toward the steps, the steel tread of his sandals making sharp clacks that echoed over the Forum. Taking a token, he ascended the platform and entered the voting pavilion.
The sharp smell of male sweat filled Lydia’s nose as Lucius and the rest stepped out onto the steps of the Curia, her father tugging her along by her elbow. There they stood, she and everyone else watching. Waiting for the legatus of the Empire’s most notorious legion to exit.
Seconds passed.
Minutes.
“Perhaps no one explained the process,” someone joked from behind her. No one laughed. Not about the young man in question.
The names of all the commanders of Celendor’s legions were much discussed, famous by virtue of the Empire’s dependence on their martial prowess.
None living were more famous than him.
He’d been the subject of extensive conversation even prior to his graduation, a child prodigy who’d scored higher than anyone else in Campus Lescendor’s history. That fame had grown after his legion had taken the field. Campaign after campaign. Victory after victory. But that fame had turned to infamy after the conquest of Chersome. A gifted mind turned to a dark purpose, Lydia had once heard her father say, and her fingers turned icy as it dawned on her that it was these men who had set the island nation on fire.
Legatus Marcus emerged, his eyes immediately going to the senators standing on the Curia steps. He said something to the enormous officer who’d voted after him, an Atlian, judging from his brown skin, who shrugged once before barking an order at the waiting legion. Then the legatus walked around the ranks of his men, crossing the Forum toward the