Chapter 2
II.
Torren
The roar of the crowd rises in my ears, begging for blood, and I’m happy to oblige.
My opponent sways in front of me, looking but not seeing. He fought well, but this match was over before it began. The man comes from the Southside, the rich end of the capital.
He’d tried to hide his noble status, but it was obvious from his tailoring and bearing. For all the advantages they have south of the Tiger River, they can’t fight like the Northside. It’s not really their fault—they’ve never had their lives depend on their hands.
I shift my stance, ready to issue the final blow. Another win. Another knockout. Victory in the fight ring won’t change my past, but it’s still something.
Sweat stings as it drips down my forehead into my eyes.
I blink twice, and then everything slows.
The wraps around my hands suddenly don’t feel as tight; my heart beats slower.
I bounce on the balls of my feet, my legs nearly weightless with each movement.
One. Two. I draw a breath, ready for my fist to collide with the man’s cheek.
He’ll hit the mat with a thud, and I will be declared the champion—as I have dozens of times before.
Nothing can dull this moment.
“Praetorian! Praetorian,” a panicked voice shouts from the crowd. I clench my jaw.
Son of a jackal—well, almost nothing.
With stiff shoulders, I turn at my title, although I already recognized the voice.
It’s Antinous, Clerk of the Senate Council, along with a cadre of armor-plated sentries.
Antinous is a small man with round spectacles who has never seen the inside of a ring in his life.
Judging by the nervous way he shifts around as he waits, I’m not sure he’s even been this close to one.
“The Senate is awaiting you, Praetorian. The Revelry will start within the hour.”
Which I knew. I had calculated plenty of time for a quick match, but this nobleman surprised me with his refusal to give up. I’ve knocked him to the mat twice, and he’s still fighting.
For a moment, I consider ignoring Antinous long enough to put this nobleman down one final time. But duty makes my fists too heavy to swing.
I sigh as I raise my arm to forfeit the match, even though conceding feels like pushing sand under my skin. Responsibility comes first for the Senate’s protector, as it must. The needs of the republic are greater than any one man’s pride.
The crowd in the stands gasps because I’ve never once been beaten or forfeited. They want to jeer, especially those who bet on a knockout, but they don’t dare. Not with ten sentries and the Senate Clerk standing here. And certainly not with my reputation.
The referee lifts my opponent’s hand in the air. No one applauds.
I shrug on my cotton shirt and button it. The fabric sticks to my sweat and the man’s blood speckled across my chest, but I planned to bathe and change before the Revelry anyway.
Antinous smiles up at me. He’s around average height for a man, so a head shorter than me, and maybe half my weight when he’s soaking wet. I gesture for him to go first as I catch Julian’s blond hair in the crowd. He falls in line beside me, and I knock fists with my closest friend.
“It was a good fight, Tor,” Julian says.
I glance at him and raise my eyebrows. “Was it?”
I wait for a reply, but he’s already smiling to men he knows and women he’d like to. We’re opposites, he and I. He’s a few inches shorter and less muscular, and he has blond hair where mine is ebony, but it’s our personalities that are diametrically opposed. For example, people like him.
“Your fights never are.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you still manage to con the upper crust out of money and into the ring.”
I shrug. There’s never a shortage of overconfident men.
Julian is also one of those upper-crust nobles from a storied family in the Southside, but I like him in spite of all that. In spite of myself, I suppose.
I run my hands through my short hair as we walk the paved stone streets past the noisy hawkers in the sprawling market and the quiet, empty arena.
“Are the men ready?” I ask.
He nods, but he’s delayed a moment, distracted by a pair of pretty brown eyes and a green sash. I groan. I swear women will be the death of him.
I idle, and two small, dirty children pull at my pants leg.
One look and I know they’re from the Northside.
Beggar children cross over the Palatine Bridge to reach the deeper pockets here.
It’s a punishable offense, seeking alms across the river, but they appear to be no more than four and six years old.
