Chapter V
V.
Kerasea
The party is already in full swing when we arrive at the terrace.
Gold-dusted musicians play as half-naked servants rush to refresh the goblets and plates of the glittering guests.
Patrons and benefactresses of the elite Southside families wear revealing attire while hiding their faces behind gold and silver masks.
This will turn into an orgy later. I only hope to be long gone by then.
Lady Verhardt rushes over with feathers in her gray hair and her cleavage on display. I quickly cede her husband’s arm and gracefully bow to them.
Now free, I have a moment to wonder why he asked me to hide the omen. I couldn’t do anything but agree, yet it feels like a trap.
I mindlessly bless people as I pass, walking with purpose, like I have somewhere to be. Only two other senators are present tonight, and they are each holding court with their own entourages.
Senator Eyo has yet another mistress with him; this one looks barely eighteen.
She fidgets with her brown ringlet curls and gnaws on her spice-plumped lips.
Eyo’s pale, noble features gleam in the lamplight as he studies her plunging neckline.
With thick black hair and chocolate brown eyes, he has the kind of handsomeness that’s striking at first but fades with familiarity.
He is younger for a senator at thirty-six, but his position isn’t surprising given the massive gold family crest pinned to his white blazer.
It’s his wife’s family with the real money, though.
He used her connections to win the seat of the second province and has amassed a fortune since.
On the other side of the veranda is Senator Medea, unmistakable as the only female member of the Council.
Medea was one of the original senators who killed the Elusian king.
Although she is sixty, her shoulder-length black hair is just turning gray with streaks of silver.
Blunt and no-nonsense, she has represented the sixth province from before Pryor was a republic, longer than I’ve been alive.
She has always reminded me of a tactically charming version of Priestess Mirial.
I greet both senators from a distance, with my hand over my heart. The four other senators of Pryor are no doubt in the capital, but they will meet us at Jubilee Palace on Mount Ara tomorrow night.
Servants pass around flutes of ice wine, and I take one just as Senator Verhardt raises his glass. The dignified crowd quiets at the rise of his bejeweled hand, the diamond ring of the republic sparkling on his index finger. It’s huge and cut into the same shape as our original borders.
“A toast—to twenty years of the republic and a thousand more to come,” he says.
“To the republic!” everyone replies.
The nobility fall over themselves to toast with the Senate Leader.
After everyone drinks, Verhardt moves to the edge of the veranda where a black velvet sack has been placed on the ledge of the stone railing.
He waves at the masses below us before raining fistfuls of gold coins down on the crowd.
Patrons typically entertain the commoners during the Revelry, but rarely are their displays this expensive.
The people are whipped into a frenzy, trying to catch the gold bullions. They chant his name, and the nobility applaud. I turn just in time to catch the hungry gaze of Senator Eyo and the dismissive frown of Senator Medea as they stare at Verhardt.
Not wanting to let my eyes linger on them, I look to the left and meet the Praetorian’s stare.
I’ve been looking at them, but he’s been staring at me for gods know how long.
I want to flee, but instead, I turn away and drain my wine flute, then take another.
The golden liquid is sweet, cold, and refreshing.
But it’s also strong.
I’m nearly done with my second glass before I realize it. At the same time, Senator Eyo makes his way to me. He has a full flute of ice wine and a glass of red wine. He offers me the flute.
“Thank you, Senator,” I say, my skin prickling as he ogles my neckline.
“Excellency.” He smiles, revealing straight teeth in his manicured beard.
He casually leans on the column near me. His eyes focus on my face as if I’m the only woman here, his young mistress, like his wife and children, apparently forgotten for now.
“Beautiful night for the Revelry,” he says. “The stars favor Pryor.” He looks up and then refocuses on me. “And the gods favor you, Excellency. I trust all is well at the temple.”
“Of course.” I take a long sip to cover the lie, even though I already feel the wine swimming through my head.
“We all miss your honored father, of course, but you have done an admirable job in his stead. It is no small accomplishment to follow in the footsteps of a giant.”
“Thank you. I hope to honor his memory,” I say.
Eyo looks on either side of us, then leans in closer. It’s designed to make me feel special, to hang on his every word. And even knowing it’s a game, I lean in, too.
“The Republic of Pryor is changing. Some want to live on past glory.” He eyes Verhardt before returning his gaze to me. “I focus on the future. On what Pryor could be—on truly serving the people and being the leadership they need. We are part of the new guard, you and I.”
“Oh?”
I try to follow his conversation, to anticipate where he is leading this, but my mind is blurring by the second. I didn’t eat supper, and the ice wine makes my pulse beat far too quickly. The night takes on a fuzziness at the edges.
“…change is as inevitable as war,” he says.
At least I think he does.
