Page 4 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
“Stellae knowsyouhave,” Ovi mutters, wrenching her arm out of Dru’s grasp.
Dru ignores her jab, still stuck on the strange man. She thought she ate enough today, but imagining a person isn’t a good sign.
Deciding to blame his disappearance on malnutrition and a lack of sleep, Dru takes a sip of her own wine. At the bitter taste, she clicks her tongue.Could use more honey.
“He bestowed the gift of prophecy;
But her predictions went unperceived
That her city would surely bleed.
For she was cursed for none to believe,
Ne’er to stop the fall of Malum.”
The song slips into a deluge of wordless chords and plucks.Much less annoying.And as good a time as any to leave.
“We should get going.”
Ovi ignores her as the bard’s voice returns for the final verse.
“Lying dead in her golden garb,
Her tale on tongues of every bard,
She left her realm beaten and marred,
Gone from this realm was Laelia of Malum.”
At the last boisterous strum, the room erupts in cheers. Copper coins litter the ground at the bard’s feet, and someone shoves a drink in his hand, which he gladly swallows the entirety of.
Dru presses her fingers into her brow. “Finally.”
Ovi sets down her cup hard on the table. “I don’t understand what music could’ve possibly done to you to make you hate it.”
Dru bites her tongue—no one but her dead mother knows she can sing, and she’ll take that secret to her own grave.
“It’s not the music; it’s the words. Laelia of Malum is completely helpless, never in charge of her own fate. Does that sound like a valiant purpose to you? A tale that should have songs sung about it?”
Ovi finally tears her gaze from the bard, whose adoring fans—despite his dead eye tooth and untamed hair—now crowd the makeshift stage, placing their hands in areas they shouldn’t be. “Such is the providence of most women under Imperium rule. We were lucky the Faithless found us, gaveusa purpose.”
A corner of Dru’s lips tips up in a smile. Every now and then, Ovi says something logical.
“At least we have each other.”
“Whatever that’s worth.”
Dru laughs. “You’d be dead without me.”
Ovi crosses her arms on the table. “Well, I suppose if you insist on being factual.”
“Oh, I do. I really do.” Dru gulps down the rest of her wine. “And at the risk of being factual once again, we need to go.”
Her friend frowns. “At least let me finish my drink.”
The bard plays a new chord, warming up the crowd again—Dru groans. “Please don’t make me suffer through another, I beg you.”
Ovi grins, her parted full lips revealing slightly crooked teeth. “I love it when you beg.”
