24. Drusilla
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DRUSILLA
A fter finally quieting her mind from the day’s events, Dru teeters on the cusp of sleep when the distinct shattering of clay echoes from the courtyard.
Her eyes shoot open and she groans. What now?
Crawling out of bed and throwing on a light robe, she steps outside her room. Only a few torches light the courtyard this time of night, casting the rest in moon-lit obscurity. Crossing her arms over her chest, she squints into the murk—nothing appears out of the ordinary. Maybe I dreamt it.
She moves to turn back, when two figures creep along the shadows near Cato’s chambers, making their way toward the front of the palace.
“Show yourself,” she commands as she heads in their direction, voice reverberating in the quiet.
One of the figures stumbles and nearly falls, while the other barks out a laugh. Narrowing her gaze further, she’s able to see into the hoods of their cloaks and almost laughs: the bard and Cato.
Deodamnatus . She can’t call out to them again and risk waking the entire palace.
They’re just being fools. Loud, clumsy fools.
No doubt the bard convinced Cato he needed to drown his pain and sorrows in wine, more than happy to join him.
And though she doesn’t approve of the method, Cato deserves to mourn what happened today however he needs to.
Unfortunately for her, she can’t allow him to do it without an armed escort.
“Don’t move,” she whispers loudly at them, hoping the empty palace will carry her voice. Though that doesn’t guarantee they’ll listen to her.
Hurrying back inside her room, she shucks her nightdress, hurriedly pulls on her undergarments, and throws a tunic over her head. After haphazardly lacing up her sandals, she grabs her old wool cloak and the belt with her sheathed dagger from its place near her bed, and flies out the door.
She glances at Marcus’s door as she finishes tightening her belt and ties her cloak around her neck, wondering if she should wake him. But he distrusts the bard the same if not more than she does, and might try to stop them from going altogether.
As expected, the two men have barely made it outside the front doors by the time she catches up to them. She maintains her distance, planning to keep a watchful eye rather than join in on their commiseration.
Dru steps into the night behind them. The two guards stationed at the front of the palace move out of the shadows to stop them—Dru holds up her hands, waving them on only once Cato and the bard have passed.
They do as she asks, following at a distance.
Cato and the bard stagger their way into the center of Notevole, cracking nonsensical jokes and laughing uncontrollably before promptly shushing each other.
Thankfully, their hoods remain over their heads, especially given how many Phaedrans appear to be taking advantage of the night life in Anziano.
Watching them together, they’re better friends than she realized. Why the bard, of all people? Their apparent friendship goes beyond Cato being jealous of his simple life or the bard treating Cato like any other man. The bard has charmed his way into the king’s heart, and Cato’s happier for it.
Although more people roam the streets at this hour than she cares for, the night is dark and the lanterns are barely lit—which is lucky. The less people who might recognize Cato, the better.
Snaking through a few alleyways, they lurch in the direction of the next tabernae.
No, not tabernae , she realizes. Women and men dressed in nothing but sheer robes can be seen through the doorways, enticing passersby to spend their coin inside.
The king can’t risk being caught in a place like that.
With no other choice, she grabs both of them by the shoulders. “What are you two doing?”
They whirl on her, the bard flinching back while Cato puts up his fists like he’s ready to fight. When he sees it’s her, he tucks in his chin sheepishly, hands falling back down to his sides.
“Drusilla!” the bard yells. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked you first.”
“Drinking,” the bard admits, right as Cato claims, “Nothing.”
They glance between each other, switch each other’s answers, then fall into a fit of laughter.
Dru rolls her eyes, knowing they’re too drunk to notice. “You know you can’t enter a brothel. I understand wanting to forget what happened today at the trial, but not like that.”
“Now why’d you have to go and bring up the trial?” the bard slurs. “I just got him drunk enough to forget it.”
Dru sighs, realizing she can’t leave Cato in the care of the bard now. A long night awaits me.
“Right, let’s go drown our sorrows then.”
They both stare at her like she’s lost her head.
“You came here to forget,” Dru explains. “I understand that need. So, let’s go forget. Together. Safely.”
“I know you,” a man interrupts them, stepping out of the brothel and speaking directly to her .
