Page 22 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
The man in question speaks, his voice deeper than she expected it to be. “And your new king has already passed down his edict, in agreement with the old king. The trials will go on as planned. We won’t let the Phaedrans take it from us.”
All their voices raise in unintelligible revolt until he holds up a hand. They quiet down at his wordless command.
“It’s what my father wanted.”
“Sovrano, you know this means you’ll?—”
“I know what it means, Fastidioso.” He juts out his chin, hands gripping the throne tighter. “And my word is final.”
Before Dru can open her mouth to ask Marcus what exactly the subject of the argument is, a deep, piercing bell sounds. Likely from the Spettrale temple at the heart of the city. It vibrates through her entire body, calling to her like a lost memory. She shakes off the sensation.
The council members grumble unintelligibly before walking past her through the palace doors. Their gazes meet hers as they pass, and she finds she can’t look away. Unlike their king, all of their eyes bear the same bright gold hue, glittering as they catch the afternoon sun.
Finally, only Marcus, the bard, the king, and two of his guards remain. Once the doors shut again, the king hops off his throne, hastening toward the three of them.
“Marcus, thank the gods you’ve returned—your guards are utterly incompetent.”
The guards in question, dressed in black tunics and black sandals with Gladius swords sheathed at their hips, don’t make any attempt to move or even glance at one another.
Marcus bows his head slightly. “I believe that’s more of a poor reflection on me, Sovrano Cato.”
The king taps his finger on his chin. “You’re right. I’ll set out to find a new praetor immediately.”
Grinning, the two men embrace heartily, as if they’re friends. A twinge of jealousy slices painfully through Dru’s heart. Glancingdown at her dirt-caked sandals, she digs her nails into her palms, quelling the tears stabbing behind her eyes and trying not to think of Ovi.
“And who have you brought with you?”
Quickly reining in her emotions, she tips her chin up, expecting to find the king’s attention on her. Instead, it’s on the bard, head cocked curiously.
“A bard, from Nusquam,” Marcus supplies flippantly.
Cato presses his lips together. “It’s not like you to entertain hangers-on.”
“He provided us the coin we needed to cross into Anziano.”
“Ah,” Cato breathes. Though he likely has more questions regarding the bard, his attention shifts to Dru. “And this must be the infamous Drusilla.”
“Dru, Sovrano.” She bows her head.
King Cato doesn’t give her a moment to draw her next breath before folding her into his embrace.
Like Marcus, he grasps her like a friend: not too tight, but as if they haven’t seen each other in a long while. Suspicion turns her body to stone, wondering if this is an attempt to put her at ease. But something about his effort at sincerity reassures her.
He’s all bones, she notices the longer they embrace. Surely, someone of his station eats well enough. Then again, people deal with the death of a loved one in different ways.
He steps back before she can question it further.
“Any friend of Marcus’s is a friend of mine.” Dru glances at Marcus.I wouldn’t say we’re friends, exactly.“And call me Cato.”
He grasps her upper arms carefully with his thin fingers, surveying her in a more clinical manner than Marcus did the night before.
She clears her throat. “I was under the impression Marcus doesn’t have friends.”
Cato glances over his shoulder. “Oh, this will be fun.”
Marcus smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, fun.”
“I presume her things have already been taken to her room?” Cato asks, removing his hands from her.
