Page 60 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Marcus groans. “Not you too. Can’t I have a moment’s peace without someone questioning her presence here.”
Val holds up his hands, revealing the deforming burns on his palms from when he mistakenly clutched hot coals as a child. “Not questioning, sir, merely interested in knowing if she was worth going into the Imperium for. Worth risking your life for.”
In that moment, Marcus nearly confesses everything to him. Valente is one of Marcus’s most trusted men, his loyalty never oncefaltering. But only Cato shares in his plans now, out of necessity, and he’s going to keep it that way with his dying breath if he must.
“Yes,” he answers simply, “she was and will always be worthy.”
Finally, Blaise throws his hands in the air. “And that’s why I can never go back to Tabernae Oro.”
The captivated crowd roars with laughter, beating their fists on their respective stone tables. Marcus hides the roll of his eyes by taking a small sip of his mulsum wine. He’s a patient man, and his current position in the tabernae has allowed him to stay hidden from Blaise until he slips up. Which he inevitably will, with how many drinks he’s consumed since the last bell tolled.
Marcus doesn’t have to wait long. Flashing his gaudy rings, he grasps his cup and finishes the drink before staggering to his feet. No doubt tailored to him perfectly, his red silk robes cling to his back with sweat, the ends of his blonde hair curling around a sad attempt at a red beard. Bejeweled slippers mark his inebriated steps.
“Thank you for the drinks, soldiers; they haven’t gone to waste, as you can see.”
They grumble heartily and watch him stumble away, gradually going back to their conversations from before Blaise sat among them.
“You stay here,” Marcus tells Val, “and keep an ear open for anything they might say about him behind his back.”
“That should prove fruitful,” he says seriously, rising to order another drink.
Marcus, too, gets to his feet from his hiding spot, leaving a single moneta on the table before following the venatus magister at a safe distance.
He doesn’t get far before Blaise suddenly stops and turns down a short alleyway. The sound of piss hitting the walls assaults Marcus’s ears and he grimaces. Without a place to hide, he walks past Blaise with a group of Phaedrans, turning his face away to hide it from view. There’s only one way out of that alley besides the way he came,and Blaise won’t be going back after making such a fuss about leaving.
Marcus waits on the wall outside the alleyway for Blaise to appear again. It doesn’t take long: he stumbles out into the road with little direction; Marcus shakes his head. Though it might turn out to be fruitless, he sets out after him. He keeps out of sight while staying as close as he dares, softening his footfalls on the cobblestone.
Luckily, Blaise makes no attempt to hide his path, nor does he notice much of what’s going on around him. Using the walls as a crutch, he manages to find his way across a few crowded streets, only narrowly avoiding being run over by a slow-moving cart transporting large bales of hay. Though he does make the mistake of stepping on a cat, who paws at his expensive robes and shreds them below the knee, much to Marcus’s delight.
The further they leave the main area of the capital behind, the more distance Marcus puts between them. There’s no reason for Blaise to stay all the way out here on the outskirts of town when he likely has a large tent of his own in the olive groves or on the shore. Which means he’s here for other reasons.
He wobbles around a sharp corner, and Marcus hastens, knowing he can’t lose him.
But when he turns the corner himself, the sound of a door closes—with Blaise nowhere to be seen.
“Were you followed?” a voice he doesn’t immediately recognize demands through a nearby open window. Marcus stays on the other side of the building, within earshot but out of sight. As far as he can tell, the voice doesn’t belong to the sacerdos or Legatus Ambitus.Someone else has Blaise in his pocket.And, from the accent, they’re a citizen from the Imperium, likely Phaedra or a nearby town.
“Of course not,” Blaise slurs. “I’m not stupid.”
Another voice—Ambitus’s, he’s certain—sighs. “It’s unlikely anyone cares enough about you to follow, though, based on your condition, I doubt you could find your way back to the tabernaeyou stumbled out of.”
Blaise hiccups. “Quite right. I’m nothing if not duplicitous.”
“Yes, duplicitous,” the unknown voice draws out. “Come, we must strategize the first trial.”
Their voices fade into the building until Marcus can no longer hear them.
He stays a little while longer, hoping Blaise, Ambitus, or the other mysterious person exits the home, or that he might hear more of their conversation. There wasn’t anything too strange about what they said, but it doesn’t surprise him to hear the Phaedrans are concocting a strategy for the first trial. He only wishes he could’ve heard what that strategy was.
When the sun dips beneath the buildings and still no one comes out, he takes the loss and makes his way back to the palace.
Silence plagues the streets at this time of day; most Durevolians have already sat down to eat dinner. The clanging of food being served and eaten, of the small conversations had between bites, are the only noises around him. All these years, it’s become Marcus’s favorite time of day in Anziano.
The Durevolians are a boisterous, noisy people who love to speak their words loudly and forcefully, even when they speak of small things. But with their mouths full, their words become muffled, the breaking of bread at their tables with their families more important than anything else.
If he’s honest with himself, he’s jealous of the easy comradery that comes with having actual family. The Faithless became the only family he had for most of his life—not exactly a nurturing environment. He was lucky to know his real family well enough before the Faithless found him, though he wishes he could’ve spent more time with them.
Remembering them, he smiles softly.No amount of time would’ve been enough.