I toss them a few coppers, pretending they fell from my pocket.
Julian catches me, glowing with happiness as he adds silver coins to their little hands. With his money, they’ll be fed for a month. There were days I could only wish for that kind of blessing. Memories of hunger pangs stir in my stomach, and I shake them off.
I clear my throat and look away from the children. “Your report, Commander.”
“Yes, of course,” he says. “All sentries are on duty, Praetorian.”
The Capital Commander smirks as he inclines his head at me. He uses my title because he knows the formality annoys me—at least when it’s from him. Julian is one of the few who still views me as a person, not just the Senate’s fearsome watchdog and brutal investigator.
I keep walking.
“You seem particularly surly today,” he says. “Which is no small feat for you.”
I stare straight ahead at the towering white marble buildings of the Forum in the distance, each a marvel of civilization, from the towers to the hanging gardens to the shimmering spire. “I am but a ray of sunshine in the dusk.”
The corner of his mouth lifts as I quote one of my favorite poets, then he taps his chin. “Let’s see, what’s bothering you…lately? I know you don’t exactly appreciate the upcoming night of sin because to you, it’s just more paperwork.”
He’s right—the Revelry is a headache. What started as a celebration of the end of an eternal war and a magical tyrant has become a night of sin.
Most people just drunkenly revel, but some take it too far and think all crime is legal.
It is not, but there are always those looking to give in to darker impulses, and it is our job to stop them.
As if proving my point, a man wanders by wearing little more than a fig leaf. Already deep in his cups, he’s spilling wine in the street. He almost collides with a dignified couple, but they all just laugh it off.
I shake my head and continue on. “Nothing is bothering me.”
“You’re the republic’s worst liar,” Julian says.
I draw a breath and turn to stare daggers at him without breaking stride.
“Oh, those blue pools the ladies love,” he says, chuckling.
I roll my eyes. He really is the worst best friend I could have.
Sometimes, like right now, I regret protecting him the day we met, but he’s also my only real friend.
I assume this is what it’s like to have a younger brother—to love someone as much as you’re irritated by them.
The gods blessed me with being an only child.
Well, aside from my half sisters, but they’re far younger than I am, and we’ve lived entirely different lives.
“But you hate the Revelry and all of this every year,” he continues. “So why grumpier about tonight— Oh.” He smiles like a cat cornering a broken-winged bird. “Never mind.”
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, his hazel eyes innocent. He’s not innocent at all.
We enter the Forum, and I glance at the clusters of citizens already gathering in the huge, open courtyard. The space is surrounded by every major civic building and temple on all sides, so it’s a natural public gathering place on a good day. Tonight, there will be an absolute mob.
I spare a quick glance at Jubilee Palace perched atop the snow-capped Mount Ara, high above us in the distance.
It was once the king’s pleasure palace, but now we use it to elect the Senate Leader and pass laws each year.
Starting tomorrow, I’ll be locked in there with the Council and someone far worse than a drunken mob.
My chest tightens, and I pick up my pace. I appreciate Julian’s grunt of annoyance as he matches my long strides. We pass the Republic Baths and the Library of Pryor as I head toward the barracks behind the armory.
Four years ago, when I was appointed as Praetorian, I was given the Villa de Armas, but I had no taste for that place. I keep my bed near the Forum, where I’m the most needed, not in a Southside villa like Julian.
Two sentries salute us as they hold open the doors to the barracks.
“Do you have something to tell me or are you just here to torment me?” I ask.
Julian’s smile fades. “Actually, I do.”
The change in tone catches my attention as we step into the tiled hall. I stop. We don’t have to go far—my rooms are first off the entrance. But Julian avoids being serious at all costs. This must be important.
I unlock the door, and we enter my apartment. My quarters are the most luxurious and spacious in the barracks, which isn’t saying much. Jules calls it a “grand hovel.” But I have a living space, a bedroom, and a private bath, which is all I need. I’ve lived with far less.
