Page 109 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Marcus swallows, wishing he’d been there for her instead of taking her revenge into his hands.But at least the sacerdos is out of Anziano. He can’t hurt her here.
“I would’ve done the same thing,” Marcus admits after a moment.
“She’ll be all right,” Cato assures him, climbing out of the pool. “And so will my mother now that she’s staying here.”
“Does she get a choice?”
Seriousness envelops Cato, deadening his eyes. “No. She doesn’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MARCUS
Breathing in the earthy scent of hay, Marcus looks out as the sun rises over the Scabroso Mountains.
He watches their sharp forms illuminate as he takes stock of his life’s choices in the comfort of the royal stables. Situated deep inside the olive grove opposite the palace, it’s calmest here in the morning, before most riders have risen for the day. Cato’s horse resides here with his, as well as the horse Dru will ride in the trial tomorrow.
All of the King’s Guard, including Marcus, keep their horses lodged here; he has a guard stationed outside now, ensuring no one attempts sabotage for tomorrow’s trial.
He turns and places his hand on the muzzle of his own beast, Leale. She’s been good to him these past few years after the horse he rode here from the Faithless passed away.
Marcus would’ve ridden Leale to Nusquam to find Dru, but he needed to remain conspicuous, and riding in with a war horse on the eve of battle between the Imperium and their most recent conquest—something Cato’s Imperium spies learned of days before—would’ve only called attention to him.
Luckily, he caught a ride with a shipment of silk being courieredthrough Nusquam that afternoon, giving him time to figure out where Dru and Ovi might stop.
“We have to do well tomorrow, Leale,” Marcus whispers to her before glancing over at Cato’s horse beside him. “You too, Veloce.”
The horses huff in agreement.
“We will all need to be brave,” he murmurs softly.
His mind goes to where it always does: Dru. The further along they get in the trials, the more anxious he becomes. Dru’s held her own, and so has Cato—according to Alessandra, he valiantly fought off a skilled knife-fighter from the Mediaterra of the Imperium after making it out of the maze. But he worries the sacerdos won’t be the only person to come after Dru purposefully. Next time, she might not be so lucky.
“Marcus?”
“There you are.” Marcus turns. “I appreciate you coming.”
“I couldn’t deny an order from the praetor,” the bard yawns, lute slung over his back, his hair and clothes askew. His constant existence of appearing disheveled never ceases. “But I’m curious what this is about. And why we’re in the royal stables so early in the morning.”
“I came to check on my horse before the race tomorrow.” He sighs, swallowing his pride. “And I wanted to thank you. For what you did at the tabernae.”
The bard tucks his chin. “I did what anyone else would’ve done.”
“I’ve seen enough of the continent to know that’s not true.”
The bard steps inside the stables but doesn’t say anything, staring sightlessly at the horses in their stalls.
“I feel as if I have no right to ask after yesterday, but what are you still doing in Anziano?” Marcus wonders after a moment. “There’s a lot more money to be made in Phaedra. Why stay?”
The bard reaches for one of the horses; the beast turns away from him, huffing. “You might find this hard to believe, but I’m not liked by many in the Imperium, even those of my own trade. No,especiallythose of my own trade.”
“I believe it,” Marcus mutters. “But Cato likes to keep you around. To spy for him.”
The bard nods. “And it’s good to be in the favor of a king.”
“It’s good to be in favor with the Imperium too,” Marcus argues, a last-ditch effort to get him to admit he’s not who he says he is. “And someone like you could do both.”
He shrugs. “I have no allegiance to either—I’m merely a servant to my own whims.”
