Page 115 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Marcus watches as the partygoers instantly panic, running into one another. Their voices raise in a high cacophony of worry and fear, unsure of where to go. He looks around for Dru and Sabina but doesn’t see them.
A woman at the back of the room opposite the butcher’s shop starts waving her hands. “This way, through the flower shop.”
They all rush over to her like a flowing river in spring, but Marcus doesn’t care about any of them except for Dru and Sabina. Searching the crowd again, he spots what looks like Dru’s dark locks on the other side of the courtyard.
“Dru!” he calls out, not caring if he sounds desperate. She doesn’t turn.
“Merda,” he swears, unable to find a way over to her.
“Marcus,” a familiar voice murmurs, and he finds Sabina and Dru standingbeside him.
Relief floods him, washing away the panic threatening to overtake him.
“We need to get out of here. There’s a mob of armed Durevolian dissenters in the streets.”
Despite Dru’s glassy eyes and the sweet smell of Nettare on her breath, she nods in understanding, taking Sabina’s hand. Marcus grabs Dru’s hand—she squeezes it tight in return, warm and reassuring, and he swallows hard at the contact.
Following the last of the women out through the flower shop, they hold fast to each other.
They turn down the street outside the shop to head back toward the palace, when they’re met with another group of angry Durevolians, chanting their war cry. They don’t seem to be hurting anyone or destroying any property, but he doesn’t want to take the chance that he’ll be recognized as the praetor. The mob may be anti-Imperium, but that doesn’t mean they’re pro-monarchy. Not when that same monarchy opened the door to allow the Imperium in.
“Come on,” he grunts, dragging them across the street and into a deep alcove between homes.
Once they’re hidden, Sabina releases Dru’s hand, pacing to the end and looking up at the sky. Marcus, however, doesn’t let go of Dru—and she doesn’t let go of him. Facing away from the street, he leans his body against the wall to block them as the mob walks by, concentrating on keeping them hidden.
Dru’s thumb brushes the inside of his palm, near his wrist. He glances down to find her staring at their clasped hands. Even with the mob at their backs, he’s reminded of when he had her pinned against the olive tree of the tabernae in Nusquam. They hadn’t seen each other in six years, and though they could’ve been attacked by either Namican or Phaedran soldiers at any moment, all he wanted to do was take her in his arms.
That feeling never left him.
“Well, this is familiar,” Dru murmurs, reading his mind as shepeers up at him through her dark lashes. The faint perfume of Nettare wafts up from her breath, and his eyes rake over her loosened hair, the soft skin of her exposed shoulders, the deep gold of her eyes, her lips.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, trying and failing to ignore the warmth spreading through him at her proximity.
One side of her lips tips up. “Only a little.”
“We need to get you something to eat,” he says, allowing himself to lean into her.
Sabina clears her throat, her words nervous and barely slurred. “I don’t think this is the right time to be flirting.”
Marcus blinks, extricating his hand from Dru’s grasp. “Right.”
He glances over his shoulder to find that the mob has moved on. “Let’s go.”
The silence deafens their walk back to the palace. Everyone else has returned to their homes while the mob roams the streets, making them the only souls brave enough to be out. He’s going to have to station more men throughout the city, especially near the temple.
“Why today?” Dru asks. “Of all days?”
“I’m not sure,” he admits as they pass the temple and start up the stairs to the palace. “Durevolians died in the trial yesterday, but so did a similar number of Phaedrans.”
“I thought the Durevolians were proud of their traditions.”
“Not all of them are, it seems.” Marcus sighs as they reach the top of the steps. “It doesn’t help that the old king has allowed the Imperium to integrate themselves into it. The people were bound to rebel.”
“This is what I get for letting loose for once in my life,” Sabina grumbles.
“It wasn’t all bad,” Dru tells her, throwing an arm around her shoulder. Marcus stifles a grin. “One time, I was deep inside a brothel when it got raided by the Imperium. I would’ve gotten arrested if not for the secret exit into the mountain pass.”
“I’m guessing a brothel was Ovi’s idea?” Marcus asks without thinking, instantly regretting it.
