Page 6 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Unhindered by armor, his warmth sears into her.Not a soldier then—suspicion worries at her stomach. Given Nusquam’s proximity to a defiant province means farmers haven’t lived on this land for at least twenty years, he’s either a spy or has little respect for his own life.
Once the sounds of the soldiers’ boots disappear, Dru bucks her hips, rolling the two of them over a root and pinning him against the wall instead.
Ripping her arms from his grasp, she unsheathes her dagger in the same motion and kisses the point of it to the stubbled hollow of his throat. Pain hisses through his teeth, a single drop of crimson beading on her blade tip. His hands raise slowly in surrender, even as a corner of his lips angles upward.
Her hand flexes on the hilt. She should kill him now, before he has a chance to call for help. But hedidsave her life, and for that, he’s allowed an opportunity to explain himself.
He speaks before she can give him the chance. “If this is how youthank someone who saved your life, I can’t imagine what you’d do to me if I tried to kill you.”
Dru bites the inside of her cheek to stifle a gasp. The man’s voice is deep and smooth, like warm honey—a voice she swears she recognizes, a voice from her past.No, it’s not possible.Still, she clenches her jaw to smother the swift anger igniting inside her.
“Rescuing me doesn’t give you permission to touch me.” She leans in closer, murmuring, “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t gut you.”
Instead of cowering at her words, he lowers his hands and pushes away from the wall, forcing her to take a step back. A smirk appears in the shadows of his face, despite the tip of her blade sinking further into his flesh. Another bead of blood slips down the sharp edge of it.
“Besides the fact that I saved your life, you mean?”
She stares unflinchingly into the blackness of his hood.
He sighs and exposes the inside of his upper arm. She risks a glance to find his skin emblazoned with the raised ink of a tattoo she knows too well. The same one inscribed on her own arm.
MORS VINCIT OMNIA.Death conquers all.
He’s one of the Faithless. Like her. She pulls her knife from his throat but keeps it pointed at him. The crimson-soaked tip flickers in the light of the fire.
“Remove your hood.”
Now, he hesitates, his confidence wavering—the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Before she can threaten him again, he reaches up reluctantly with long, scarred fingers and pulls back the edges of his hood. Her breath catches in her throat.
Deodamnatus, I hate being right.
Worse than a spy, or another Faithless sent to ensure she and Ovi completed their task: her rescuer is Marcus Scaevola.
Once considered the youngest and fiercest initiate to join the Faithless since its inception, he vanished six years ago, the nightbefore he was meant to take his final oaths. His betrayal cut deep for her—she liked him a great deal then and had been young and silly enough to make no attempt at hiding it. He let her down easy after she confessed her childish, undying love for him, but the memory of her mortification brings unwanted heat to her cheeks.
Now, Dru barely recognizes him.
The six years they’ve spent apart have altered him. His strong jaw, sharp hazel-blue eyes, and slightly pointed ears haven’t changed. But the small, pale scars on the sun-beaten skin of his neck and face are new. The top half of his dark mahogany hair is tied back, the rest of it falling to the nape of his neck—certainly not a cut fit for the Faithless. His cloak does a fair job of hiding the muscles he’s gained, but not enough she doesn’t notice them.
She would’ve had to be numb not to feel their hard edges when he hid the two of them from the passing soldiers.
Gaze wandering over his stony features, she can’t find in this man the young trainer she revered all those years ago. Now, he strikes her as more of a hardened soldier. Maybe no better than the Phaedrans. In fact, if it weren’t for his voice, she might not have recognized him at first.
Considering his detached stare, however, he doesn’t remember her at all.That hurts more than I thought it would.
Dru opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. The likelihood of seeing Marcus again after he forsook the Faithless was impossibly small. Yet here he is, in Nusquam of all places, protecting her from both the Namicans across the river and the Phaedrans on this shore. The overlapping shouts from the soldiers leaving the tabernae confirm they’ve finally taken up arms. Despite the copious amount of wine they consumed, they’ll be a fierce opponent for the rebels.
Dru swallows her surprise at his appearance, knowing they’ve been standing out in the open for far too long. And with no Ovi in sight, she can’t spend another moment waiting.
She steps back. “Well, thank you for saving my life, but it’d be rude of me to stick around and die anyway.”
When he doesn’t respond, doesn’t move a single muscle, she adds, “And I haven’t fulfilled my orders yet, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”
At that, a grin stretches across his full lips. It’s wide and genuine, and she could not be more furious at the way it quickens her pulse. A living memory she made certain to bury the moment he betrayed the Faithless—betrayedher.
“I do mind, actually. Under the authority of Cato Draghi, King of the Durevolian people, I’m ordered to bring you to Anziano.”
