34. Drusilla #2
Using the serving utensil to place one on her plate, she cuts into it with her fork, finding it stuffed with breadcrumbs, capers, pine nuts, and what appear to be currants.
Taking a bite, she’s met with the sour tastes of lemon zest and the capers, as well as the potent tang of garlic and the currants.
Ravenous from the day’s events, Dru eats in silence, giving her time to consider Alessandra’s words carefully.
All her life has been spent in the service of the Faithless.
After they rescued her, she felt it her duty to serve them.
Or… maybe, they made her feel as if she had no other choice.
She was so young then that even now she can’t be sure of her own mind.
No, that’s unfair , she decides, dropping the idea. She’s been given no reason to distrust the Faithless.
On the other side of the table, she finds the bard holding the attention of all the visiting Phaedrans.
Dru realizes she hasn’t seen him in days and wonders what he’s been up to—if he’s been spying for the king all this time or if he’s merely been taking advantage of Anziano’s hospitality.
When he turned out to be right about the lion, a part of her softened toward him, as much as she wanted to deny it.
After saving Alessandra’s life, and being there for Cato in his darkest moments, she finds she can’t hold her first assumptions about him in her heart like she did before.
Grinning, he says something, and his audience throws back their heads in laughter, a few clapping their hands. Dru shakes her head. She’s never been able to hold an audience like that. Only Ovi could .
Oh Ovi. With so much going on, she’s barely had time to think about her lost friend.
How different would things be if Ovi were with her?
She would’ve told you to make a move on Marcus your first night here .
Her heart aches at the thought of her. Things would’ve been more bearable with her at Dru’s side, simpler to ease into.
Living without Ovi has been one of the hardest trials she’s ever endured.
With little time in between, the main course comes out: a bowl of ingredients she doesn’t recognize.
She leans over close to Alessandra. “What is this?”
“We call it spaghetti con i ricci di mare.”
Dru blinks. “I don’t know what any of that means.”
A laugh bursts out of the regina vedova, quieting the conversations around them.
Alessandra clears her throat, collecting herself.
“The yellow strings on the bottom are formed from wheat and water, sliced thinly with tools—a new Durevolian tradition. The meat on top is sea urchin mixed with olive oil and ripe tomatoes.” Dru must make a face because she assures her, “It’s good, I promise. ”
Dru eyes it, then picks up a bit of everything with her fork and takes a bite.
The urchin certainly tastes of the sea, but it’s been cooked perfectly.
The spaghetti, as the queen called it, is slightly chewy with an edge of toughness but pairs well with the sauce.
They have nothing like this in the Imperium , she thinks, knowing she’ll miss it once she leaves this place and returns to the Faithless.
The bard continues to entertain the masses between bites, but after all that food, it’s all Dru can do to keep her eyes open. If she survives tomorrow, she’ll sleep for a week.
When the dessert comes out—soft crescents of dough filled with what she hopes to be something sweet—Sabina leans down over her shoulder.
“The Tredici high priestess wants to see you after dinner.”
Dru glances up, finding the head of the Tredici seated almost directly across from her. Her attention is on Marcus, whose place beside Cato means she likely hasn’t looked in their direction the entire dinner.
“Why?” she whispers.
“She wouldn’t say. All I know is she’ll be in the king’s garden at the sun’s setting.”
Dru nods, taking a long sip of her wine and forgetting about the dessert in front of her, stomach turning.
She doesn’t hold the holy woman in the best regard, given that she watched the Viverna burn her and did nothing to stop it.
She did heal you afterward , she reminds herself.
A small consolation. She also shouldn’t be surprised that the woman knows of the garden’s existence, though still feels uncomfortable that she does.
After another healthy pour of wine, the entire dinner party begins to disband. Many of them—mostly Phaedran—decide to pay a visit to one of the local tabernaes, with the bard as their source of entertainment. Dru can’t be bothered, and the Durevolians seem to feel the same.
Marcus has already vacated his seat, and the priestess seems to have disappeared as well. Only Cato and his mother remain.
Glancing out the window, the sun is nearly set and pinks and oranges highlight the few lingering clouds, the servants already lighting the lamps in the courtyard.
I suppose I should see what she wants .
The evening breeze from the sea pulls at her hair as she makes her way down the path she knows all too well to the king’s garden.
