Page 30 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Dru lets out a single laugh, knowing Marcus has oversold her. “Then we’d better get started.”
CHAPTER NINE
MARCUS
When Dru first began training with the Faithless, a year after they dug her out from the rubble of her home, she had no idea how to fight. And she’d clearly never held a weapon in her life, not even the dagger found in her possession. Marcus was still an initiate then and could hold his own, but Dru needed help. Seeing her struggle, he gave it freely.
Slowly, painfully, she learned. At first, her arches and thrusts were too gentle, her movements lithe and nimble though still unsure. Now, her form has tightened, hardened—shaped by years of the Faithless beating her down, molding her into what they want. He can tell simply from how sure she holds herself, how confidently she grasps the wooden sparring pole in her hands.
As Cato said, she’s deadly.
Leaning on one of the columns on the ground floor of the Ammaliare Arena, Marcus watches Dru and Cato spar. Though Dru likely hasn’t held a sword in some time, it’s impossible to tell. Not that wooden poles carry the same weight as a sword, but it’s certainly no dagger, and watching her wield it deftly doesn’t leave him any less impressed.
He also watches Cato closely. Despite the king’s insistence otherwise, Marcus can’t help worrying he won’t be ready to fight in the blood trials. Physically, he’ll be fine, but his heart isn’t in it. The longer he’s known Cato, the more the king in him has withered away. He’s faced unimaginable loss the past few years, losing his confidence, his good humor, everything that made him who he was.
Marcus has no idea if this Cato can survive four days of rigorous challenges.
“Do you know who your opponents will be?” Dru asks Cato as they circle each other.
“Besides my own people, the competitors from the Imperium hail from all over the continent.” Cato lunges and misses, but stays on his feet. “An envoy will be here in a day or so, but all the great families will come the next day with their chosen champions.”
Cato swings down with his pole and Dru parries easily.
“Do you think it likely your own people will treat you like the other participants, given what your death would mean for them?”
“I don’t,” he admits, “but that’s their choice, not mine. This situation is already precarious enough without having to worry about whether or not the odds are stacked in my favor.”
Dru thrusts forward and taps his leg. Cato grunts in frustration.
He takes his stance again. “I’ve also been warned there will be a lottery.”
Dru’s brow furrows and she straightens, her grip on the pole loosening. “A lottery?”
Cato relaxes too. “Not the kind you want to win. A number of men and women over the age of sixteen from across the Imperium and Anziano will be chosen at random to participate in order to fill the remaining spots. The Imperium have already chosen theirs.”
Even from where he stands, Marcus sees her nostrils flair.
“And what are the chances those chosen will have enough training or know-how to survive even one of the trials?”
Marcus knows the direction this conversation is headed. When Dru actually showed up for her history lessons, she often engaged ina philosophical debate, and wouldn’t let up until she won an unwinnable argument.
Pushing off the stone column, he heads into the arena.
“It’s likely going to be rigged by the Imperium as well and the chance of survival is minimal at best. But none of that matters if the king of the host country meets his end in the first trial.”
Cato looks unsurprised to find Marcus there, a small, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his thin mouth.
Dru, however, visibly stiffens. He must’ve pulled her out of her thoughts, of her concern for the victims of the Imperium’s lottery. One of the Faithless leaders once confided in him they thought Dru cared too much for others to be one of them; he’s glad to see that part of her remains true, despite her uncanny ability to kill.
“That would be rather convenient for the Imperium, though,” she says finally.
Cato leans on his pole. “Such little faith you have in me, Marcus. I could have you killed for that.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Marcus takes the pole from Cato.
“What have I told you about your stance?”
