Page 122 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
They ride side by side in a hard gallop along the rest of the course. She keeps up with him fairly well, but they’re both struggling to hold onto their horses’ reins from the open wounds on their hands. Blood runs down their arms and onto their tunics.
Once they find their way out of the harsher terrain, the last straightaway of the race presents itself, leading them toward the opposite side of the starting line. It looks as if only one other competitor has yet to cross the line, his horse limping along. Blood dribbles onto the dirt from a wound in his side, which he’s clutching with his free hand. His blue band has ripped at the seams, nearly torn from his arm.Durevolian.
Hope unburdens the weight on Marcus’s chest.
“Looks like we don’t have to rely on a technicality,” Dru mutters, hastening. Marcus follows her lead.
They fly at a breakneck pass, and thecrowd—which has grown in size—recognizes their gambit. Rain slaps at his face, piercing his eyes as the sound of their cheering grows.
“Andiamo, andiamo!” Marcus tells his horse. Leale leans forward, quickening his pace.
“Andiamo!” Dru repeats to her own beast, whipping the single rein on either side.
With the spectators spurring them on in shouts of surprise and encouragement, the two of them catch up to the last rider.
They pass him right before the downed ropes.
The crowd erupts, almost as loud as they were in the arena and drowning out every other sound. Marcus doesn’t care about their praise; as soon as he dismounts and helps Dru off her horse, he searches for Cato.
“Marcus,” Cato calls out behind him. Turning to find the king with only a shallow slash along his arm and a spatter of blood across the side of his tunic, they embrace each other.
“I was certain something terrible had happened to the two of you,” Cato says, glancing over at Dru, who looks lost as she surveys the crowd.
“Something terrible nearly did,” Marcus admits. “I was glad to see you pull away. How many competitors are left?”
Cato studies the remaining competitors. “Forty-seven, by my count, including the last one to cross the line.”
As he says this, one of the Imperium guards who’s been at Legatus Ambitus’s side since he arrived pulls the last competitor from his horse, unsheathes his sword, and stabs him through the heart. His mouth opens in a silent scream before he collapses to the ground; the crowd both cheers and boos in response.
Cato hangs his head. “Make that forty-six.”
Marcus finds Dru, fury burning in her gaze at the sight. Not wanting her to start a scene, he heads in her direction and stands in her line of sight.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he tells her, “so that Sabina can redress your wounds.”
She meets his eyes, hopelessness pulling down the corners of her mouth and pinching her brow. Her lips part to say something, but nothing comes out.
He brushes a hand along the dampened hair stuck to her cheek. The rain has let up now, and blue sky peeks out over the horizon behind her.
“We’ll live to fight another day. That’s all we can ask for.”
Her gaze searches his. “I suppose it is.”
Without another word, she turns and heads back in the direction of the palace.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DRUSILLA
Dru dreams of falling off that cliff and plunging to her death in the Multum Sea at least a dozen times before it finally keeps her awake.
When she returned to the palace after the third trial, she immediately downed a vial of the medicine, unwrapped her arms, and soaked for a long time in the bath. All her wounds—her legs, her hands, her arms—stung from the warm water, but it reminded her that she’s alive. Although these trials have certainly done their best to try to kill her.
She asked Sabina to bring dinner to her room, as she didn’t wish to see anyone. Especially Marcus. What she did with the black rider was stupid—not because he died, but because she nearly killed herself in the process. She could’ve found another way to get rid of him. She took that risk simply because she could and she regrets it.
Looking down at the shallow punctures already healing on her palms, she can’t help recalling how Marcus held her on the edge of the cliff after pulling her up. The way he buried his face into her hair, how his grip around her trembled slightly… It felt like he was more than just glad to find her alive.
She’s been up for some time now thinking about it, watching the darkness of the night fade with the coming morning. She slept more than enough, having passed out before the sun set the night before, but she finds she’s tired despite all the rest.
