6. Drusilla
CHAPTER SIX
DRUSILLA
P ast the marble columns at the threshold of the Vecchio palace, Dru approaches a pair of simple but looming bronze doors, which Marcus pushes open with ease. She follows him inside, met with a cacophony of raised voices from beyond the foyer, drawing them into a grand courtyard.
Philosophers and dissenters swathed in vibrant silk robes gather at the center of the open-air piazza.
The royal council, presumably. Arguing with one another, they crowd around a man much younger than them, sitting on a backless marble throne, a large palm tree forming a shaded canopy over his head.
Pristine, dark-green robes hang across his shoulders and inch up his neck, leaving his forearms, calves, and slippered feet exposed. The carved obsidian of his simple crown glimmers in the sunlight; his black hair curls beneath it, nearly hiding his dark cobalt eyes.
King Cato Draghi of Anziano. There’s no mistaking it.
Slouching, his elbow rests on his knee, a ringed hand propping up his rounded chin in disinterest. The uncanny likeness to his ancestors she once studied shows through in his straight-sloped nose and umber skin .
Glancing up when the doors rumble shut, his attention falls on Dru.
Confusion mars his expression, before his gaze shifts to Marcus.
Gripping the arms of his throne, he gently raises his brow, his relief plain.
Marcus shakes his head once out of the corner of her eye and heads to the back wall.
The king slumps in his throne, tapping his fingers on his thigh.
The bard trails behind Marcus like a loyal dog, while Dru takes a moment to look around.
Long corridors marked by more pillars stretch out on either side of her, with closed doors marking the ends.
The living chambers must be there. Her attention shifts to the courtyard, which brims with palm, olive, and citrus trees, the greenery a stark contrast to the jasper-veined, white marble floors and the sparkling blue pool at the far end.
Satisfied she’s not in any immediate danger, she joins Marcus, her weary footfalls lost among the arguing.
“We’ve done enough for the Imperium,” one council member claims. “We owe them nothing.”
Another speaks up. “But they’re allowing us to bring back one of our most sacred traditions. What’s the harm?”
“ Allowing us?” She swears someone in the crowd stamps their foot. “It shouldn’t be in their power to allow us to do anything. We are our own sovereign nation and bend to no one’s will.”
“Yes, they’ll bastardize it!”
“If we want to keep our freedom, we must play by their rules.”
“It’s not like before, when there was honor in competing—they only want to use us for entertainment,” another claims. “To win or lose their ill-earned riches by the deaths of our people.”
One more sighs, voice softening. “And so soon after the king’s passing…”
The crowd quiets then, avoiding the eye of the newly crowned king of Anziano. It must be recent; word travels fast through the Imperium, and though she heard the last king was unwell, she didn’t realize how bad it was .
The man in question speaks, his voice deeper than she expected it to be. “And your new king has already passed down his edict, in agreement with the old king. The trials will go on as planned. We won’t let the Phaedrans take it from us.”
All their voices raise in unintelligible revolt until he holds up a hand. They quiet down at his wordless command.
“It’s what my father wanted.”
“Sovrano, you know this means you’ll?—”
“I know what it means, Fastidioso.” He juts out his chin, hands gripping the throne tighter. “And my word is final.”
Before Dru can open her mouth to ask Marcus what exactly the subject of the argument is, a deep, piercing bell sounds. Likely from the Spettrale temple at the heart of the city. It vibrates through her entire body, calling to her like a lost memory. She shakes off the sensation.
The council members grumble unintelligibly before walking past her through the palace doors. Their gazes meet hers as they pass, and she finds she can’t look away. Unlike their king, all of their eyes bear the same bright gold hue, glittering as they catch the afternoon sun.
Finally, only Marcus, the bard, the king, and two of his guards remain. Once the doors shut again, the king hops off his throne, hastening toward the three of them.
“Marcus, thank the gods you’ve returned—your guards are utterly incompetent.”
The guards in question, dressed in black tunics and black sandals with Gladius swords sheathed at their hips, don’t make any attempt to move or even glance at one another.
Marcus bows his head slightly. “I believe that’s more of a poor reflection on me, Sovrano Cato.”
The king taps his finger on his chin. “You’re right. I’ll set out to find a new praetor immediately.”
Grinning, the two men embrace heartily, as if they’re friends. A twinge of jealousy slices painfully through Dru’s heart. Glancing down at her dirt-caked sandals, she digs her nails into her palms, quelling the tears stabbing behind her eyes and trying not to think of Ovi.
“And who have you brought with you?”
Quickly reining in her emotions, she tips her chin up, expecting to find the king’s attention on her. Instead, it’s on the bard, head cocked curiously.
“A bard, from Nusquam,” Marcus supplies flippantly.
Cato presses his lips together. “It’s not like you to entertain hangers-on.”
“He provided us the coin we needed to cross into Anziano.”
“Ah,” Cato breathes. Though he likely has more questions regarding the bard, his attention shifts to Dru. “And this must be the infamous Drusilla.”
“Dru, Sovrano.” She bows her head.
King Cato doesn’t give her a moment to draw her next breath before folding her into his embrace.
Like Marcus, he grasps her like a friend: not too tight, but as if they haven’t seen each other in a long while. Suspicion turns her body to stone, wondering if this is an attempt to put her at ease. But something about his effort at sincerity reassures her.
He’s all bones , she notices the longer they embrace. Surely, someone of his station eats well enough. Then again, people deal with the death of a loved one in different ways.
He steps back before she can question it further.
“Any friend of Marcus’s is a friend of mine.” Dru glances at Marcus. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, exactly. “And call me Cato.”
He grasps her upper arms carefully with his thin fingers, surveying her in a more clinical manner than Marcus did the night before.
She clears her throat. “I was under the impression Marcus doesn’t have friends.”
