22. Marcus
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MARCUS
W ith some time to spare before the start of the first trial, Marcus takes in the first Valorem Blood Trials this country has seen in one hundred years
From this vantage point inside the royal balcony, Marcus watches both Phaedrans and Durevolians fill the Ammaliare Arena. The body of an eager spectator occupies every single seat, their excitement lightening his heart.
The red tunics in the crowd make the Phaedrans easy to spot, while most of the Durevolians wear varying shades of blue. His guards have informed him that more people crowd outside the main entrance to the arena, hoping to cheer and boo alongside the spectators despite not being able to see why.
It’s become the spectacle the Imperium no doubt hoped it would be.
With the sun still behind them, they can’t feel the heat of it—not like those on the opposite side of the arena where the shades above don’t yet reach.
Despite his exhaustion, Marcus stands at attention at Cato’s right side while Dru flanks his left.
Cato’s mother, Alessandra, sits on the carved-out throne behind them, taking her son’s place as the royal surveyor of the games.
The urge to speak with Dru, to clear the air before either of them enters the arena, takes over his every thought. After what they want through together last night, he was ready to tell her everything he’s been keeping from her since Nusquam. If not for Sabina interrupting them, he would have.
When she came down to the barracks, he realized how wrong that would’ve been.
The truth of her being in Anziano, the depth of his feelings for her, matter little in the greater scheme of things.
He let his emotions get the best of him this morning and he can’t allow it to happen again.
Not while his and Cato’s plan remains in place.
Exhaustion from the night before pulls at his mind and his body. But he takes solace knowing it was in the name of a worthy cause—Dru’s life. Lucky for him, today marks the least-deadly trial of the four. And he couldn’t care less about his ranking.
“There’s no going back from this,” Cato tells them both.
Dru says it before Marcus can, though she can’t comprehend the full implication: “There never was.”
“At least you have an advantage the others don’t,” Marcus notes. He’s certain Dru heard him, but Cato said he would tell her about his humming magic so she wouldn’t worry about him so much. One less secret for me to keep from her.
Cato sighs. “Would I could save all the victims of the lottery with it. They didn’t choose this, and that decision wasn’t respected.”
“The Imperium respects nothing, my son,” his mother says.
He nods. “Well, the Imperium did promise to give the slaves they bought and bartered for a chance at freedom.”
“You shouldn’t need to die for the hope of freedom,” Dru comments.
Alessandra leans forward and whispers, “My dear, what do you think rebellions are?”
Silent understanding sits heavy between them .
“The first round will be easy,” Marcus finally says, mostly for Dru’s benefit. “It’s merely to rank us. Most survive this trial.”
“I’m not worried about any of us,” Dru responds. “And I’ll be happy to put some of the more bloodthirsty Phaedran warriors in their place.”
Cato glances at her. “Remind me never to cross you.”
Her lips tip up. “Too late—I’ve already planned your demise.”
“Quick and painless?”
She grins. “You’ll find out.”
Peering out into the arena, Marcus smothers his tired smile. Dru only banters when she’s comfortable in a situation, even if it’s a dire one that she can do nothing about. His own confidence rises.
Three drum beats sound from directly below them. The crowd quiets as the Phaedran and Durevolian gamemasters step forward inside their own shared balcony beside theirs, Legatus Ambitus seated between them.
Ettore speaks first. “Spettatori, combattenti: welcome to the Valorem Blood Trials.”
The arena leaps to their feet and erupts into cheers, some beating their own small drums they brought with them.
Both countries came out in excited droves to watch the bloody spectacle.
Something to bond over, he supposes, to talk about at the tabernaes.
Although more Durevolians might not have come if the Phaedrans hadn’t created a common enemy by inserting themselves into a tradition established long before they existed.
Ettore continues, “A hundred years have passed since this land was soaked with the valiant blood of our people?—”
“—and now the blood of the Phaedran people will join you,” Blaise finishes.
Fewer cheers scatter across the arena, losing the enthused voices of the Durevolians. Marcus nearly laughs.
Ettore cuts in again. “The first trial is hand-to-hand combat. The pairings have been randomly selected, and will allow us to rank each competitor for the rest of the trials. The rules are stated as such: all participants must adhere to the fighting style of Anziano, known as scazzottata. As is tradition, no strikes below the waist are allowed, and only hands may be used.”
