Page 58 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Cato crosses his arms. “Knowing you as I do now, it doesn’t surprise me at all.”
She opens her mouth to speak again, when the doors open and Marcus walks through. At the sight of him, she closes her mouth and forgets about the bard completely.
At the tabernae, she compared his stillness to being carved from marble. Looking at him now, she sees how right she was.
The clouds gray out Marcus’s sun-drenched skin, though it remains stark against the white marble. Years of hard work have chiseled away at his muscles, sculpting his arms, torso, and legs in a testament to his constant strive for perfection. Unlike most men in his position, he’s chosen to remove all his body hair, the way the wrestlers in the Imperium do.
His lack of clothes doesn’t help. It’s no different from what the men in the Imperium wear when they exercise, but Marcus wears it well. His only item of clothing besides his caligae sandals are shorts.They ride low on his hips, drawing attention to the hard lines carved into his lower abdomen, and ride high on his muscular legs.
She knows she’s staring, but she can’t tear her eyes away from him.If I believed in gods…
Cato clears his throat gently, and her attention snaps to her hands clenched in her lap. Fire whips across her cheeks, the embarrassment causing sweat to pool beneath her arms.
“I trust you had a good run?” Cato calls out, a slight laugh in his throat. She doesn’t dare look at him for fear of being consumed by her own humiliation. She’s not embarrassed from staring at Marcus, only that she got caught.
He takes the last seat beside her at the table, and she pushes down her all-consuming wants.
“I did,” he replies, running a hand through his sweat-slick locks, his arm flexing. “I love when the fog hangs on like this in the mornings.”
And, judging by the genuine smile on his face, he does love it. She wasn’t wrong before when she assumed Marcus has been living well in Anziano. But while she found fault in it then, she doesn’t now. It’s selfish to say he shouldn’t be happy just because she’s suffered greater than him.
And once she’s done what she came to do, she can leave knowing he’ll be happy here still.
Pulling most of the sweat-slick hair away from his face with a strap, he drinks nearly an entire jug of water before grabbing a slice of the bread. He salts it and devours it in two bites. Some cured meats have been set out as well, and he pops a few in his mouth.
“Hungry, are we?” she asks.
“You should come with me next time,” he offers. “Anziano is otherworldly before dawn.”
“Gods, how do you get up so early?” the bard asks.
“We’re used to it,” Marcus says, including Dru in his response. The Faithless keep a strict schedule, and that includes when to go tosleep and when to wake up. She’s been waking before dawn nearly all her life.
“Couldn’t be me,” the bard says between bites.
Dru snorts softly. “A truer thing has never been said.”
“I want you all to be ready for the festival tonight.” Cato gets to his feet, brushing crumbs off his robes. “There’s nothing like it in all the world, and I won’t have you ruining it with talk of death and dismemberment.”
“Shouldn’t we be training?” Dru wonders. “The first trial is a mere day away.”
Cato shrugs. “Then I suppose I’m either ready or I’m not.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.Deodamnatus if he isn’t right.
“You’re very cavalier about your own life and the fate of your country.”
“There’s no sense in worrying,” Cato reasons. “But, if it’ll make you feel better, we can spar in the arena later.”
As much as she wants to, Cato’s right: it would only serve to satisfy her own doubts.
“No, you’re right; take your day off.”
Cato places a hand over his chest. “I never thought I’d hear you say those words.”
Dru crosses her arms. “I can be amenable now and then.”
The bard coughs. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
