Page 74 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
He sits on the edge of his bed, restlessly staring out into the black sea. With the festival over and the sounds of merriment disappeared, quiet settles over the night. Too much quiet for the thoughts in his mind. He considers going to Dru’s door to apologize again. To tell her he wanted to kiss her and still does.Stellae, I do. But she’ll be asleep by now, along with the rest of Anziano.
Which is why he’s surprised when the knock on his door turns out to be one of the Tredici.
Marcus knows her—Aradia, the orphaned daughter of the head council member to the late king. He left the palace late one night a few years’ back and was found the next morning trampled to death by the horse of a traveler on the road, leaving Aradia with nowhere else to turn. Luckily, they had need for a floor washer at the temple, and then brought her into their fold when the last high priestess passed.
He has no qualms with the Tredici; none of what they do is his business, so long as it doesn’t pose a threat to the king. And he checked on the king himself when he got in: passed out in bed, but home.
Yet, the Tredici wouldn’t have come to him unless absolutely necessary. Not unless he was the only one who could help.
“You are needed, Praetor Marcus.”
Marcus clears his throat. “Unless someone has stumbled into the bad end of your ritual, there’s nothing?—”
The high priestess, Ginevra, steps out from the shadows, holding Dru’s lifeless body in her arms.
Marcus sucks in a breath.No.Fear ties his tongue and wraps around his entire body, squeezing too tight. His knees nearly buckle at the sight of her, horror and fury ravaging him as he advances on Ginevra. On Dru, deathly still in her arms.
Before he can lose his mind, he recognizes the shallow movement of Dru’s chest.She’s not dead, at least.It placates only a fraction of his concern.
Without waiting to hear an explanation, he gently takes Dru from her.
Dru’s face is pinched in pain, her breath coming out in shallow bursts. Something black covers her arms, but he’s too distraught to properly see what it is. Wrath and primal dread continue to war inside him as he watches her, spreading through him like wildfire.
“What the fuck happened?” he demands in a whisper, his attention snapping to Ginevra.
“She got too close to the Viverna,” the high priestess explains. “His magic called to her.”
Marcus peers down at what he barely noticed before, finding Dru’s arms and hands encased in dark ashes, the thick salve conforming to the curves of her wrists and fingers.
On her forearm, at the edges of the ashes, a glimpse of the bubbled skin peeks out. The sort of burns only dragons’ fire can produce. She trembles in his embrace, her chin wobbling.Deodamnatus, Dru, what have you done to yourself.
“What can I do?” he begs, not caring how desperate he sounds.
“We’ve already done all we can,” Ginevra tells him softly. “Theashes of the plumeria will heal her burns and she will be well again by morning.”
Convenient,Marcus thinks, although at least it won’t be permanent.
“You knew this would happen,” he accuses. “That she would find her way to where you keep your pet and be pulled in by his magic. Byyourmagic.”
She stares at him, unforgiving. “We considered it, given what happened tonight at the festival.”
He nearly asks her to elaborate, but it’ll achieve nothing except to infuriate him further.
He glares at her. “Why not keep her with you and your ilk? Why bring her to me?”
“She needs to be with someone who cares for her as you do,” she explains plainly. “Our magic won’t set without constant human contact; otherwise, she might not make it through the night.”
He sucks in a breath at the thought. “What could my touch possibly do that yours can’t?”
She ignores his ire. “All magic has limits, Praetor. The plumeria ashes have merely been made a conduit—for burns as intense and deep as hers, it needs a life force to take from.”
Marcus clenches his jaw, fury clouding his thoughts. “And what makes you think I care about her enough that I’d be willing to do that?”
A smile stretches across her red lips—not what he expected. “I see into your soul, Marcus Scaevola. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for this woman. It won’t take much, though it will leave you weakened for the first trial tomorrow.”
He grunts, wanting to curse her out a thousand different ways.
“Fine,” he says finally. “Tell no one of this.”
