Page 93 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
“The key I know my father hid—ah-ha!”
He pulls away with a small key in his hand, the polished bronze glinting in the soft lamplight. Without giving her a chance to ask what it’s for, he stumbles across the room to the desk piled high with papers, similar to his own. Dru follows reluctantly. She hopes he’ll be careful, but he dashes those hopes by tossing everything to the ground until he uncovers what he was looking for: a small chest pushed against the wall.
Cato slots the key inside and turns it without hesitation. After a small click, the chest opens. Dru leans over his shoulder to get a better look. Random trinkets fill the inside, among them a bronze arrowhead, a lock of hair, a slightly-pointed human tooth… and a piece of old reed paper, rolled up and tied with a blue silk ribbon.Maybe he hasn’t completely lost his head.
He removes the ribbon, unrolling it and flattening it out on the desk. Dru peeks over his shoulder.
“It’s a list.” She tries not to sound disappointed.
Cato blinks at it, likely unable to see much given his drunken state and the lack of light in this part of the room.
“A list of what?” he asks her.
“Past proxies, it looks like,” Dru surmises, finding checkmarks inked next to many of the names. “And whether they won the blood trials for their Sovrano or not.”
Cato flings the piece of paper off his father’s desk along with half a dozen more pages, a scream building audibly in his throat. Sorrowover his situation squeezes her chest. Losing two close family members and the life you thought you’d have in such a short time… It would fell even the strongest person.
When he reaches for the open chest, Dru snaps it up first, gripping it tight.
“Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
Cato clenches his hands and his jaw until his legs give out from under him and he crumples to the hard marble floor.
“Why would he lie?” he whispers, hanging his head. “Why lie to Marcus, of all people, about a map that doesn’t exist?”
Dru kneels down in front of him, taking his hand in hers. “Your father was not well at the end. It’s possible he dreamt about a map, or heard stories from his own parents about the existence of one. But it doesn’t matter.” She squeezes his hand. “Do you know what I think he’d say to you now?”
He looks up at her and squeezes her hand back, indigo eyes brimming with held-back tears.
“He’d tell you how brave you are, how the map would only distract you and force you to focus on what’s known when nothing about these trials is. He’d tell you he’s proud of you, even if this is not what he wanted for you.”
Tears spill over, carving down his cheeks. “I wish he was here.”
Setting the chest down, she brushes one of the tears from his cheek. “I know. But you have people here who love you, who are also proud of you and think you’re brave, and who know you can win these blood trials because you’re the king of Anziano, and you won’t be broken.”
When he doesn’t reply, she sits beside him and he places his head on her shoulder, a few more tears falling onto her cloak. They sit there for a time, until Cato’s head bobs forward in sleep.
Helping him to his feet, she takes him back to his chambers and into bed. Once he’s passed out, she goes back to his parents’ chambers, removes the lanterns, and shuts the doors on their tomb.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MARCUS
Marcus knocks softly on the door of Valente’s home.
Fog always clings to the coast early in the morning this time of year, sticking to Marcus’s skin pleasantly. Having stopped in the middle of his run, sweat drips down his temples and his bare back as he stands outside, waiting. Not a soul walks the streets at this hour, with night only just lifting for the day to begin. To Valente’s dismay, he stops here at least once a week near the end of his runs. Although, it’s not normally this early.
Finally, the lock slides back, and the door creaks open. Val blinks sleep from his hazel-gold eyes, leaning against the threshold to support his tired body.
“Marcus? Good gods, do you have nothing better to do than wake me at this hour?”
“No, I don’t,” he murmurs. “Apologies if I disturbed your wife and children.”
A tired smile stretches across his face. “Luckily, my children sleep like the dead these days, if they come home at all. My wife, however, will expect recompense for this.”
Marcus returns the smile. “Anything she wishes.”
“Don’t tempt her with an offer like that—she might take you up on it.” Val steps aside and wordlessly gestures for Marcus to come in. Marcus obliges.