She finds the high priestess standing before the bay leaf plant.
The purple color of her dress is muted, reminding Dru of the darker lavender growing wild on the cliffsides.
Unlike at the festival, she wears no makeup on her face, and the loose waves of her golden hair have been set free.
She speaks without acknowledging Dru. “It’s said the holy women in Grecia chew on bay leaves before divining the future.”
“And what about your method of divination? ”
Brushing one of the leaves with the tips of her fingers, she turns to Dru. “We talk to the earth.”
“Good thing it talks back.”
She smiles gently, as if she pities Dru. “I know you don’t believe in it, but it is indeed a good thing, Drusilla.” She turns. “Come, walk with me.”
“Where?” Dru asks, refusing to move.
“Not everything requires your knowledge. Sometimes, you must trust.”
“Why would I trust you? You let the Viverna burn me,” she reminds her.
She peers over her shoulder. “And where is it that you think we’re going?”
The high priestess walks down the path toward the arena, leaving Dru to follow her or not. I suppose that’s answer enough , she thinks, unable to quell her curiosity.
“I never asked your name,” Dru says, catching up with her, “since you seem to know mine so well.”
“Ginevra.”
A memory tickles on the edges of Dru’s mind, but she ignores it.
“Was there something you wanted to tell me, Ginevra?”
The high priestess looks over at her, her gilded eyes alight with fire in the fading sun. “First, I want to tell you that tomorrow will be the most difficult day you’ve faced in all your life. Emotionally, it will try to destroy you.”
Dru blinks. “I appreciate the confidence the night before a deadly gladiator competition, but I’ve prepared myself for that.”
“You cannot prepare yourself for this. Yet there will be many things to look forward to, some sooner than you think.”
Marcus , she can’t help thinking.
“Second, I feel I owe it to you to tell you what I know of your mother.”
Dru nearly trips over a loose stone. “My mother? What could you possibly know about my mother? ”
“She told you that you were born in Obliviscatur, before the Phaedran occupation.” She says it as a statement of fact, not a question. Dru nods anyway. “Though that was not technically a lie, she didn’t tell you the whole truth. Your mother fled this country when she was pregnant with you.”
Her head grows fuzzy, and she’s not sure what to say except, “Why?”
“The Tredici are not allowed to bear children; the offspring of those with our gift can be unpredictable. Our initiation comes in fire, not blood, and only those with roots in Anziano are chosen by the gods to bear the burden of our magic.”
An heir born from fire, not blood . That’s what the priestess’s vision at the festival told her, though it still doesn’t make sense. Heir to what, the Tredici?
Once they reach the arena, they skirt around it, taking a narrow path past the entrance of the competitor barracks to the beach.
“So, my mother fled this place to bear me in Obliviscatur, a small country which was already being threatened by the Imperium? The place where she would die?”
“I do not know what happened to her after she left beyond where she planned to go, but I do know you’re the daughter of a high priestess.”
A high priestess? “How can you possibly tell?”
“Because I knew her. But, also, our humming magic would have never called to you. Neither would you have survived the Viverna’s fire,” she says plainly. “It’s how all of us were brought into the fold: by being burned with the ancient dragon’s flames and healing with the help of the plumeria ashes.”
They pause at the shoreline, the sound of the waves barely above a whisper. Ginevra places a hand on Dru’s arm. “I knew Beatrice’s child would return someday, but I didn’t expect it under these circumstances.”
“Why tell me all this now?” Dru asks, head spinning.
“Because you need to know that your earned skills aren’t your only weapons. You likely possess humming magic, same as King Cato, same as me and my priestesses.”
Stellae, that’s impossible. Even if I do possess it somehow, I won’t be able to harness it in time for tomorrow.
Dru sighs, unable to wrap her head around the idea of her mother being one of the Tredici, much less the possibility of her possessing any sort of magic. “I thank you for your honesty. I’m not sure it’ll make a difference tomorrow, but I appreciate it all the same.”
They walk along the beach, on a path she knows well, toward the black cave.
She glances over at the spot in the sea where she said goodbye to Ovi and cast out their last order together.
Tears ache behind her eyes, wishing she had the support of her best friend on the night she learned the truth about her mother.
Halting in front of the cave, Ginevra turns to her. “One last thing, before you go inside.”