Chapter VI
VI.
Torren
The Revelry ends without me figuring out why Verhardt wanted to hide the mal omen, but it also concludes without the prophesized calamity, so I suppose that’s a win.
As I fall into my bed, though, I’m not thinking about the Senate Leader.
I’m picturing the flush on the High Priestess’s face when I said she didn’t belong on the Senate floor.
I’ve yet to understand why she would flee to an empty room.
I followed her, thinking she was secretly meeting someone, but as I watched, she seemed…
human, like the celebration was too much for her.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was on the verge of panic.
But Kerasea Vestal is as elite as any of them—why would the party bother her?
Bird signs and unanswered questions haunt my dreams, but I’m not down for long before someone knocks loudly on a door. An inexperienced sentry must’ve accidentally locked the barracks’ entrance. The watchman will get it.
Groggy, I roll over to return to slumber. My hand spreads over the rough bedsheet, yet I’m not thinking about cotton but a liquid-gold dress. I curl my hand in a fist, pulling.
Two more knocks. I open my eyes. That’s not the front door. Someone is at my door. Sweet divine, what time is it?
“Praetorian!” a deep voice calls.
I return to reality and release the sheets from my fist, shaking my head. What was I just thinking?
My body aches, but I roll out of bed and toss on a shirt. It’s barely dawn, but duty comes first.
Someone bangs on the door again, insistent, as I pad over the cold, tiled floor. I can’t imagine anything that could be this urgent, but I answer.
“Yes?” I rub the sleep from my eyes.
Two sentries stand at attention. They salute me together. I give them a half-hearted salute back. It’s too early for this.
The hall lamps are still lit, the flames reflecting off the bald heads of the men. They’re brothers, twin sons of an olive oil merchant, but between thousands of sentries in the capital and the early hour, I can’t recall their names.
The mouser of the barracks hisses at us as he goes by. I have snuck chicken gizzards to that black cat for years now, and he still doesn’t like a single soul here. Myself included.
I smile as he slinks down the hallway. I suppose I like that he can’t be bought.
“Praetorian, we are sorry to disturb you, but you are needed in the Forum,” one of the sentries says.
I return my focus to them. “Why is that?”
“Senator Verhardt may have been found.”
I yawn. Julian and a cadre of sentries escorted the Senate Leader back to his villa at the end of the Revelry. “I was unaware he was missing.”
The brothers exchange glances. They’re not identical, but they have the same mannerisms and the same large, slightly vacant brown eyes.
“Found dead, sir,” one explains. “Murdered in the Forum.”
His words wake me like falling into a cold plunge pool.
“I’ll be with you shortly.”
I hurry into my bathroom, splash water on my face, and don the armor of the Praetorian.
As I dress, my heart pounds, but I hold out hope they’re wrong.
It’s not possible that the Senate Leader was murdered.
No senator has been killed in Pryor in twenty years, and I just saw him a few hours ago.
Verhardt has constant security around him—but then again, so had the Elusian king. And he was capable of great magic.
No one is untouchable. I know that for a fact.
But the conclave is set to begin at midnight. The seven senators will sequester for a week in the palace on Mount Ara. If Verhardt was murdered or even missing, the timing can’t be a coincidence. Someone wanted to affect the laws of our land—to strike at the heart of the republic.
Someone succeeded.
And that means I failed.
My stomach turns as the implications swirl inside my head. But the sentries said “may have been found.” Why?
“Where is the body?” I ask as I step out of my quarters.
“On the altar of peace,” one of them replies before clearing his throat. “Mostly.”
I stride out of the barracks with the twins in tow. It’s dawn, but just barely; the sky is lit up in streaks of pinks and purples.
I furrow my brow at the word “mostly.” I want clarification, but we’re well on our way there, heading through the quiet Forum.
We reach the altar in no time. Julian stands on the steps, speaking with General Hadrian.
His uncle is a fair man, honest and hardworking.
He’s a little shorter than Julian with curly brown hair and a well-trimmed beard.
Hadrian is thirty years my senior and a brilliant military strategist. He won key battles as a young general just before the Senate ended the Hundred Year War.
“General, Commander,” I say. “Where is the senator?”
Julian points. “Here. Well…what’s left of him.”
