Page 38 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
“Or?” Marcus prods, leaning on hiselbow.
Dru glances at the bard, keeping her silence until he looks up from his food. Despite his constant presence and his numerous showings of incompetence, he’s a stranger to her and completely untrustworthy. The king’s growing faith in him does nothing to satisfy her own.A good spy indeed.
Taking the hint, he swallows his last bite. “I’ll go see if the cook has any more of that delicious wine.”
Once he leaves the room, Dru places her hands flat on the table.
“Or you add a rule without the Imperium’s knowledge, restricting everyone to a specific kind of fighting.”
Cato considers this. “Like what?”
“Like, hands only; no strikes with the feet or legs; feet must remain less than a foot off the ground.”
Marcus raises a brow. “That seems excessive.”
“That last one, perhaps. But it’s the only way to be sure the king isn’t going to get his ass handed to him. Or worse.”
Cato loops his hand around the front of his neck in thought. “It feels like cheating.”
Dru nearly laughs. “Do you want to live? Or do you want to be honorable? Because I can tell you right now: no one else competing in these trials plans to play fair.”
“Have you fully studied the first few Valorem Blood Trials, from start to finish?” she asks before he can respond.
His silence gives enough of an answer. She glances at Marcus, who looks on in fascination, the smallest of smiles on his lips.
“I have. They were so ruthless because there were no official rules. That’s how Queen Iniga wanted them: it allowed her to control the uncontrollable and make things up as they went along to her benefit. But every single one of your ancestors had a proxy in their place, and each of them still made it to the final round.”
She takes her seat again. “The difference this time is?—”
“The Imperium,” Cato mutters.
“Right. And unless you have some rules in place by the time theirgamemaster gets here tomorrow, they’re going to make their own, and they won’t be in your favor.”
Cato takes another long sip of his wine. “What makes you think they haven’t already made their own?”
“I’m sure they have. But you can claim precedent over the trials. And they’ll have to acquiesce; otherwise, they’ll be going back on their word about why they agreed to this in the first place, and they’ll have a rebellion on their hands.”
“Dru’s right,” Marcus says. “More than the outcomes of the trials hang in the balance.” He pauses. “There’s still time to make me your proxy.”
Dru’s gut wrenches at the suggestion, and she’s not the only one.
Cato slams his hand on the table. “We’re not having this discussion again. My father’s death changes nothing—I always planned on participating.”
Marcus stands, his chair screeching against the marble floor. “Yes, but that was as your father’s fighter, at a time when he could technically still sire another heir. Now he’s gone, and you have no one to pass your crown on to. If you die, Anziano will descend into chaos.”
Dru can’t help adding, “And the Imperium will be all too happy to swoop in to take control.”
Cato presses his fingers into forehead. “I’d forgotten all about the damned heir business. Before my father passed, it was all I could do to tend to him. I had little time to think of what might happen after…”
Letting out a trembling breath, he gets to his feet, gripping both his wine cup and a full jug of it in either hand. “Thank you both for your counsel. I’ll have a draft of the rules across the four trials by morning for your perusal.”
At that, he leaves the room and opens the door to his lantern-lit office, shutting himself inside. A slight panic rises in her, hoping he doesn’t notice anything out of place. She was careful, but he might be more observant than she gives him credit for.
“What do you have against the bard?” Marcus asks her.
“I don’t trust him.”
“I don’t either. But what reason has he given you not to?”
