15. Drusilla #2
The Phaedrans turn away and depart the crowd, but the Durevolians don’t disperse. Another loud voice pierces the silence.
“Morte all’Imperium! Morte all’Imperium! Morte all’Imperium!”
More voices join him this time, moving toward the stage. Blaise takes a tentative step back, but Ambitus doesn’t flinch.
When the Durevolians rush forward, he nods to his soldiers on either side of the stage.
At his command, the soldiers unsheathe their swords and move to stand unified in front of the crowd before anyone can lay a hand on the Phaedrans, blocking the horde with their shields.
The Durevolians bang their fists on the thick wood, continuing to chant louder and louder.
Dru glances over at Marcus behind them. Deep concern wrinkles his brow and his hand flexes on his sword’s hilt.
One Durevolian pulls a dagger from his robes and lunges for the closest soldier—who immediately stabs forward with his sword and skewers him in the gut before the man can reach him.
The chanting stops as the Durevolian falls to his knees, clutching his stomach and crying out. Two others pull him up and carry him away, leaving a trail of blood behind them. They must be off to see a physician, but she’s not sure what can be done.
The rest of the crowd disbands quickly after that, likely so the Phaedrans won’t arrest or kill anyone else.
Once Marcus finds his way around the soldiers, Dru hurries over to Sabina.
She grabs her hand, and the three of them rush up the path to the palace without a word said between them.
Her heart beats hard in her chest, glad to be putting distance between them and the mob.
Not that she thinks the Durevolians mean her harm, but innocents often become collateral damage once a riot starts.
Approaching the last olive tree in the grove before the palace, Marcus reaches out and grabs Dru’s arm with a little more force than she cares for. She stops at his silent command and turns, allowing him to grasp both her shoulders tight.
Anger and hurt war on his face, his jaw tight. “What have you done?”
Dru looks over his shoulder to regard Sabina. “Go to the palace without us. Tell no one what happened. Not even Cato.”
She nods, wobbling up the steps to the palace doors, where the guards let her inside.
Once they’re closed again, Dru shakes Marcus off. He releases her and clenches his fists at his sides, blue eyes sparking. Irritation shifts inside her own heart. He’s not the only one who gets to be angry.
She moves closer to him. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing volunteering when it’s your duty to protect the king?”
His gaze intensifies. “That’s exactly what I’m doing: protecting the king the best way I can, from inside the trials themselves. ”
She won’t admit to him she thinks that’s a good idea. “You could’ve told me that was your plan. Why keep it from me?”
He frowns. “You would’ve tried to stop me.”
“You’re damn right I would’ve.” She clenches her hands. “There can only be two winners, Marcus, and now there are three of us.”
“That was your doing. You?—”
“I—what?” She straightens and leans in again, leaving little space between them. “Do you think you’re the only one allowed to sacrifice themselves for others?”
He blinks, some of the fire leaving his eyes. “Cato is my friend. You don’t even know Sabina.”
“I know her well enough to guess she’d likely die in the second trial, if not the first. She doesn’t deserve that. None of the Durevolians do.”
She cuts in again before he can come up with a response.
“I was ordered to train Cato for the games. There’s no better way than from the inside, same as you . ” And to protect you from yourself.
So close now, their breaths mingle, their heaving chests nearly brushing.
Despite her anger at him, the urge to remove the distance between them grows stronger the longer they stand like this.
Jaw softening, his gaze slides to her lips for a second and away again.
His attention on her brings heat to her cheeks and chest, blooming lower as his gaze lingers on her.
When he steps back, she sucks in a breath, blinking rapidly.
He runs a hand through his hair, loosening it from its tie. “You’re endlessly frustrating.”
“You say that as if you aren’t.”
He grunts. “At least I try not to be.”
She wipes her sweaty palms on her tunic. “You give yourself too much credit. I should ask Cato what you’ve been like these past six years. I’m sure he’ll have a different story to tell.”
He turns and heads for the palace, leaving her to follow. “Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into? ”
“I can handle myself, which you would know if you’d stuck around.”
He laughs once. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“No, never.” It haunts me every day.
They barely make it inside the doors before Cato stops them. His outfit today could not be more pristine and put together, but the rest of him reeks of mania. Fury burns in his gaze and his crown sits slightly askew atop his head.
