Page 10 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Dru can’t help the smile on her lips. They both knew that’s exactly what she’s become, despite Ovi’s best efforts: a duty-bound assassin made cynical by the shitty world around her.
They gallop through a quieter part of Nusquam, purposefully avoiding any path that takes them past the tabernae in an attempt to stay clear of all the soldiers. Although, they should all be on the battlefield by now. Nearly half the village sits in smoldering ruin around her, the homes reduced to crumbling cinders in the time it took to fetch the horses. Gray smoke fills the sky, burning Dru’s eyes and throat.
We picked the wrong day to come to Nusquam.
As they near the river, the country of Namicus on the opposite bank sparks with firelight. Their legions send a steadystream of flaming arrows across the water, the Imperium soldiers responding with massive stones from their catapults. An unending torrent of needless violence.
Yet she can’t look away. In rebelling against the Imperium’s might, the Namicans chose the only weapon in their arsenal that stood a chance: surprise.
It won’t last.
As Marcus predicted, the entire Namican army has forded the river. From a safe distance, she watches the last few stragglers trudge through the towing waters and up the muddy bank, axes and swords in hand. She marks their bravery well. But after this skirmish ends, they’ll be known for little else?—
An arrow slices past her face.
So much for avoiding any soldiers.
Ovi tightens her arms around Dru. “Time to go.”
Dru’s already tugging her horse away from the source as more arrows fly over their heads, whooshing past them. Flicking the horse’s reins and digging in her heels again, she pushes the beast to go faster, hoping they can get out of range of the archers.
Unfortunately, there’s nowhere for them to hide beside the river. Before Dru can think of what to do next, a squelch sounds at her back, and a thump reverberates against her. A beat later, a strange gurgling noise emanates from Ovi’s throat, and her grip loosens around Dru’s waist.
Fuck.Fuck.
Dru’s mind goes quiet. Whipping around as best she can without unseating herself or alarming the horse, she reaches a hand behind her. But she’s too late.
Ovi slumps to the side, her limp body crumpling to the ground in a heap. Dru immediately yanks on the reins to bring her horse to a stop and slides off. Heart in her throat, she runs over and falls to her knees in the tall, dead grass beside her friend.
Ovi lays on her side, the pointed end of a black-tip arrow protruding from her chest.Namican-made.Nothing—not evenImperium armor—could’ve stopped the sharp obsidian from ripping through Ovi’s cloak, her tunic, her flesh and bone…
Stomach roiling, Dru digs her fingers into the hard dirt as her ears fill with the chaotic rhythm of a swarm of bees, her breath coming in short bursts. She can’t, for the life of her, tear her gaze away from her friend; from her wide eyes and slack jaw; from the way the deep red blood pools beneath her lifeless body and stains her hair.
Tears bite at the back of her eyes and she places a trembling hand on Ovi’s cheek, still warm. There’s nothing she can do to stop Ovi’s life from slipping away, to keep her last breath from passing over her lips and her heart’s last beat sounding.
But it’s the helplessness that reminds her of who she is and what she does.
For what am I if not what the Faithless made me.
Amidst the bedlam in her heart, Dru squeezes her eyes shut and breathes deep. A calm cultivated from years of practice envelops her, sharpens her. Despite the horror at her feet, the buzzing recedes and her mind clears. Her eyes open, and she clenches her jaw, quiet fury breathing new life into her limbs.
Ovi’s death won’t be in vain.
Getting to her feet, she lunges toward where she believes the arrows originated from?—
Strong arms capture her before she can get far. She struggles in the stranger’s grasp, not caring about anything else except getting her hands on Ovi’s killers.
“Dru, it’s me.”
Marcus.
But he doesn’t matter—not while cold vengeance rages through her. Ignoring his arms caging her in, she searches the tree line opposite the tabernae for the soldiers who murdered her best friend.
There, she finds a pair of archers hiding beneath their cloaks in the gloom, sending another slew of arrows into the tabernae for anyone who might still be taking refuge there. Wrath burns her fromthe inside out. Her hands clench, her body impatient to tear them apart. To make them pay for what they did.
One of them killed Ovi, took her life as if it were nothing, and she’s not going to let them get away with it.
Plenty of people have died at her hand; this time, at least, it will mean something.
