7. Marcus
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARCUS
C ato regards Marcus once Dru moves out of earshot. “How did it go?”
Marcus tears his gaze from her disappearing figure and glances at the bard, wishing he’d find somewhere else to be. “Well enough, but not so well that we didn’t run into trouble.”
He recounts for Cato what happened in Nusquam, leaving out only a few details.
Like how close he had to get to Dru to hide her from the soldiers, how they recognized each other but can’t yet trust one another given how much time has passed.
Instead, he tells him about how she bested him and held her dagger to his throat before he revealed who he was, about Ovi, who he might have mentioned once or twice, and what Dru did to the archers who murdered her.
“That’s quite a story,” Cato offers at the end of it, sorrow pinching his brow. “But at least you and Dru are here. Especially now that some of the Phaedrans have decided to grace us with their presence a day early.”
Marcus scoffs. “I’m not surprised they couldn’t wait another day to set foot in the country they most desperately seek. ”
“Evidently.” Cato sits back on his throne. “I invited our gamemaster here before I knew you were coming, if you don’t mind.”
“No, I’d prefer it.” Marcus looks over at the bard until he notices.
Eyes widening, the bard grasps the strap of his lute. “I’ll find my own chambers.” And he stalks off.
“Are you going to allow him to stay?” Marcus wonders once the bard is far enough away not to overhear.
Cato watches him. “We’ll see how it goes. I can tell you don’t like him.”
“I don’t, but I also don’t trust him.”
Cato nods. “Yes, the circumstances in which he came with you are suspicious. But we could use a wanton musician around here. And, besides, better to keep your enemies close.”
“I’ve never liked that saying,” Marcus admits.
“King Cato,” a voice calls from behind them.
Ettore, the newly appointed gamemaster for the Valorem Blood Trials, enters through the palace’s front doors.
Dressed in bright blue robes, he stands shorter than both Marcus and Cato.
Bald in his older age, he more than makes up for the loss in his thick, gray-spackled beard.
His rounded belly leads the way as he saunters in their direction, squinting in the waning sunlight.
Cato returns the greeting. “Ettore, good to see you.”
He bows slightly before the king. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to let you know the Phaedran ambassadors will be here in less than two days. You’ll have to be ready to work with the Imperium’s venatus magister a day earlier than planned.”
Fear shines behind the man’s eyes and he wrings his hands. “I thought I had more time to prepare.”
“One more day won’t make much of a difference,” Marcus argues. “We’ve done all we can to prepare for their arrival, but most of your work will be during the trials themselves.”
“How much do you think they’ll try to alter?” Ettore asks, voice trembling slightly .
Cato taps his fingers on his marble arm rest. “For much of it, we can claim tradition. But they’ll want to make their mark on the trials, and there’s not much we can do to stop them. I’m told they’re bringing soldiers with them—as a precaution.”
Fuck. Marcus grips the back of his neck. “Most people would call that an act of war.”
“Yes, well, most people aren’t the king of Anziano,” Cato reasons, “whose father invited their enemy in without provisions.”
Cato steps down from his throne and places a hand on Ettore’s shoulder. “It won’t be easy, but you’ll have to do everything you can to keep the trials on our terms rather than acquiesce to theirs. I have faith in you.”
He swallows. “As you wish, Sovrano.”
The gamemaster bows his head again and scurries out of the palace.
“So, now the bard’s gone, tell me what actually happened with Dru,” Cato commands once they’re alone.
Marcus shakes his head and grips his jaw. “She’s different from the last time I saw her.”
Cato chuckles. “I should hope so.”
“I didn’t expect her to be so…”
“What? Beautiful? Deadly? Loyal to her friends that she’d kill in their name? Because I’m struggling to see a downside here.”
Marcus runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not that. I’m finding it difficult to relate this woman to the girl I trained in the ways of the Faithless for so many years.”
“That’s because she’s not that girl.” Cato clicks his tongue good-naturedly. “Sometimes I wonder if you’ve seen as much of the Imperium as you claim, because you seem to know very little about women.”
Marcus laughs. “Just because I haven’t been with many women, doesn’t mean I don’t know them as well as you.”
“I think it does, in this case.” Cato places a hand on Marcus’s shoulder now, smiling. “But, despite your gross lack of understanding of the womenfolk, I’m glad you’re back.”
Marcus mirrors the gesture, grinning in return. “As am I.”