Chapter 10
X.
Kerasea
We’ve nearly reached Jubilee Palace by the time Mirial finishes lecturing me. She hasn’t treated me like a High Priestess on this carriage ride and honestly, I’ve enjoyed it.
“You jeopardized the entire Faith and the very future of Pryor itself,” she says.
Well, “enjoyed” is a strong word.
Finally silent, Mirial sits back and folds her arms. My chambermaid, Zel, blows out a relieved breath.
Poor Zel. She’s not known where to look for the past four hours as we’ve traveled from the heart of the capital up Mount Ara.
Her big brown eyes darted around as Mirial listed out my missteps and foolish mistakes, but Zel has reached into the shadows and bravely squeezed my hand for support.
She may only be fourteen, but she often seems wiser than her years. I squeeze her hand back.
It’s been a long night, but we’re now near the top of the mountain.
Jubilee Palace was the former summer imperial residence, built centuries ago by the king so that he could escape the oppressive mid-year heat in the capital.
My father told me that Jubilee Palace is far larger than it seems from the Forum.
I tip my head, peering up through the carriage window.
The six floors of the residence sit perched on a cliff at the mountaintop—a marvel by itself.
And that’s not counting the two spiraling towers.
As it was the summer palace, there are only thirty guest bedrooms. In a normal year, nearly all of them would be full for the conclave. But this is far from a normal year.
We will hold to the tradition, though, as written in the lex conclave.
For a week, we will be locked in—the six senators, each with a chosen page and an unarmed sentry; the Senate Clerk; the Praetorian; the Capital Commander; myself with my attendant; and a skeletal staff of ten servants to cook and clean for all of us.
Mirial won’t be staying at the conclave.
She only accompanied me on these steep winding roads to lecture me about my agreement to serve as the deadlock vote.
Apparently, my father never would have consented to such a thing.
The balance of power in Pryor keeps the republic from crumbling, and I could unwittingly destroy the entire system—if Mirial is to be believed.
She may be right, but I have no idea how to avoid this now.
I scratch the underside of my wrist, an old nervous habit. Mirial frowns. I know. I’m scarring my porcelain skin, and it’s already red and agitated, so I stop. I push the sleeves of my white blouse back down.
Instead, I dig my nails into the armrest as the carriage pulls up to the steps of Jubilee—the seat of power for my true bloodline and where they were ultimately eliminated. But they weren’t my family. A family is much more than blood and bones.
I release the armrest. The Elusians were nothing to me.
I was brought to the temple as a baby and adopted by my father.
Osiris saved my life and gave me a new beginning, he and Mirial both.
They raised me. Osiris was my father, and Mirial is now the only one left who knows the truth about me. Everything else is the past.
I draw a deep breath and push my lineage to the back of my mind.
Despite it being nearly midnight, the inside of the palace is lit up bright as day. The massive, carved mahogany doors are open wide, revealing the Praetorian in the doorway.
Bloody lies, of course he’s standing there.
I left out my interactions with him when talking to Mirial, as I still don’t know what to make of him. But she scowls.
“Street trash,” she whispers under her breath, and I cringe.
It’s like my father is still here.
Zel hops out, and then the coachman gives me his hand to help me from the carriage. I’m in riding pants and boots instead of my robes, but I can use all the assistance I can get right now.
As soon as I step outside, the cold mountain air chills me.
It was already cooler in the capital today, but the temperature has plummeted on the top of Mount Ara.
I have multiple trunks of robes and dresses, along with furs, because it can easily snow on the mountain this time of the year.
It feels like it might—the air is heavy and biting around me.
I shiver, my clothes not nearly warm enough.
“May the gods be with you,” Mirial says once my trunks are unloaded.
“May the gods bless and keep you.” I move my shaking hand in blessing.
She frowns from the carriage window, clear concern in her pale eyes. I suppose she’s right to be worried. I have to spend a week locked in with the most powerful people in the republic—including the one in the doorway.
I straighten my spine, push back my shoulders, and take a deep breath. I can do this. I can get through the conclave one minute at a time.
I pretend to casually saunter to the entrance despite fully shaking. I tell myself it’s the cold—just the cold.
“High Priestess,” Torren says, inclining his head.
