Page 92 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
The bard places a hand on his shoulder, and Cato takes another sip. “I lost my sister and my freedom all in one night.”
Pushing down her concerns, Dru swallows hard, thinking of her mother. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you miss your father?” the bard asks Cato.
Feeling defensive after his last confession, Dru holds out a hand. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“I want to.” Cato takes another gulp of his wine, head swaying. “Every day. I miss him every single day. I both loved and hated him, yet, for all his faults and all his mistakes, he was still my father.”
The bard places a hand on his shoulder again, though he nearly misses him entirely. “It’s okay, Cato.”
“You know, he never wanted me to be his proxy in the trials,” Cato confesses. “Not because he didn’t want me to die, or because, after my sister passed, he might lose his only son to the blood trials he didn’t even want in the first place, but because he didn’t think I could do it.”
“He was willing to help Marcus, in his final days,” he continues. “I overheard my father telling him about a map of the maze for the second trial.”
“A map?” Dru asks, unable to help her curiosity.
Cato slides his glassy eyes over to regard her. “One of the queen’s first champions supposedly sketched a crude version of the maze from when he competed, and others have filled it out since. The gamemasters may very well change up the maze altogether, but it would be better than nothing.”
Dru abruptly gets to her feet, placing the necessary Durevolian coin on the table.
“Time to go.”Before you say more things you can’t take back.
With her companions so inebriated, they do as she says without argument.
They walk back to the palace painfully slow, the two guards keeping pace behind them in the emptied streets. The cool night air bites at her exposed legs and she pulls her cloak closer around her. Cato mutters nonsensical things to himself, stopping to dry-heave over a few large planters along the way; the bard sways down theroad but is suspiciously quiet, given his proclivity for filling all available silence.
Although glad to have gained some insight into the sort of man Cato is, she can’t help feeling like tonight was a mistake. Not only does the bard know more than he should about the king of Anziano, but she can’t brush off their brief meeting with the sacerdos. Or this map Cato seems to think exists.
Eventually, Dru grows tired of their antics and grabs their arms, pulling them along. All she wants now is to crawl into her bed for at least a few hours’ sleep.
Once they reach the front of the palace, she nods at the guards behind her in thanks and practically shoves the two inebriated men inside.
“Straight to bed, both of you.”
“You’re not our mother,” the bard slurs.
“Someone has to be, for tonight at least,” she argues.
The bard waves her away and wanders off, stumbling across the courtyard and crashing through the doors to his room.
“Wait.” Cato holds up a hand, hiccupping. “I need to find that map.”
Sleep grabs at her body. “It can wait until the morning, Cato.”
“No, it can’t.”
He storms off in the opposite direction of his chambers, giving Dru no choice but to follow.
The moment Cato enters what Dru can only guess are his mother and father’s old rooms, she knows they shouldn’t be here. The place clearly hasn’t been touched in months; it looms around them like a tomb—cold, silent, and meant to be left alone.
Unfortunately, Cato has other ideas. And, if she admits it to herself, she’s just as invested as Cato in the map. Grabbing two of the lit lanterns hanging outside the room, she places them on empty hooks inside to give them some light.
Although the bed has been made up and everything looks to be in its place, a sadness lingers in the air, sending a soft chill up herback. These chambers aren’t much larger than Cato’s but appear more lived-in. Keepsakes line the walls and crowd the tables. A painting of Cato and presumably his sister Vittoria hangs near the closed balcony; they look like twins, their dark features and stark blue eyes so alike.
Cato stomps toward it with purpose. Lifting the painting off the wall, he fumbles blindly for something behind it.
“Cato, this is madness.” She comes up behind him and glances at the back of the painting. “What could you possibly be looking for?”
