Page 151 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Tears well in her eyes, her chest tight. “And this supposed heir?”
His breath becomes labored. “Despite me naming you… as successor by marriage… they could’ve decided to kill you anyway. But if you’re pregnant?—”
“I haven’t been here long enough to get pregnant,” she argues.
Cato laughs, coughing up blood. Crimson spatters on his cheeks and runs down the side of his mouth. Dru wipes it away, only to smear it.
“Most men… especially men in power… are too stupid… to know that,” he explains, wheezing. “They’ll accept it… for now.”
She takes an unsteady breath. “Cato, I can’t be queen.”
He reaches blindly for her hand, and she grasps his with both of hers. “You can… and you will. My mother… will help you.” He coughs again, more blood gurgling up his throat. “I’m… sorry I’ve left you both… with such a mess. I know… you’ll do right… by me… by my people.”
Before Dru can think of how to answer, his last breath leaves his chest. Deep red stains his dark skin as the last bit of life leaves his eyes, and then he’s gone.
No.
Anger and sorrow fight for a place inside her heart, a sob clawing up her throat as her lip trembles. She stays at his side, one hand grasping his lifeless one, the other brushing over his eyes to close them.
Marcus, however, climbs to his feet, unfolding the vital piece of paper, hands trembling slightly.
“The king is dead.”
At that statement, the Durevolians left in the crowd cry out in shared agony.
Marcus holds up a hand to quiet them, speaking loud enough for the entire arena to hear. “As part of the peaceful transfer of power agreed to prior to the outcome of this combat, I hold in my hands adocument signed in the king’s own hand, detailing the transfer of power of his kingdom”—he gestures at Dru—“to Drusilla Valerius, Queen of Anziano and mother to his unborn heir.”
The crowd collectively gasps. And though Dru hasn’t recovered from Cato’s death and can’t wrap her head around why he chose her, she knows his death will mean nothing if she doesn’t follow through with his plan. Getting to her feet and placing a blood-stained hand over her empty womb, she leans into the gutting loss she feels. Mutterings spatter across the arena, but Ambitus holds up a hand.
“That woman is a servant.” He glances down at his ledger. “A one Sabina Cantu, cousin to King Cato.”
“Drusilla took the place of Sabina without your knowledge in order to protect her,” Marcus explains.
Dru watches Ambitus’s face turn red from where she stands. A sick sense of satisfaction battles against the sorrow inside her.
“This changes nothing,” Ambitus says after a moment, deep irritation underscoring his words. “Control of Anziano will go to the Imperium.”
“Not if you want to hold to your terms with Cato,” Marcus argues. Dru nearly smiles—the people of Anziano will make a peaceful transfer of power impossible if the Imperium doesn’t stay true to what Ambitus and Cato agreed to. “You accepted the term that Cato drafted a document with a plan in place to transfer power, but you did not ask him to specify to whom that power would go.”
Ambitus’s lip curls.
“Fine,” he says between his teeth. “But you will not take part in this transfer, Marcus.”
The bard walks toward Marcus, manacles taken from one of the Phaedran soldiers swinging lazily from his grasp. Marcus hands Dru the paper while she stands there, feet rooted to the ground, as the bard clamps the metal in place around his wrists.
Ambitus speaks over the dissenting crowd. “Under the authority of the Phaedran Imperium, for refusing to follow orders, you, MarcusScaevola, are arrested for treason. You will stand trial at the Imperium capital of Phaedra and, if found guilty, be put to death.”
Dru’s mouth opens in horror, unable to take a proper breath.Stellae, this can’t be happening.
The bard kicks the back of Marcus’s legs, and he falls to his knees, breaking Dru from her standstill.
She hurries over, kneeling before him. His gaze searches hers, a myriad of emotions passing between them. If she weren’t bound to Anziano by the piece of paper in her hand, she’d offer to take his place right now.
Not caring how this makes either of them look, she places her hand over his heart. His eyes deepen with unsaid words, brow softening.
She presses her fingers into his chest. “Wherever you go, Iwillfind you,” she promises.
“No, don’t come after me,” he bites out. “I’m as good as dead, and you will be too if they catch you. You’ll be safe in Anziano.” His gaze shifts toward the bard. “Though you can no longer trust the Faithless.”
