32. Drusilla
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DRUSILLA
D ru dreams of falling off that cliff and plunging to her death in the Multum Sea at least a dozen times before it finally keeps her awake.
When she returned to the palace after the third trial, she immediately downed a vial of the medicine, unwrapped her arms, and soaked for a long time in the bath.
All her wounds—her legs, her hands, her arms—stung from the warm water, but it reminded her that she’s alive.
Although these trials have certainly done their best to try to kill her.
She asked Sabina to bring dinner to her room, as she didn’t wish to see anyone.
Especially Marcus. What she did with the black rider was stupid—not because he died, but because she nearly killed herself in the process.
She could’ve found another way to get rid of him.
She took that risk simply because she could and she regrets it.
Looking down at the shallow punctures already healing on her palms, she can’t help recalling how Marcus held her on the edge of the cliff after pulling her up.
The way he buried his face into her hair, how his grip around her trembled slightly…
It felt like he was more than just glad to find her al ive.
She’s been up for some time now thinking about it, watching the darkness of the night fade with the coming morning. She slept more than enough, having passed out before the sun set the night before, but she finds she’s tired despite all the rest.
Closing her eyes, she recalls his nearness when he told her of his plan for the race, mere moments before it began.
How close his lips were to the sensitive skin beneath her ear, how her body yearned for his.
For that one moment, the race didn’t matter, and her and Marcus were the only two people there.
She flinches at the gentle knock on her door. Sabina’s never knocked softly once in all the time she’s been here, so it must be someone else.
What she doesn’t expect is to find Marcus on the other side.
Her body heats at what she was thinking about him just now. Dressed in a sleeveless tunic, his dark hair is pulled back from the nape of his neck, blue eyes bright and clear.
His gaze widens at the sight of her. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead, his gaze rakes down her face, her neck, all the way down her sheer nightdress. Heat radiates from below her stomach and up her neck.
She crosses her arms over her chest and feigns a shiver. Marcus swallows and meets her gaze. Whatever his reason for being here, she’s more than glad to see him—she needs to apologize for what happened.
“Marcus, I’m sorry for nearly killing myself yesterday; it was stupid and reckless.
With him so far back in the race, we probably could’ve outrun if we rode hard enough.
Instead, I took a risk I didn’t need to.
” She takes a deep breath. “And then you had to save me from meeting his fate, which I can never repay.”
He watches her a moment and she wishes he’d say something.
Finally, he shakes his head. “You’re right, it was reckless, and stupid as well. But you never need to repay me for saving your life,” he tells her, his voice rough. “Especially when you do most of the saving yourself. ”
“Thank you.” She breathes out a sigh of relief. “Now, to what do I owe the honor of your presence this morning?”
He cracks a smile. “I couldn’t sleep and thought you might want to go on a run with me.”
She leans a hip on the threshold. “I think I saw enough of the island yesterday.”
That garners a small, painful smile from him. “You’ve never seen anything like what I want to show you.”
She bites the inside of her lip, debating if he means more than just the scenery.
“Besides, we both need a distraction before the final trial tomorrow.”
He couldn’t be more right about that. Stellae, the last trial—a trial I might not get to see the end of.
“When you say it like that, you’re not giving me much of a choice.”
His gaze deepens. “I didn’t plan on giving you a choice.”
She squints at him playfully, secretly pleased that he’s not making it easy to tell him no. “As you command, Praetor Marcus.”
Then she shuts the door in his face.
Searching through the trunk at the foot of her bed, she manages to find a tunic not made of silk, sown from what she believes to be finely-threaded wool.
The material feels slightly scratchy on her fingertips.
She’s not sure how breathable it’ll be, but given the linen tunic she came here in was likely incinerated by Sabina, she doesn’t have any other options.
After lacing up her sandals and pulling back her hair with a strap, she opens the door, finding the threshold empty. He must be waiting for me at the front . She makes her way across the courtyard, passing Cato’s chambers. The doors hang open and his bed is empty, the curtains pulled back.
“Where’s the king off to so early?” she asks once she meets Marcus at the palace doors.
