Page 117 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Dru leans a hip against Cato’s throne. “Should we be worried about this mob?”
Marcus and Cato share a look. They both know the mob is a threat, but with their ire pointed at the Imperium, there’s no reason to stop them. And showing any might from their king might turn the tide against them too.
“One way or another, it’ll die out,” Marcus says finally.
“Maybe.” She presses her thumb hard into her other palm—a tic he recognizes from some of their harder days training at the Faithless.
“Nervous for tomorrow?” Marcus asks.
She shifts her hands behind her back. “Yes and no. I’m a decent rider, but I’ve never competed in an actual race before.”
“I wouldn’t worry about placing,” Marcus says, then regards Cato. “The same goes for you.”
Cato opens his mouth, but Dru asks first. “Why not?”
“Because this race has no rules. Even weapons are allowed, except for long-range ones. And with the Imperium out to get you, it’s not worth the risk.”
“Whatever happened to the sacerdos?” Dru asks.
Marcus straightens. “I exiled him.”
After a moment, Dru nods once. “Thank you.”
“And what about you?” Cato looks pointedly at Marcus. “They came for me, the sacerdos came for Dru—why can’t you be next?”
Marcus crosses his arms. “I can handle myself.”
Cato turns to Dru. “Did he just insult us?”
She crosses her arms. “I believe he did.”
“All I’m asking is for you to be careful, both of you.” Marcus heads for the table to see if there’s anything left to eat, ending the discussion.
“And all we’re asking,” Cato says quietly as he comes up beside him, “is that you do the same for yourself.”
“My duty is to protect you,” Marcus argues. “Anything else is secondary.”
Cato cocks his head. “You’re honestly trying to tell me that protectingheris secondary.”
Marcus glances around Cato to find Dru staring out the window at the sea. The afternoon breeze flutters along the deep brown wisps of her hair as she closes her eyes. Her dark green backless dress gently clings to her form. The wounds on her arms appear to be healing quicker than he imagined, though they’re still angry and red.
Marcus should’ve given the sacerdos those same lacerations before he left, as a physical reminder of what will happen if he ever returns to Anziano.
Marcus swallows. “It has to be. She’s more than capable.”
“I’ve been riding horses since I was a boy and was always the fastest,” Cato argues. “Can Dru say the same?”
Marcus sighs softly. “It wasn’t a priority in her training, no.”
“Then I think you know what you have to do.”
Marcus doesn’t take his eyes off Dru, knowing Cato’s right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MARCUS
The starting line barely fits fifteen riders across comfortably.