Not just any man: Sacerdos Matteo.
She shouldn’t be surprised to find him coming out of a brothel after preaching purity in the eyes of the gods. All the holy men she’s known have been hypocrites; why should one of the heads of their religion be any different?
She knows they’ve never met, but pinches her hood around her face all the same. “You’re mistaken.”
“You’re one of the competitors,” he says, his eyes glazed over. “But I know you from the Imperium. I just… can’t place you.”
Fear rips at her stomach. Ambitus and Blaise must not share the competitor list with him. By all accounts, he should know her as Sabina. Yet this man watched her compete today, believing her to be someone he knows from the Imperium.
“You’re mistaken, sir.”
Cheeks reddened from overconsumption of wine, he narrows his gaze. “I don’t believe I am. I never forget a face.”
She’s never going to win this argument. And the less time he spends looking at her face, the better.
She turns to her companions. “Let’s go.”
Cato smiles gratefully, and they move away from the brothel, the bard leading the way.
The heat of the sacerdos’s stare follows her until they turn a corner.
Four cups of wine later for Cato and the bard—and two for Dru—they finish their drinks in the earliest hours of the morning.
They found this tabernae on the outskirts of town, close to the sea and farther from the palace than she would’ve liked.
But the clientele—mostly Durevolian, it appears—keep to themselves, and the lanterns glow dim enough that Dru can barely see her companions seated at the same table. No one should recognize them.
When they came in, they immediately found a corner to sit in so Cato could keep himself well-hidden. His guards sat on the opposite side of the room, hands on the hilts of their swords.
After Dru went up to order their drinks, the bard took the opening to dominate the conversation. He told story after story of his exploits throughout the Imperium. Most of them don’t seem plausible, but at least Cato was thoroughly distracted.
Now, with only the last sips of their drinks left, the bard turns to Dru.
“You haven’t spoken a word all night, and I won’t have it. You must tell us something interesting about yourself.”
She sits back. “Or what?”
“Or, I’ll refuse to leave this spot until you do.”
Cato straightens. “And I.”
Stellae . She’ll have to choose the lesser of two evils. Thinking of something innocuous to say, she beckons them closer. Both men lean in, ensuring they don’t miss this grand secret.
“When I was little, I used to run through the streets of my village naked.”
The bard rolls her eyes. “We all did that. Try again.”
“I didn’t do that,” Cato complains.
The bard places a hand over his chest. “That’s because you were a prince and weren’t allowed to participate in such vulgar activities.”
Cato pouts out his lower lip. “I should’ve been.”
The bard lifts his cup. “Agreed.”
Dru sighs. I need to give them something juicy that’s vague enough to get them off this topic. It’s likely they’ll forget it by morning anyway. She peers around her first, ensuring no one’s close by, then lowers her voice.
“Okay, but you can’t tell anyone, especially Marcus.”
They nod emphatically.
“When I joined the Faithless, Marcus was the first person to greet me. I immediately fell in love with him—as much as you can at that age—and was so distracted by his good looks, I tripped on my own feet and fell face-first into the mud.”
The two men howl with laughter. Dru sits back, satisfied. She could’ve told a lie and it wouldn’t have made any difference. But she doesn’t feel the need to lie to either of them. And despite her distrust for the bard, he’s been a good friend to Cato tonight.
Likely more than just tonight .
The bard was under no obligation to befriend Cato, yet he has. And his lack of duties—besides the spying—has allowed him to be there for Cato more often than her or Marcus. Despite the lingering suspicions of his of his motives, she’s grateful to him.
“Now I get to ask a question,” Dru starts. “What made you think it was a good idea to sneak out tonight, right after you were nearly murdered by one of your own people?”
“Futuere,” the bard swears, throwing his hands up.
Before Dru can retaliate, Cato puts his hand out.
“No, I’m glad she asked.” He regards her. “You and Marcus both have trouble understanding that not everyone grieves the same. You might think me out of my mind for coming here; that I’m too unconcerned for my own life after having just survived an assassination attempt. But this is how I grieve.”
He leans in. “Also, I never wanted to be king.”
“What?” Her voice comes out far too loud, and she glances around, finding no one paying them any mind. “What do you mean?”