“He’s spending the day with his mother, down at the temple,” Marcus answers, a bit too quickly. Dru sobers, knowing precisely why and wishing she didn’t.
Pulling open the bronze doors, they’re greeted by the shadowed mountains and silent olive grove, thick fog clinging to the land.
It softens the sounds of the morning, of the birds in the trees and the crashing of the ocean waves.
We’re the only people insane enough to be awake right now.
It’s just as well: not running into anyone could not be more ideal at the moment.
She holds her hand out. “After you.”
He flashes her a grin, then takes off past his own guards and down the steps.
Unwilling to hide her own giddiness, she hurries after him, careful not to slip as she runs down the slickened marble.
The moisture from the fog clings to her skin, sticky to the touch.
But she knows she’ll appreciate the coolness once they get moving.
She catches up to Marcus quickly, though only because he let her.
He runs nearly every morning, and the last time she purposefully went on a run was before she took her oaths.
He used to make her and Ovi run laps whenever they talked during his training sessions.
To them, it was a punishment. But for Marcus, there must be something he loves about it to continue doing it all these years.
They dash through the olive grove, passing by the dark red, golden-stitched tents of the sleeping Phaedrans. The Imperium soldiers on duty watch them pass, their gazes following them until Marcus veers to the left, leading them into the wilds of Anziano.
They duck under tree limbs and leap over mangled roots, skirting along the sheer cliffs when the path takes them close to the ocean.
“Is this the route you take every morning?” Dru asks, embarrassed by how breathless her words come out.
Marcus, however, doesn’t sound winded at all. “I haven’t been this way in months. But it’s beautiful this time of year.”
She wants to ask more questions, but it’s all she can do to breathe in and out while keeping up with him.
A sea of purples and yellows and oranges blur past them, floating atop the waves of emerald and gold.
Natural steps formed by the roots of the oak trees encroach on the path, helping guide them down a slight hill.
The sky above them holds none of the rain clouds from the race yesterday, leaving only a pale blue.
Dru feels her legs grow stronger beneath her, her muscles remembering their training as Marcus leads them through a trickling creek.
Water splashes up onto her calves through her sandals, cooling her down as she navigates the rocks carefully so she doesn’t twist an ankle.
Despite the sun staying concealed behind the mountains, sweat pops up on her brow. It’s going to be a warm day.
They pass beneath a canopy of trees that grew over the worn path long ago, spitting them out into a small glade. Marcus stops, barely breathing hard. Meanwhile, Dru bends over to place her hands on her thighs, struggling to draw breath.
Chuckling softly, Marcus walks back over to her.
“Have you forgotten everything I taught you?” He brushes her elbows, and she straightens. “Place your arms above your head so your chest opens up more and you can breathe easier.”
He guides her elbows up, and she sets her forearms on top of her head.
The warmth of his hands on her sends a pleasant shiver down her spine, planting an ache deep inside her.
This close to him, the scars she saw at the tabernae in Nusquam become more pronounced.
For the first time since noticing them, she wonders how he got them; if he suffered; if he killed the people who gave them to him.
And then, she wants to press her fingers against each one, as if doing so will erase them.
When he doesn’t step back, she swallows. “Are we close?”
He pauses, searching her gaze before backing away. “Not yet.”
She huffs. “Stellae.”
“I wanted to show you this first.”
He faces the direction of what she believes to be the palace though she can’t be sure. Until she follows his gaze.
The thick oak trees part to allow in the coast. Blue water, lightening as the sun crests over the mountains, laps onto the white sand.
In the distance, the palace shines in the sunlight atop its craggy plateau, the limestone and marble sparkling.
Dru didn’t think it could be any more beautiful, but when the light hits it from this vantage point, it’s otherworldly.
“You don’t see things like this in the Imperium,” Marcus murmurs at her side. She merely nods, words evading her.
Her mother used to tell her stories of a bright white palace hanging over cool blue water. She didn’t notice it until now, but from here, Cato’s palace looks exactly like the one she imagined when her mother told her stories about it.
He grabs her hand and squeezes. “Come on.”