Page 150 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Kill King Cato?Dru glances at Marcus, the truth of his purpose in Anziano—and subsequently her own—turning his gaze downcast. She can’t believe he never told her. That he allowed her to think she was here under orders from the Faithless to help Cato win the blood trials, no matter how misguided the true orders are.
Probably because he assumed you’d be loyal to the Faithless, and not to him; that you’d get him killed over disobeying those orders.
“The last time I was given orders, it was from the Three,” Dru says.
The bard sighs, finally gracing her with his attention. “I’ll admit, Drusilla, I’m disappointed. You’re somewhat of a legend among the trainees, but it seems you’ve gone soft.”
He pushes past them, heading for Cato.
Surprise and hurt flicker across the king’s gaze. “After I gave you food and wine and a place to stay, after you spied for me, drank with me, and saved my mother’s life… Why?”
“Because I had to do everything I could to get you to trust me.Because, unlike Marcus, I follow orders.” He offers the hilt of one of his swords to Cato. “Also unlike Marcus, I’m an expert swordsman.”
Without warning, the bard lunges for Cato, who barely gets his sword up in time to block him.
Cato remains on the defense at first, the bard coming at him with a strength and determination that surprises Dru. She never would’ve guessed the bard an expert in anything, but he managed to fool them all so easily.
He’s right, I have gone soft—despite everything telling me otherwise, I trusted him.
The crowd has gone silent, not one person chanting for the destruction of the Imperium now that the fate of their country hinges on the outcome of this single fight. The king and the bard exchange blows back and forth, each clang of the swords eating away at Dru’s patience.
Finally, Cato gains the advantage when he parries the next attack, pushing the bard’s sword out of the way and swinging for his midsection. The bard jumps back, the tip of the blade slicing through the fabric of his tunic.
It only seems to calm the traitor; he drops his shoulders and loosens his arms, waiting for Cato to come at him again. When he does, Cato strikes, arcing to the left—the bard easily knocks it down, forcing the tip of Cato’s blade to scrape against the ground. Cato leaps back, only narrowly avoiding the bard’s lazy upward swipe.He’s playing with him.
Circling each other, sweat pours down Cato’s face, mixing with the caked-on blood. His chest heaves, and his feet drag on the ground.
“He’s not going to make it,” Dru says softly.
Marcus doesn’t disagree.
Having caught his breath, Cato lunges forward again. The bard blocks him down once more, but Cato immediately comes after him, not giving him a moment’s rest. They exchange blow after blow,forcing the bard to put in some effort. Dru shakes her head.It won’t be enough, not with Cato expending all this energy.
The bard bats Cato down again, hard enough that his dominant knee wobbles. Seeing his opportunity, the bard lifts his sword above his head.Finally, an opening for Cato. Regaining his composure, Cato lunges. But the bard blocks the move with his sword, holding Cato’s in place. Lifting his foot, the bard kicks Cato just above his groin and pushes off, forcing him to stumble back and nearly fall.
Taking advantage, the bard surges forward; Cato barely gets his sword up in time, but it doesn’t matter. The bard effortlessly pushes his sword to the side and plunges forward, making contact.
Cato drops his sword and falls to the ground, the bard’s sword stuck through his gut, right beneath his breastplate.
“No!” she screams, running to him as the bastard pulls his blade from Cato’s flesh with a squelch. The bard raises his sword in victory, met with only the screams and cries of the Durevolians.
Dru falls to the ground at Cato’s side, taking his face in her hands. Shock slashes along his dark blue eyes and his brow, blood gushing from his wound and soaking the dirt in crimson.
Chest heaving in unreleased sobs, she pushes his dark hair back from his sweat-slick face, her heart breaking inside her chest. Marcus kneels down on his other side, grasping Cato’s hand in his.
The king’s glassy eyes shift to Marcus, his next words strangled. “Do you have it with you?”
Marcus nods. “I do.”
“Tell her”—he chokes—“so she won’t be surprised when you announce it… to the entire arena.”
“Announce what?” Dru asks as Marcus pulls a folded slip of paper from the small pocket on his belt.
“This document claims you and Cato were married in secret by the Tredici high priestess, making you Queen of Anziano. It also names an heir.” Marcus’s gaze strays to the place below her stomach.
Bile rising up her throat, she turns to Cato. “Why?”
Cato’s smile wavers. “I loved you, you know. In my own way. Theway one loves a sister or a close friend. You’re the only one besides Marcus I can trust my kingdom with who isn’t family.”