He steps to the side and there, on the sculpted white altar, is the headless body of a man.
River of Death. I now understand why the sentries said he “may have” been found.
The victim is naked and splayed out, robbing him of any dignity in death.
He is the correct height and build, but it’s impossible to confirm that it is, in fact, Senator Verhardt with the head missing.
The torso is cut open, and all of his organs are gone, leaving nothing but an empty, bloody cavity.
He must’ve been butchered here on the altar. That’s the only explanation for the lack of a trail with this much blood. But it would’ve been incredibly bold to eviscerate the Senate Leader in the Forum during the Revelry.
“That could be anyone,” I finally say.
I don’t mean it. I’m just hoping against hope that it’s someone else.
General Hadrian gestures with his hand out, giving me permission to investigate. While I only report to the Senate Council, as General of the Legions of Pryor, Hadrian has seniority over just about everyone, and my position is technically still in the legions.
If I keep my position.
Cold dread claws at me, but I move closer, inspecting the scene. I focus, my senses sharpening until there’s just the body and me. Not the republic, not the ramifications. Just the evidence.
There’s no off odor to him, just the copper scent of blood. No discoloration or obvious signs of poisoning on his skin, although his face would tell me more. The cut at the neck is remarkably smooth and clean—meaning his head was taken off in one professional motion with an axe or sword.
The corpse is still slightly warm to the touch. With his chest open like this, that means he was murdered recently—within the last hour, two at maximum.
I catch the gleam of a stone on the man’s right hand. I turn his wrist and slowly close my eyes. It’s the emerald ring of Pryor, once the king’s and now worn by Verhardt on his little finger. The diamond ring of the republic is missing, but there’s no doubt that this is Verhardt.
A thousand curses. Someone butchered the Senate Leader on the fucking altar of peace. It’s a loud message, but to and from whom?
I stand and inspect the base of the altar, praying for a clue, a lead. There’s nothing. No bloody hand- or footprints. No blood splatter aside from the cascade by the neck. And no weapon.
“Send men to Verhardt’s villa,” I command.
“Already done,” Julian says. “He is not at home. Lady Verhardt was the one who reported him missing when she awoke, but nothing was awry at their residence—no sign of struggle or break-in. Initial indications are that he left willingly or he was unconscious at the time.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Why wasn’t I notified?”
“Because he was immediately found…we think.”
I nod. Without the head, we can’t fully confirm the identity, but there’s enough evidence to say it is the Senate Leader.
I finish my preliminary inspection and stand by the general and Jules.
The weight of the murder sits heavily among us, but I try to focus on what needs to be done.
I will have to solve this case and deliver the killer to even stand a chance at keeping my position.
And I will have to explain how this happened under my watch.
First things first. We need to set up a perimeter and search for witnesses, interview Lady Verhardt and their entire household, and inspect their residence.
Something may have been missed by the sentries.
The smallest clue can be the largest lead, and I don’t trust anyone else to conduct an investigation of this magnitude.
As I consider the fallout, Julian wears his normal pleasant expression, but General Hadrian is off. There are creases in his brow, and they aren’t from the state of the body. The murder is unpleasant, but he’s seen and done far worse.
We both have.
“What’s troubling you, General?” I ask.
The general strokes his beard. “Other than the murder of the Senate Leader?”
I nod, because I know him well enough to be certain there is more.
He gives me a small smile, but then it fades quickly in the mire of this situation. “Last night, the Kingdom of Arthago incurred into our land, taking more of the sixth province. The Council will now decide if we acquiesce or go to war.”
Chills ripple against my skin. Julian had mentioned threats from the northern empire yesterday, and now Verhardt is dead. Could this all be the work of our greatest enemy?
“You think they had something to do with this?” Julian asks.
“It’s possible, especially considering the timing, but no, I doubt it,” Hadrian says. “Their king isn’t above assassinations, but we’ve bloodlessly ceded land every time they’ve incurred. This is something else. I think someone was seizing an opportunity—or making one.”
He stares at Verhardt’s chest and strokes his beard. I catch the slight twitch of his left eye.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It looks… I don’t know… It almost seems Elusian, with how clean everything is,” Hadrian says. “He is completely disemboweled, and those cuts don’t appear natural.”