Page 65 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
“A difficult future lies ahead of you, Drusilla. One you cannot avoid even if you wished it.”
As if my life hasn’t been difficult enough.
“But you’re not alone,” she continues. “Never forget that.”
Before Dru can ask her anything, the high priestess disappears back into the crowd and out of sight.
Dru stumbles away from the temple. Dozens of questions swirl inside her mind, every single one of them nonsensical. She glances down at her arm, finding the ancient symbol permanently inked on her skin. But it’s not etched with black ink, like the one carved into her by the Faithless. This one she recognizes to be the same color as the tattoos on the painting of the goddess in her room.
She scrubs at her arm and nothing happens, not even a slightsmear.Idiot. She doesn’t understand what it is about those women that she finds so impossible to ignore.
“Drusilla!” a familiar voice calls out, pulling her out of her daze.
Glancing up, she finds Marcus, Cato, and a few of his guards heading her way. The simple masks don’t do much to hide who they are—no one else keeps guards with them at all times. And, barring the blatancy of the bronze crown on his head, no one carries themselves like Cato does. But at least his guards can protect him from any threats.
Clasping her hands behind her back, she hides the newly-formed symbol on her arm. She doesn’t want to explain to anyone—especially Marcus—what happened. They might question why she went up there in the first place, and she has no idea how to answer that without sounding like she’s lost her mind.
Marcus keeps pace at the king’s side. Like his guards, he wears a tunic, although his is blue tonight rather than black. The firelight warms his features and darkens his hair, a slight stubble peeking out from underneath his simple onyx mask. Her body aches unexpectedly from not going to him, touching him; she swallows hard, brushing off the sensation.
He watches her, too, his throat bobbing when he catches sight of her. Her chest warms at his heavy gaze. The most likely cause is this dress, the slight breeze pulling at the high slits and rustling her hair. Though she also can’t help noticing his attention on her has become bolder.
Perhaps he’s decided to seize this night for his own, as I have.She’s never known Marcus to take anything for himself, but tonight could be different.
Despite the strangeness of the Tredici’s demonstration, she finds herself forgetting what happened. It’s done now. All she can do is put it out of her mind and move forward. She has Ovi’s reputation to live up to, and she can’t let her friend down.
Cato gets to her first, placing a heavy arm around her shoulder, his words slurred. “Drusilla, I’m so glad you’re here.”
She grins at the sharp, unmistakable stench of wine on his breath. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with you being inebriated, would it?”
“Never!” He extricates himself from her and stumbles into one of his guards, scuffing up his slippers on the worn cobblestone.
Marcus approaches her. “Heisactually happy you’re here. Don’t let the abundance of alcohol on his breath fool you.”
She chuckles. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“I have to take a piss,” Cato announces unceremoniously, breaking off into a narrow alleyway. His guards hurry after him.
Leaving Dru and Marcus alone.
“How much has he had to drink?” Dru asks, filling the unyielding silence.
Marcus takes a step closer to her. Beneath the mask, his gaze flicks across her exposed arms and shoulder, down to the tops of her thighs, as if he believes the mask hides his eyes. Heat warms her core, and she fights the urge to cross her arms over her midsection. The hard lines between them have already begun to blur, but she can’t help wondering if he might feel something more for her than Faithless kinship.
She shakes her head to clear it.The Tredici’s magic must’ve had more of an effect on me than I realized.
“Clearly more than you,” he notes, looking away. “Can I get you something?”
Stellae, yes, she could use a drink after what happened with the Tredici.
“Only if you get yourself one as well. I refuse to drink alone.” She glances behind her to see where Cato disappeared. “The king’s had enough for both of us.”
Marcus’s quick flash of a smile reaches his cerulean eyes through the mask—her heart stops inside her chest, and she takes a soft, trembling breath.
Bowing his head, he steps away toward a stall with a large crowd around it, cornered off with barrels of wine. Instead of waitingaround with the masses, he skirts around to the side and leans in to speak softly with the young woman manning those barrels. After a moment of him speaking to her, she blushes. Dru snorts softly as she squats down, reaches for a rack under the table, and procures two horn flasks, filling them with a golden liquid. He takes them from her with a soft smile and heads back.
She never had a chance.
The woman watches him walk away with a soft longing in her gaze, pulled away only by the insistence of her next customer. Dru bites her lip to keep from smiling. When Marcus trained her, he had little to no idea the effect he had on the women and some of the men; either that’s changed, or he’s as oblivious as ever.