“There’s a rumor that the temple of truth received a mal omen today, and we have reports of a potential Arthagian incursion. I’m sure there won’t be a war—the Senate will roll over as per usual. Still, some in command are calling for the Revelry to be canceled.”
Jules is right. An incursion hardly matters, as we’ll cede land to them. Pryor will do anything to avoid another Hundred Year War, and the neighboring kingdom knows it.
Instead, I focus on the omen. Of course it’s the temple. Of course it involves her. I grip the doorknob in my fist.
“Oh, well, if the bird livers say it, it has to be true,” I mutter, flipping the lock.
Corrupt, powerful, and fraudulent, the temple should’ve been left in the past during the Crimson Night, along with the Elusian king’s bloodline, but it was the Faith who legitimized the Senate.
The morning after all the magical royals were slain, Osiris Vestal called the people to rally behind the Council.
The High Priest showed the frightened mob a golden liver and said that the god of truth favored a republic of equals.
He proclaimed that the Senate would lead the people to prosperity.
His actions cemented Pryor’s freedom from imperial rule, but ultimately, it was a deal with the underworld.
Now the temple holds nearly as much power as the Senate.
But while the Senate is the voice of the people, the temple only speaks for themselves.
“I’ll be joining you tonight,” Julian says, poking at my books near the armchair.
I raise my eyebrows. “You won’t be at your father’s soiree?”
Julian has had a complicated relationship with his father ever since the war—meaning, nearly his whole life—but Jules can’t resist a good party.
He sighs. “Not this year. Uncle Hadrian has ordered twice the guard in the Forum.”
Wonderful. Not only will I have to see the absolute last person I want to, but I’ll get to watch Julian fall in love with every half-naked woman who parades by.
The Capital officers are normally allowed to participate in the Revelry, and Julian’s father throws the second-largest celebration in the capital, but apparently, Jules will spend the night complaining about being on duty instead.
“Go get bathed or you’ll be late,” Julian says. “That’s not what you’re wearing, is it?”
He points to the armor on my sofa. I’ve shined the decorated steel to perfection, so I’m not sure why he’s frowning.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s the Revelry.” He gestures to himself, and I finally notice he’s in a white jacket fit for a ball, not service.
I throw up my hands in frustration. “Then fucking pick something. I don’t have time for this.”
His lips curl into a smile. “Yes, you wouldn’t want to keep the lady waiting.”
I swallow and look down at the ground before answering. “A thousand curses upon your soul.”
I stride out of the room and just barely resist slamming the door to the bath.
Julian laughs because he’s goaded me into a temper.
He’s right—about all of it—but there’s no need to tell him that.
I don’t enjoy the Revelry and, for the first time, Kerasea Vestal will be on the dais next to me.
Sharing the space with her father was bad enough. She’s worse.
A few months ago, Kerasea became the High Priestess of the temple of truth, and thus she is now a member of the Verity Guild—the three people tasked with deciding cases of high treason.
The only other member aside from myself and the temple is Pol Probus, the Chief Judge of the Ministry of Justice.
Citizens call us the Fates because the Verity Guild is the highest tribunal in the land.
And now Kerasea gets to be a part of that. Next week we will have our first case together—to decide the fate of Trajan Lowe, a high nobleman accused of raising a private army in the sixth province.
I grip the shower’s faucet. I’ve spent years carefully evading any interaction with her, but I can’t avoid her any longer.
There isn’t a person less deserving than her. Jules teases me because he thinks I’m secretly in love with her beauty, but I’m not. Spoiled, elitist, and heartless, Kerasea might be beautiful, but she’s ugly to her core.
Her haughty laugh still rings in my ears the same way her father’s scornful look is emblazoned in my mind.
I swore on the stars that day that I would ruin them the same way they did my family.
And while I know better than anyone how hard it is to topple the elite in Pryor, I will find a way to bring her to her knees.
But for now, I have to endure her.
Without waiting for the hot water, I plunge myself into the cold shower.
It’s going to be a long night.