That couldn’t be what he said, though. Pryor does everything possible to avoid a war. I blink hard, trying to refocus. I need space to gather myself, because this is not the company nor place to be caught unaware.
“Would you pardon me, please?” I say, gesturing with my empty flute. “I promised the High Priest of the temple of protection that I would speak with him before he leaves.”
Senator Eyo frowns but slowly lifts his arm for me to pass. Even though he’s not overly tall, when he stands straight, he looms over me. “Of course, High Priestess. I’ll have a servant refresh your glass.”
Eyo snaps his fingers at the nearest servant and then eyes my body as I move past him.
I make my way through the leering crowd. Stares, perfumes, and laughter feel like they’re closing in on me. I focus on my steps, keeping them measured and graceful even as my legs ache to run. Silently, I curse this dress.
My father would never have worn something so ridiculous.
Heat rushes into my cheeks, and tears sting my eyes.
My father wouldn’t have done any of this.
He would’ve asked Verhardt why he wanted to hide the omen.
He wouldn’t have drunk too much around Senator Eyo.
He wouldn’t feel constantly in over his head.
He wouldn’t make mistake after mistake after mistake.
I’ve never missed him more or felt less ready to fill this role.
I break free of the crowd and take the stairs down to the darkened Senate floor.
Once I’m alone, I can breathe and untense my shoulders.
Everything is quiet in this space. The colored marble floor is illuminated by a beam of moonlight from the oculus, making the emblem of Pryor glow.
The republic is represented by seven blades fanned out with a snake wrapped around the hilts.
I stop and stare at the patinaed bronze seal.
I finally manage a deep breath for the first time since I left the temple.
I want to go back now. My father would return to the temple well before dawn, but I’m not sure what’s expected of me.
And I suppose that’s the problem—I am supposed to spiritually lead the people, but I don’t know what I’m doing.
It’s only a matter of time before everyone realizes I’m very much not my father.
I blow out a heavy sigh. I’m a fraud.
“They killed him right there, you know,” a voice says.
I jump and turn, putting my fingers over my lips to keep from screaming. My heart pounds as I recognize the Praetorian standing in the shadows. He followed—or found—me.
I swallow, forcing my heart out of my throat.
“So I’ve heard,” I say. Somehow my voice comes out as steady, my tone almost bored.
“They stabbed the king a hundred times, terrified of his Elusian-magic blood and his ability to heal himself. After all, he’d lived three hundred years and survived numerous attempts on his life. But all unjust power comes to an end. One way or another.”
The Praetorian steps out of the shadows and into the light. His eyes are just deep set enough that they’re the last things illuminated on his face. He’s attractive the way a knife’s gleaming edge begs to be touched.
Even in heels, I have to tip my head up to look him in the eyes. I feel too small, too breakable around him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
My limbs itch to flee, but I make myself hold still. I lift an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same.”
He smiles as he stops a step too close to me, invading my space, daring me to cede ground. I don’t. His lips part as if he’s considering telling me a secret, but nothing feels fake about this.
“I’m keeping a close watch on you.”
From the way he says it, I’m not sure if he’s worried that I’m in danger or that I am the danger. A shiver rolls down my spine.
“Why is that?” My pulse leaps in my neck, and I really wish I hadn’t finished those wine flutes. I feel his presence, his nearness too much.
His gaze traces slowly down my face to my neck and then up again. “Because you don’t belong here.”
My breath catches. He can’t know that. No, if he knew that, I’d be in Tullanium jail. Or tortured until my death in the arena. I mentally shake the thought away. He must be implying that I shouldn’t be High Priestess. My pride responds, steeling my spine.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“This room is closed.” He smiles. “And Senator Verhardt is looking for you. I can make excuses if you’re in over your head.”
Underworld take me.
I raise my chin and stare at him. “No, thank you, Praetorian.”
He smiles to himself before quickly donning his normal emotionless expression. Chiseled marble and nothing more.
I move to return to the terrace, but all six-three of the Praetorian stands in my way. I think about slinking around him, but no—I am the High Priestess of the temple of truth. He’s the one who should give way to me. He is the one who doesn’t belong among civilized people.
With my mind made up, I step to him. He doesn’t move, so I brush against him.
He stiffens as my dress slides along his suit.
I stare him in the eyes. He smells like snowfall in the woods, and unexpected sparks pool in my stomach as time slows.
I can feel every beat of my heart, and I can almost hear his pulsing with mine.
His eyes narrow, but he yields, moving just enough for me to pass.
I’m nearly by him when he reaches out and grabs my wrist. He doesn’t hurt me, but there’s unmistakable power in his grip. My skin burns where he touches it. I inhale sharply, then raise my eyebrows. He immediately releases me and turns away.
I force myself to walk normally as I leave the Senate floor, but my knees and hands shake. What was that? Why did he follow me? And why did I like being caught?
I’m never drinking ice wine again.