“Praetorian.”
The Praetorian’s full lips curl in a semblance of a smile, but his eyes are on my luggage and the shining carriage pulling away.
It must look excessive if you think of everything as belonging to one person, but none of this is mine.
As High Priestess, I don’t have any personal possessions.
Even my undergarments are technically property of the temple.
I have a Southside villa that has been in my family for centuries, but aside from that, my sole estate is a simple country house far outside the capital.
Sometimes, I dream of living a quiet life there, but I was chosen by the god long ago. To turn away would be unthinkable.
Once again, Torren stands in my path. At least I haven’t had ice wine tonight.
I’m nearly past him and into the warmth of the palace when he leans closer.
“May I offer you a tour, as this is your first time at the conclave?”
I stop short, my mouth falling open. Why is he suddenly interested in me?
First, there was that moment in the Senate Hall during the Revelry, then he followed me out into the Forum this morning, and now this.
I’m no stranger to drawing the attention of men.
Seemingly, every eligible bachelor in Pryor has offered his hand to me, but like my undergarments, it’s only due to my position.
If I were a chambermaid, they’d try to bed me, not marry me.
But that’s clearly not what the Praetorian is after.
Frankly, he can’t stand me, so why the tour?
I want to decline, but perhaps walking with him will help me figure out his motivations.
“I’d be delighted,” I say.
He distinctly does not look delighted to hear that, which only deepens the mystery. Something flashes in his eyes—surprise. He expected me to say no.
Torren nods curtly. “Do you need to get settled in your rooms first?”
“No.” I turn my attention to Zel. “Please see that my things make it safely to my chamber and take the room to the side of mine.”
Zel is a good servant; however, at the moment she’s frozen in place by the terrifying beauty of the Praetorian. I doubt she’s seen anyone this handsome in her entire life.
It’s a few seconds of awkward silence before she shakes her head and bobs a curtsy. “Of course. Right away, Excellency.”
“Thank you, Zel.”
The Praetorian’s eyebrows rise, but he clears his expression. I blink, expectant, as if I am excited for this tour.
He extends his arm. I step forward, but he moves to the side. We wind up face-to-face and far too close. I inhale his scent as time seems to slow like the first drip of candlewax. Then he clears his throat and goes around me.
“This way.”
I shake off his nearness, ignoring the feeling of wings fluttering in the center of my chest. It’s fear. Just natural fear of prey facing a predator.
“This, of course, is the grand entrance hall,” he says.
We both look up at the massive, gilded chandelier. It’s larger than any I’ve ever seen, and the white marble floors and towering windows reflect the light. On the ceiling is a fresco of an Elusian fire king lighting the night half a millennium ago.
“The main staircase is ahead of us, but there are also staircases on either end of the palace. Nearly every room faces north, as the building runs west to east.”
That fits with the Elusian belief in the North Star as the guiding light of the kingdom. Under the Elusians, the temple to the skies was first among the faiths.
We walk along the ruby-red-carpeted floors of the eastern hall.
Red wallpaper with gold leaf decorates the walls above the wooden panels.
All the torchiers and candelabras are gilded.
The hallway stretches to a coffered ceiling high above our heads with gilded fleur-de-lis of the Elusians in the center of the ceiling at intervals.
It’s a fantastic show of wealth, overwhelming to the eye, and my father said the decoration is only half of what used to be here.
Much of the gold was taken during the Crimson Night.
“This floor has the main rooms we’ll use for the conclave,” the Praetorian explains.
“Meals will be served in the banquet hall, the former throne room will be used as a Senate Hall, and there are thermal baths on the ground floor. Jubilee was built over a hot spring, at a time before we could pipe in warm water.”
He speaks about the lowest level, but he leads me up the stone staircase at the end of the eastern hall. I walk beside him, although he only looks ahead, his pace brisk.
“The second floor was home to the offices and bedrooms of the priests and advisers to the realm. Those, like the drawing and ballrooms downstairs, will be empty this week. The third and fourth levels are guest bedrooms—ten per floor. And the fifth is where the royal apartments were located—the king’s bedroom and rooms for his three wives and six favorite children.
Those are also now used as guest rooms, except for the king’s suite. ”