Chapter 10 #2
The old king had one hundred children during his three-hundred-year reign. I suppose not all of them could be favored.
I nod, trying not to remember how I am the last of those children.
Due to his self-healing magic, he outlived almost all of his wives and offspring, which sounds more like a curse than a power.
I expect that the Praetorian will stop at one of the bedroom floors, but we continue upward.
I’m glad to be in riding clothes and not my robes as we ascend another flight of stairs.
My chest begins to burn in the thin mountain air, but the Praetorian doesn’t break stride, his exercise regime evidently far more rigorous than mine.
The staircase narrows as we enter a tower, leaving me no choice but to follow behind him.
I try to ignore his sculpted legs under his leather skirt and broad shoulders barely contained by his armor as we take the stairs, but it’s impossible not to notice how his back tapers in, the rise of his blue veins on his muscular arms. I need to focus, though, to figure out why he’s doing this, but as we continue, I’m too busy fighting for breath.
Finally, he comes to a stop and opens a door. We must be ten stories high in this tower, and I am officially winded. Perhaps I should start joining Mirial on her predawn runs as she’s suggested many times.
My pulse pounds, and I want to lean over gasping, but I sip the air because I refuse to let this man see that I’m struggling.
I glance at him, and he’s not even breathing hard.
Jackal. I’ve never despised him more.
“The western tower features an observatory for the skies, but I thought you’d be more interested in this,” he says.
I walk into a room the size of an average bedchamber, but it’s circular with an oculus in the domed roof. In the center of the space is a marble altar, and to the right is a brazier containing the purple eternal flame. There is a window with a large basin to burn offerings to the gods.
“A divining room.” I run my fingers over the frigid, waist-high marble altar, relishing the familiarity.
The Praetorian watches me with sharp eyes as I move around. Next to the golden offering tray, almost underneath it, is a sickle knife.
“That’s odd,” I say.
“What is?”
“There’s a ceremonial blade on the altar along with the one kept inside the eternal flame.
My father must’ve accidentally left this behind during the last conclave.
” I stroke the lapis-inlaid handle, and my chest squeezes, the memory crushing.
Just last year he was alive, and now he is ashes. I could not miss him more.
“He must’ve been looking for his knife,” the Praetorian says.
There’s a tinge of longing in his voice, but not because my father is gone.
No, as Praetorian, he has an obsidian-handled sword called a sabine in his scabbard.
Razor-sharp, it takes expert craftsmen three years just to make one.
Sabines are an honor bestowed by the Senate.
But the temple doesn’t function the same way with dearly held armaments.
The truth, when properly wielded, is a greater weapon than any.
“No, we have two dozen of them in my temple alone, and they’re communal. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”
I move to place the blade back down, but something in me can’t let go of the knife he last touched. I grip it for strength and guidance.
Torren’s mouth shifts slightly, and it feels as if he wants to speak.
I arch an eyebrow. “You look like…you’re expecting something.”
“Just waiting for you to shoot a bird out of the sky.” He stares up at the oculus.
It wasn’t what he was going to say.
I shift to fully face him, and our eyes meet. As we stare, I realize that I’m alone with him again. I’ve spent my life surrounded, but this is the second time in as many days that it’s been just the two of us in an empty room.
Curiosity has me in a death grip. What does he want with me? I can’t win at a game where I don’t know the rules, but I also can’t seem to stop playing against him.
Bells ring out, and we jump away from each other. My heart thumps as if I were just caught in a lie.
“What are the chimes for?” I ask, attempting to gather myself. I run a hand over my hair, the chignon still perfect thanks to Zel.
He looks around, grabbing at the breastplate of his armor. “The last person must have arrived at Jubilee. All the members of the conclave are now in place, and we will be locked in by priests of the god of protection. We should head back downstairs—they’ll be serving midnight supper soon.”
I nod. We both have our roles to play. And I need to find a way out of being the tie-breaking vote.
“Shouldn’t you leave the knife?” he asks.
I look down at my hand. I have the handle of the sickle gripped tightly in my fist. “Are you worried about me being armed?”
He stares at me. We’re close again, since we both moved toward the door. His eyes dart to my mouth. “Terrified.”
“I wish that were true,” I murmur.
I force myself to leave the blade behind, then I take the stairs first…so he can’t see me trembling.