Page 114 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Marcus glances up at the proprietor of the brothel across the road from the ballo. Dru and Sabina must’ve gotten in without issue because he watched them go inside and they have yet to come out. She’s older than the other women here, with fine clothes and long graying hair, but she bears it well. Very well, as he recalls, though it’s been two years at least since his single dalliance with her.
“Thank you, but no.” He nods at the butcher shop through the open window. “I’m on duty.”
“For one servant and a visiting Phaedran?” she asks sweetly. “Seems like a lot of trouble to go to.”
He stiffens. “You’ve always been observant, Antonella.”
She smiles, her red lips parting to reveal perfect teeth. “I wouldn’t be where I am now if I wasn’t.”
When he doesn’t respond, she nods and moves on. “Can I get you another drink, then?”
“I’ll stick with this one, thanks.” He takes a small sip of it and looks out the window again.
“You seem different,” she comments after a moment. “Still burdened, but in a way you weren’t before.”
Stellae, just leave me alone.
“The praetor to the king is always burdened with something.”
She clicks her tongue. “No, something’s changed from the last time you were here.”
“Many things have changed since the last time I was here,” he nearly growls, ashamed for giving in to some of his baser wants. “Anziano wasn’t hosting the Valorem Blood Trials, for one.”
He glances around the brothel, not noting any Phaedrans. Though that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.
“You don’t have to tell me about it?—”
“Something we agree on,” he mutters.
“—but you seem more content than before. Less restless. That’s all.”
Because of Dru.He wants to say it aloud, but he doesn’t want to share his past with Antonella. Not when they’ve known each other intimately, when she’s seen him at his weakest.
He’s about to ask her to leave him to his duties when the distinct rhythm of chanting reaches his ears. Peering back out the window, he can’t see anything, but the sound of the repeated words grows closer. And angrier.
Tossing a pair of coins on the table, he rushes out of the brothel’s tabernae without another word to Antonella.
With the sun directly overhead, he throws his arm across his forehead to block out the worst of it. The sun’s glare doesn’t stop him from seeing the incensed crowd of Durevolians marching down the street and heading this way. A few carry spears with them, some grasp swords and wooden shields—but they’re all yelling the same thing:
“Morte all’Imperium! Morte all’Imperium! Morte all’Imperium!”
Thinking quick, he makes a run for the butcher’s shop. The mob is far enough away that he can still get Dru and Sabina out if he hurries. He throws the door open and heads directly for the back.Luckily, the shop is empty, except for the butcher behind the counter.
“Sangue,” he says breathlessly.
The old man shakes his head. “Sorry, Praetor Marcus, I can’t let you in.”
Marcus heads for the cloth he imagines leads to the ballo, but the man steps in front of him. Impatience pulls at his nerves, his hands clenching into fists.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Marcus says through his teeth. “But I will if you don’t move. A mob is coming this way, and they might turn violent.”
Fear widens the old man’s eyes as he considers this, then nods. “There’s another way out.”
Marcus gestures forward. “Lead the way.”
Once they’ve made it through the short passage, the butcher yanks open the door. Music and laughter fill Marcus’s ears; upon the two men entering, however, it immediately stops.
The butcher cups his hands around his mouth. “Disperdere!”