“My servants tell me both of you volunteered for the trials and that there was nearly a riot where a Phaedran soldier killed one of my people. Now, either I need to hire new servants or you owe me an explanation.”
“There was a riot,” Dru explains first, “and a man did die. They were chanting, ‘Morte all’Imperium,’ which I assume means ‘Death to the Imperium.’”
Cato’s anger simmers and he lets out a breath. “I worried this might happen.”
Marcus steps forward. “And we did volunteer. I’m sorry to have kept my plans from you. But I knew you would’ve ordered me not to go through with it if I did.”
“Of course, I would have.” He glances between them. “You two planned this?”
“Marcus did,” Dru explains. “I only volunteered when they called Sabina’s name.”
He watches her, his ire barely contained. “They called Sabina’s name?”
At least Sabina’s not the one who gave us up.
“They did. But I couldn’t let her go up there knowing she didn’t stand a chance in the trials.”
Cato shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean you should take her place. I could?—”
“We’re already taking a risk with the rules we instated without the Imperium’s knowledge.” She takes a step toward him, hoping he’ll see reason. “We can’t give them an excuse to distrust us. ”
Cato closes his eyes for a moment. “Then I see there’s no talking you out of it.”
Her chest relaxes. “There isn’t.”
He drops his gaze in thought before meeting hers again, determined.
“Tomorrow is the Festival of Fanaleria. It takes place on the eve of every trial—a revel before all the carnage to celebrate life and pay homage to the gods. I expect you both to be there and to enjoy yourselves.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel and leaves them.
Dru watches the concern on Marcus’s brow and the corners of his mouth, waiting for him to say something. But it seems he’s also decided not to speak to her anymore today.
“Until tomorrow, Marcus,” she bids him and heads for her room.
She shouldn’t be surprised to find Sabina at her door. Gold eyes red-rimmed, she grasps the necklace Dru gave her tight in her hand.
“I don’t understand why you took my place. You don’t even like me.”
Dru laughs. “I’m sorry I’ve given that impression. I’ll have to do better at expressing myself.”
Not even a single tick of Sabina’s lips.
“Why?” she prods, desperation spoiling her words.
She opens her mouth but the true reason—a reason she’s only now realizing herself—sticks to the side of her throat: like Ovi, Sabina was an innocent caught up in a conflict that’s not hers. Yet there’s a more selfish reason too—guilt.
I couldn’t save Ovi, and maybe, maybe , I can save Sabina from becoming a victim in this bloodless war.
“For the king, so I can be there for him and protect him if necessary,” she says instead, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “Besides, you’ve suffered enough.”
“I know about you, you know,” she says, shrugging Dru off. “I overheard Marcus telling Cato. Orphaned as a child, trained to be an assassin for the Faithless. I knew it the moment Cato spoke your name.”
Surprising Dru, Sabina takes her hand, expression softening. “You’ve suffered more than enough.”
Dru offers her a smile. “Then what’s a little more?”
After a moment, Sabina nods, taking her place beside the door as Dru steps inside her chamber to change. Dru may have just sealed her fate, but that doesn’t mean she can take a day off from training Cato.
The next morning, Dru finds Cato and the bard eating breakfast together, Marcus noticeably absent. The fog blocks out the sun, gray gloom soaking the air.
“Drusilla,” Cato welcomes her. “Glad to see you’re finally up.”
She rubs at her eyes. “Did I sleep too long?”
“No, but I thought you’d be more like Marcus. He gets up before dawn every morning to go on a run. I assumed that’s what your sort does.”
Dru tamps her smile. “That’s what Marcus does. He’s always spent his mornings that way.”
“Sounds like a shit way to live,” the bard notes, mouth full of bread.
She sits down closest to Cato, snatching a slice of the bread for herself. “Just because it’s not how you live doesn’t mean it’s shit.”
The bard sets his fork down hard on his plate. “Why do you hate me?”
She sighs. “I don’t hate you; I do not know you.”
“And yet you’ve chosen to judge me from the outset.”
Frustration picks at her nerves. “And why not? What reason do I have to like you? What have you done to prove yourself trustworthy? Have you done me some great service I don’t know about?
As far as I can tell, all you’ve done is use the debt owed you as a way to insert yourself into our good graces and the king’s company. ”
The two men remain silent.