Page 37 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
That afternoon is spent studying riddles from past trials, teasing out which ones the venatus magister—the Imperium’s gamemaster—and their own gamemaster, Ettore, might reuse as the sun sets beneath the horizon.
Soon, exhaustion addles her mind, so when Cato asks to stop for the day, she doesn’t argue.
Sabina has made herself scarce since she found Dru riffling through Cato’s personal things. Though she wants to trust her, she wouldn’t be surprised if Sabina sold her out. Honestly, she can’t blame her—Cato is her family, and Dru’s a stranger.
In Sabina’s place, the bard, unfortunately, has decided to grace them with his presence. The moment the servants brought out the food and wine for dinner, the bard eagerly appeared in the threshold of Cato’s chambers.
“Why is he here?” she asks Cato. “Don’t tell me you’re keeping him around for his musical talents.”
“Our people only know Durevolian songs.” Cato sets down his spoon and takes a sip of his wine. “It’ll be nice to have a variety ofmusic echoing through these halls or being played in the square. Especially with so many visitors from other lands.”
Dru stabs her fork into the slice of lamb she just sawed off with her knife. “Agree to disagree.”
“Besides,” Cato adds, “I’m considering asking him to spy for us when the Phaedrans come for the trials.”
The bard straightens, looking far too pleased with himself.
Dru eyes the king like he’s gone mad. “You trust his allegiance to you so quickly?”
“I have no allegiance but my own,” the bard argues, failing to put Dru at ease.
“No,” Cato concedes, “but he’s proven himself well enough. From the sound of it, he could’ve easily left you at the brothel on the Mercato Bridge but didn’t. And he paid your way across with his own hard-earned money when he didn’t need to.”
Dru snorts. “Hard-earnedis subjective. And it’s not enough reason to trust him to spy on the Phaedrans for you.”
Cato sighs. “Is it not enough that I enjoy his company?”
Dru takes a bite of food. “No.”
The bard’s lute sits in the corner of the dining room, taunting her with its newly polished wood and taught strings. She stares at it, chewing harder than she needs to.
The more time she spends in the bard’s presence, the more she’s reminded of her childhood. Her mother, Lucia, used to hum along as she played the lyre. Dru swears it was made of gold, but now she knows she merely imagined it that way. Her mother couldn’t have afforded anythingpaintedgold, much less something so large wholly made from it. Besides the fact that it would be completely impractical and sound terrible.
A servant sets another bowl of rice on the table for them to share; Dru spoons some onto her plate before the others can get to it. In truth, she doesn’t want to be dining with them. Or with anyone, for that matter. Ovi and Dru shared all of their meals together whenthey were out fulfilling their orders, and this is the first true meal without her.
The lamb turns in her stomach, and she wishes her friend were there instead of the damned bard. She sets her fork down too hard and stands, moving into the threshold of Cato’s chambers, her back to them.
Dru wonders if Cato and Marcus eat together often or if the king eats with the mother he mentioned. Though Dru hasn’t seen her yet to know if she exists.
She stares out into the courtyard, the night holding the flames captive. The servants lit the lanterns as soon as the sun set, despite pinks and oranges still soaking the sky.
Her mind keeps going back to the trials. Both Cato and Marcus told her separately that the first trial would be easy for the king, which causes her more unease. She needs to knowwhythey think that.
She turns back. “I know you know the first trial is hand-to-hand combat.”
“Correct,” Cato confirms. “Marcus and I have that one settled. I’ve been learning to fight since I was a boy.”
Since he was a boy?“Why?”
Marcus answers. “The Durevolians believe their version of hand-to-hand combat—scazzottata—to be an intimate rite of passage between parent and child on their path to adulthood. Cato has been a master since he was thirteen.”
That means nothing.As much as she wants to, she doesn’t say it aloud.
Instead, she asks, “Have you fought one of the chieftains from Frigus? Or a warrior from Umida?”
Cato shakes his head.
As I thought.“Because the trials are open to the entire Imperium, you’re either going to have to prepare for every single type of fighting style, or…”