Cato glances over his shoulder. “Oh, this will be fun.”
Marcus smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, fun. ”
“I presume her things have already been taken to her room?” Cato asks, removing his hands from her.
Dru speaks up. “That would be difficult, considering I didn’t come with anything.”
Surprise widens his eyes and draws up his brow. She nearly laughs. Only someone of his station would be surprised she arrived without any possessions. “Nothing?”
“Nothing but the clothes on my back.” She opens her wool cloak to show him the sown-in pockets. “But it’s enough.”
“Well, at least you need a place to rest until dinner. I imagine you’ve had a trying journey.” He sits back on his throne. “Sabina!” he barks, then adds quietly, “She’s my cousin on my mother’s side, so go easy on her.”
At his command, a girl a head shorter than Dru shuffles around the corner. Her blue silk tunic hugs her ample curves, and a dark blue crystal pendant the size of an Imperium coin dangles from a thin, gold chain around her neck. She doesn’t spare Dru or anyone else a glance except the king.
Cato holds out a hand, palm open. “Please take our guest to her chamber.”
Sabina blinks at him. “Will she not bunk with the other competitors?”
Dru blinks. What competitors?
“Will she not bunk with the other competitors, what?” Cato goads her.
Sabina stares at him for a moment with her bright gold eyes. Dru bites the inside of her lip to keep from grinning.
“Will she not bunk with the other competitors, Sovrano ?”
“Better, though I’d prefer less attitude next time.” Sabina’s jaw pops audibly from clenching it; Cato sits back, a satisfied half-smile on his thin lips. “And no, she won’t. I’ll need her nearby.”
Nearby for what? Dru wonders, her frustration growing.
Up to this point, she’s trusted Marcus and the fact that he claims to still be a member of the Faithless.
She hasn’t questioned what King Cato wants with her, or why and how the Faithless might be involved.
Allowing Marcus to keep their motives secret has been based on the assumption that it’s all for a good reason—a reason sanctioned by the Faithless.
Her silence ends now.
“And what have you summoned me for, that you need me so close by?”
Cato regards Marcus. “You didn’t tell her?”
Marcus clasps his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest. “I thought it would be best coming from you.”
“Quite right, though I’m surprised she agreed to come with you at all, not knowing the reason.”
When he says it like that, I come off as a trusting fool . If it were anyone but Marcus and they hadn’t been fleeing for their lives, she might’ve been more guarded. But she’s here now, and she wants to know why.
Cato addresses Dru. “You’re here to help train me for a Durevolian tradition called the Valorem Blood Trials.”
The Valorem Blood Trials. That explains what Cato’s council were arguing about earlier. It also confirms what she overheard in the tabernae in Nusquam, of the rumors of its return.
Dru folds her arms across her chest. Tabernae Ebrius isn’t the first place in the Imperium she’s heard whispers of the return of the Valorem Blood Trials, though she’s surprised to find the gossip bears truth.
And, if the grumblings of Cato’s council are to be believed, the Imperium is involved. A fact which confuses and concerns her.
The siege of Durevolia over a century ago took years before it came to a head.
The Imperium chased the Durevolians out of their lands and into the only parcel of their country left to them: this island.
When the Phaedran army finally broke through Anziano’s defenses, more Imperium lives were lost than in any other conquest.
To avoid further losses, the Imperium agreed to a peace treaty: the Durevolian people could keep their land and exist outside Phaedran rule, but their ports would be regulated, they would continue to supply the Imperium with silk, and they had to disband their army in a promise never to invade any Imperium land.
They were even forced to make their traditions Phaedran.
The Sovrano at the time agreed, if only to save the lives of their people. But they never let go of their traditions—they merely practiced them in secret.
From what Dru knows about its history, the blood trials can’t exactly take place in secret.
“Sanctioned by the Imperium?” she asks finally.
He nods. “Of course. In fact, they’ll be participating this year, filling half of the competitor slots with their own people.”
Dru considers this. There must be a reason the Imperium has allowed this to move forward. Though it’s even stranger for them to have involved themselves so deeply in it. These blood trials are older than the Imperium itself and have been written off by most Phaedrans for that reason alone.
The trials have always fascinated Dru, which is why she chose to focus on them during her learnings at the Faithless.
The most important piece of information she learned was that one must be a true champion to compete: strong, smart, cunning, ruthless, brave.
Qualities most people in the continent fail to possess.
“Then you’ve chosen well. I’m one of the few outside Anziano who knows about the Valorem Blood Trials.”
Cato shares a long look with Marcus, and suspicion prickles along her neck.
The king nods. “Good.”
“I expect some sort of stipend if I’m to stay here,” she adds.
Cato watches her for a moment, amusement pulling at the corner of his lips.
“And so you shall have it, Drusilla Valerius.”
Then he turns his back on her in dismissal.
He knows my last name… What else has Marcus told him about me? And why? What part am I truly meant to play here?
After that interaction, she can’t help questioning both their true motives for bringing her here.
Though not every order must be passed down from the Three, and someone in Marcus’s position would be well within his rights to request the help of an underling like Dru, the logic of it is lost on her.
Marcus is more than capable of training Cato for the physical trials, and the rest the king would’ve already learned from his tutors.
But if they believe she can do something they can’t, it gives her reason enough to stay.
At least for one night, to clean up and to rest .
She shakes her head; that’s a poor excuse.
The truth is, whatever reason she’s been summoned here, she wants to know what it is and why. Even if doing so puts her in danger.
Sabina clears her throat and bids Dru to follow her. “This way, ospite d’onore .”
“Can’t say I’ve been called an honored guest before,” Dru mutters.
Though she refuses to look at Marcus before following Sabina to her room, she feels his gaze on her as she crosses the courtyard and out of sight.