Page 86 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
She glances up at the agitated crowd, gaze traveling across the packed, sun-drenched arena.
“They’re becoming irritable.”
“They’ve been irritable all day; they want this trial to end so they can see the leaderboard for the next one and place their bets accordingly.”
“Or see the king of Anziano get defeated by one of his own people.”
“You’re so—” Marcus starts.
“Go for his throat!” she yells to Cato, cutting Marcus off.
Some of the crowd above her cry out in agreement, spurring on the rest of the arena. His opponent shakes out his arms and cracks his neck. Either he’s grown restless too, or he’s feigning it to trick Cato.
To her surprise, Cato does what she says: seeing an opening, he lashes out, jabbing his hand into his opponent’s throat. The larger man grips his neck for a moment, working to draw breath.
“You’re lucky that worked,” Marcus muttered.
“Luck had nothing to do with it.” She shakes her head as the opponent rebounds quickly. “And it didn’t work as intended.”
The two men circle each other again, one lunging, the other dodging. Maybe it’s because she won her own fight so quickly, or that she shouldn’t have won it in the first place, but even Dru can’t contain her anxieties. And not just for Cato.
She clenches her hands at her sides, wishing she knew if the dragon’s fire did something to her—gave her some strength she didn’t have before. Or if she took more strength from Marcus than she should have.
Or if it’s all in her head.
“Why won’t Cato use”—she stops herself before blurting the wordmagicout loud—“everything he’s got.”
Marcus easily catches on to her meaning. “He must have a reason.”
Cato’s opponent finally appears to be tiring out: one of his shoulders dips and he reaches for his left wrist, fiddling with the leather band around it.Odd.
Once he sees an opening, he rushes at Cato, the hand without the leather band poised oddly, as if grasping something. Then she notices a metallic glint in the sunlight, aimed at the king’s neck.
She rushes toward Cato, but she won’t be able to place herself between him and his attacker in time.
“Blade!” she screams.
Cato’s eyes widen. Almost too late, he reacts to her warning,throwing his arm across his neck. The sharp blade rakes down his forearm and splits his skin open.
The man lunges for him again, but Cato’s guards rush past her into the arena, tackling the opponent to the ground. The small weapon tumbles to the dirt, coating the blood-soaked blade in a thin layer of dust.
The king stumbles back, stunned, his blood dripping steadily onto the packed dirt. Heart in her throat, Dru runs to his side with Marcus at her heels.
The two guards haul the attacker to his feet and yank his arms behind his back. A moment later, they push him to his knees, irons already clapped around his wrists. The king stares at the man.Stellae, one of his own people.
Dru touches Cato’s good arm. “Let’s get you to a healer.”
Cato shakes her off, gaze stunned but determined. “If this goes unpunished, even for a moment longer, the Phaedrans and my own people will think me weak.”
Watching more of his blood spill onto the ground, she merely reiterates, “You need to be attended to.”
His gaze snaps to her, his indigo eyes manic. “I’m not dying, Drusilla—not yet, anyway. I cannot waver on this.”
At the venom in his words, she takes a step back.
The shocked silence of the crowd follows him as he walks up to the man, allowing the blood from his open wound to drip down his fingers. Dru moves to go after him again, but Marcus places a hand on her shoulder, keeping her at his side.
“For the attempted assassination of the king of Anziano,” Cato announces to the crowd more than the failed assassin, “you are found guilty and given no trial. I sentence you to death.”
