Page 132 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Glancing out the window, the sun is nearly set and pinks and oranges highlight the few lingering clouds, the servants already lighting the lamps in the courtyard.
I suppose I should see what she wants.
The evening breeze from the sea pulls at her hair as she makes her way down the path she knows all too well to the king’s garden. She finds the high priestess standing before the bay leaf plant. The purple color of her dress is muted, reminding Dru of the darker lavender growing wild on the cliffsides. Unlike at the festival, she wears no makeup on her face, and the loose waves of her golden hair have been set free.
She speaks without acknowledging Dru. “It’s said the holy women in Grecia chew on bay leaves before divining the future.”
“And what about your method of divination?”
Brushing one of the leaves with the tips of her fingers, she turns to Dru. “We talk to the earth.”
“Good thing it talks back.”
She smiles gently, as if she pities Dru. “I know you don’t believe in it, but it is indeed a good thing, Drusilla.” She turns. “Come, walk with me.”
“Where?” Dru asks, refusing to move.
“Not everything requires your knowledge. Sometimes, you must trust.”
“Why would I trust you? You let the Viverna burn me,” she reminds her.
She peers over her shoulder. “And where is it that you think we’re going?”
The high priestess walks down the path toward the arena, leaving Dru to follow her or not.I suppose that’s answer enough, she thinks, unable to quell her curiosity.
“I never asked your name,” Dru says, catching up with her, “since you seem to know mine so well.”
“Ginevra.”
A memory tickles on the edges of Dru’s mind, but she ignores it.
“Was there something you wanted to tell me, Ginevra?”
The high priestess looks over at her, her gilded eyes alight with fire in the fading sun. “First, I want to tell you that tomorrow will be the most difficult day you’ve faced in all your life. Emotionally, it will try to destroy you.”
Dru blinks. “I appreciate the confidence the night before a deadly gladiator competition, but I’ve prepared myself for that.”
“You cannot prepare yourself for this. Yet there will be many things to look forward to, some sooner than you think.”
Marcus, she can’t help thinking.
“Second, I feel I owe it to you to tell you what I know of your mother.”
Dru nearly trips over a loose stone. “My mother? What could you possibly know about my mother?”
“She told you that you were born in Obliviscatur, before the Phaedran occupation.” She says it as a statement of fact, not a question. Dru nods anyway. “Though that was not technically a lie, she didn’t tell you the whole truth. Your mother fled this country when she was pregnant with you.”
Her head grows fuzzy, and she’s not sure what to say except, “Why?”
“The Tredici are not allowed to bear children; the offspring of those with our gift can be unpredictable. Our initiation comes in fire, not blood, and only those with roots in Anziano are chosen by the gods to bear the burden of our magic.”
An heir born from fire, not blood. That’s what the priestess’s vision at the festival told her, though it still doesn’t make sense. Heir to what, the Tredici?
Once they reach the arena, they skirt around it, taking a narrow path past the entrance of the competitor barracks to the beach.
“So, my mother fled this place to bear me in Obliviscatur, a small country which was already being threatened by the Imperium? The place where she would die?”
“I do not know what happened to her after she left beyond where she planned to go, but I do know you’re the daughter of a high priestess.”