Alessandra stands now, holding out her open hands to the arena. “Let the Valorem Blood Trials begin.”
The crowd explodes again, nearly drowning out the dual-drum beat beneath them.
A moment later, two men walk into the arena from opposite ends.
Build-wise, they appear evenly matched; one dons a red band on their arm, the other a blue.
An equal number of cheers and boos from the spectators make it so loud, Marcus can barely think.
Dru leans in. “The Imperium must be trying to prove a point, pitting a Durevolian against a Phaedran for the first fight.”
Cato scratches at his jaw. “If they were trying to prove a point, they would’ve sent one of the lottery winners out. That Durevolian, at least, is a skilled fighter.”
With the sound of a single drum beat, the two men square up.
At first, they don’t go near each other. Fists raised, knees bent, they circle one another, taking the time to size up their opponent. It’s a decent tactic, but not one the spectators will like. To prove his point, the crowd begins to heckle them.
Another single beat of the drum, and the Durevolian man lunges for the Phaedran. But the Phaedran leaps out of the way, shifting the temperament of the crowd.
They exchange equal blows, riling up the onlookers. Despite the initial miss, it becomes clear the Durevolian man is superior: the second punch thrown hits the Phaedran man’s ribs with precision and impact, putting the Phaedran on the defensive before he can attempt an attack of his own.
The Phaedran manages to hold his own, landing a couple hits to the other man’s ribs and stomach when he sees an opening.
Eventually, the crowd grows restless and more boos fill the stadium. The Phaedran glances toward the balconies warily before landing on a specific spot. Marcus follows his gaze and finds it on Legatus Ambitus. He keeps his attention there, waiting for the legatus to slip up.
And he does: the most imperceptible nod and the beginnings of a smirk give him away.
Marcus’s nostrils flare. He knew the Imperium would find a way to rig these games, but he had no idea they’d take advantage as quickly as the first fight in the first trial.
When the Phaedran makes his next move, he misses completely. Purposefully . The Durevolian takes advantage and lands an uppercut, slamming his opponent directly beneath the jaw. The Phaedran man’s feet lift off the ground before he crumples to the dirt, unmoving.
The cheers of the Durevolian spectators swiftly drown out the dissenting Phaedrans.
Marcus, however, finds Ambitus again as they drag the man’s unconscious body across the arena. The ambassador hides his smirk now beneath a mask of indifference, despite the boisterous cheers for the Durevolian man.
Someone else appears behind Ambitus—someone with blond hair who looks a lot like the bard. Hopefully, he’s gathering something useful. Either that, or he’s on the side of the Phaedrans.
For all of Cato’s trust in the bard, Marcus harbors the same amount of suspicion.
Marcus glances over at Dru to find her gaze on him, confusion and mistrust squinting her eyes.
She opens her mouth, likely to ask what he’s seen.
But, at that moment, Sabina comes up behind her, a black silk hood draped over her head to hide her features.
Good . They can’t risk Sabina being discovered. Not if Dru is to keep up her farce.
If it were for anyone but Sabina, he would’ve fought harder for her not to do this. Locked her up in the barracks if it meant keeping her away.
“You’re up after these next two pairings,” Sabina relays softly. “I’ve come to fetch you. ”
“Cato, Marcus.” Dru nods at them, her gaze lingering on Marcus. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
With Sabina at her side, she walks away without glancing back. Something stuck in his throat stops him from calling out to her, from wishing her luck or telling her to be careful.
“If you stare at her any longer, Marcus,” Cato starts, “someone besides me is going to figure you out.”
“I already have,” Alessandra admits unabashedly.
Marcus’s pulse quickens as the drum beats once and a new fight begins. “What are you talking about?”
“Anyone close to you would have to be blind not to see it.” Cato whispers, “You care for her.”
“Of course, I do—she’s one of my oldest friends.”
“Well, I’m your friend, and you don’t look at me like that. Not that I wouldn’t be flattered, but you’re not my type.”
Two women fight each other now, both with red arm bands. One moves too fast for the other; if Marcus were to guess, the second woman is an Imperium slave, without a single ounce of muscle or fat on her.
“And if it were true?” he finally asks. “That I care for her?”
“Then I’d have to tell you, you’ve chosen well. But we’re all in this now, and I feel it’s important you remember, as of this moment, only two people can win.”