Page 113 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
“Off you go, then,” Alessandra says, waving her cane in their direction. “Before it gets too crowded and those women drink all the good wine.”
At her insistence, Dru and Sabina leave the palace, Marcus trailing behind them.
They find the secret entrance to the ballo at the back of the butcher shop deep in the heart of Notevole, just like Alessandra said they would. The heavy scent of salt, spices, and old iron lingers in her nostrils as they pass through, and she wishes she’d eaten breakfast.
They left Marcus to fend for himself at a tabernae across the road. Despite being connected to a brothel, she trusts him to behave himself, given their last experience at the one on the Mercato Bridge.
“Are you sure we should do this?” Sabina asks, nibbling on her lip. “What if they won’t let me in because I’m not high-born?”
“The password is what gets you in, not your status,” Dru reminds her softly. “But if theydodeny you for that, then they’ll have me to answer to.”
Sabina eyes her uneasily.
“And if that doesn’t work, then they’ll have Cato to deal with.”
That garners another gentle smile from her.
When it’s their turn, Dru motions for Sabina to give the butcher the password. She whispers it so no one else will hear, and the butcher nods. He’s an older man on the taller side, with a full head of white hair and a sour expression.
He holds open the thick brown linen hanging across the back. “This way.”
Once they’re on the other side, he lets it close. The only light emanates from the small gap beneath the fabric. The two women head down the dark, narrow hall to the door at the end, where Dru detects the muffled sound of music floating through the barrier.
Nodding to one another in the half-light, she opens the door and they pass through the threshold.
Completely closed in by limestone blocks, the grandness of the courtyard hosting the ballo impresses Dru. Thick grape vines climb the walls and multi-hued sunshades block the most intense heat as the sun continues to rise high above them. One wall has been painted with vibrant depictions of Durevolian women through the ages, some of the older ones cracking along the edges. A long table has been pushed against the wall of thebutcher’s shop, flush with jugs of mulsum wine and horns of what she imagines to be the Nettare she drank the night of the festival.
The sweet breath of a fistula, the familiar strum of a lute, and the soft pattering of a small drum greet them as they step further in. The trio stand at the center of the room on a small, raised platform. Although the instruments are familiar to Dru, the music is not—it speaks to her in a way most Imperium songs fail to, loosening some of the tension in her shoulders.
Alessandra was right about this being only for women.The instrumentalists, the drink servers and pourers, the partygoers—all womenfolk.
The high-ranking women of Anziano—a few she recognizes from Cato’s council—dance lithely in the center of the courtyard around the musicians. Not unlike how the Tredici danced during the festival, they sway their hips to the rhythm of the music, free of the cares that hinder them outside these walls.
She doesn’t want to bother the dancers with questions about any gossip they might’ve heard about Cato. Besides, it’s better to ask questions of the women on the outskirts who haven’t yet been taken by the music and drink.
Dru glances over at Sabina, finding wide eyes and an open mouth. Dru smothers a grin.The questioning can wait.
She grasps Sabina’s hand and pulls her over to the wine, grabbing a horn of Nettare for her and then herself. She’ll likely regret ingesting the potent drink so soon after the last time, but Sabina needs to know she doesn’t have to worry here.
Dru hands her the horn. “Your brother isn’t going to find you here.” She gestures to the other patrons. “You can be yourself—you can befree.”
After watching the women dance for a moment longer, Sabina regards Dru. Tears brim in her warm golden eyes, and her bottom lip trembles slightly. Dru places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, takes a gulp of the Nettare, and pulls Sabina into the fray.
Passing between writhing bodies, Dru brings them near themiddle of the throng, directly beside the musicians. The women here dance close together, sweat forming on their brows and dripping down their temples. Many wear different perfumes, the scents of roses and grapes, of lavender and basil, mix with the wine permeating the air around them.
Dru turns to Sabina, nodding at her drink for her to finish it. Sabina takes a breath and tips back her horn, gulping the entirety of the contents. Dru laughs, taking the empty horn from her.
Sabina raises her hands into the air, swaying her hips back and forth to the rhythm of the music. Dru follows her lead, finishing her own drink and handing the empty horns to a nearby servant passing through.
The heady wine winds its way familiarly through her chest and along her limbs, numbing the pain in her arms further. She wonders belatedly if she’s allowed to combine alcohol with the medicine.Too late now.
As the music crescendos, Dru smiles as Sabina closes her eyes and tips her head back, giving herself over to the ballo.
CHAPTER THIRTY
MARCUS
“Can I interest you in a good time, Praetor?”
