Chapter 11
XI.
Torren
Kerasea Vestal is guilty.
She couldn’t keep her hands off the murder weapon I planted.
And we are locked in with her for the next seven days.
No one will leave, and the priests from the temple of protection will prevent anyone from traveling on the mountain until the conclusion of the conclave.
I swear to the gods, I will have her confession by then.
Her bedroom lies next to mine. I arranged for her to be placed on my floor, between myself and Julian, which wasn’t difficult, as the senators had claimed the top two floors with their pages and guards before I even arrived.
The senior senators, Terrance, Medea, and Suh, occupy the former imperial bedrooms on the fifth floor.
The younger senators, Paolo, Eyo, and Foreau, took up residence on the fourth.
“What an amazing coincidence,” Kerasea said when she noticed our rooms were together.
It’s not subtle, but sharing a wall will give me the ability to track her easily. I haven’t slept soundly since I was a child—I’ll be able to follow her day or night.
Right now, though, we’re seated across from each other at dinner.
The six senators are also seated at this table.
All the pages and sentries dine separately, not allowed in the company of this rarified group.
The banquet room can fit hundreds on the divans and settees, but we are alone at the king’s table.
It’s an eerie feeling, eating in this cavernous room.
The largest feature is an enormous fresco of an Elusian queen who used her blood magic to feed the hungry during a famine.
She kneels in a field, wearing her crown.
With a blade, she’s cutting her wrist so that her blood could magically grow the crops despite the terrible drought.
That was a thousand years ago—long before the opulence and madness of the last king.
Verhardt’s chair at the head of the table sits empty, but no one seems grief-stricken by the fact that he’s not with us. His chair was also missing from the Senate floor, but furniture is the least of my concerns.
Julian murmurs something I can’t hear, and Kerasea laughs, the sound musical. He’s seated next to her, and she now wears an elaborate dress as green as her eyes. It’s stunning, but I preferred her in riding clothes.
No…not preferred. I suppose I was surprised that she would wear something so common. The elite flaunt their status, not wear common clothes that cling to their curves or call servants by their first names.
Palace servants enter with wine for our golden goblets. I decline, placing my hand over the rim.
Kerasea meets my gaze and blinks. I suppose I was staring.
I turn toward Senator Paolo, who sits to my right. Just as I look at him, he twists his sapphire ring, then pushes back from the table. He stands with his wine goblet in hand.
“I’d like to take this opportunity to wish you all a blessed conclave,” he says.
“I hope this week will prove fruitful despite these trying times, because, as we know, hardship is what solidifies the will of the strong. Together, we can conquer any obstacle and lead the Republic of Pryor to the greatest of glories.”
“Hear, hear,” Senator Eyo says, slapping his palm onto the wooden table. His chair is to Paolo’s right, and he’s already half into his cups.
As Paolo sits and adjusts the wave of his dark hair, Senator Suh rises, using his diamond-studded cane.
He’s across the table and next to Foreau, but he’s one of the original senators.
His goatee is grayer than his hair but around the same length.
“May I offer a toast to our fallen brother, former Senate Leader Verhardt.”
Everyone stands and dutifully raises their glasses. I lift my water; it appears I’m the only one who doesn’t drink. It’s not that I don’t like the taste. I’ve just never seen the appeal of losing control.
“To our dearly departed colleague, we commend your service to Pryor and honor your memory as one of the founding fathers of our great republic.”
The High Priestess took wine, but she draws it in a very small sip between her ruby-red lips.
Everyone retakes their seats except for Senator Terrance, who fixes his dinner jacket.
It’s nearly as white as his hair. He raises his goblet higher and draws a large breath, as his general tone is just below a shout.
“We’d also like to take this opportunity to commend the Praetorian for quickly apprehending the murderer of our great friend. ”
I look around. This is news to me.
Everyone drinks again, and I will the surprise off my face. I force myself to grin humbly. I’ve arrested no one…yet.
“Swift justice is the key to reappointment,” Senator Eyo says with a smile.
He is correct, but I don’t like his tone. I swallow a reply with some water. He’s only around ten years my senior, but he’s a dangerous man—they all are.
“Where is the murderer now?” Senator Foreau asks. He runs a hand over his bald head.
Great question.
“The prisoner is in Tullanium jail,” Julian says before I can speak.
I grit my teeth. So he turned someone in on my behalf.
A rush of anger with a twist of betrayal has me strangling the stem of my goblet, but then Julian shoots me a meaningful stare.
Perhaps this was the smart play. With a suspect in custody, no one will think that I am investigating the High Priestess.
Guards will be down; mistakes will be made.
Still, something doesn’t sit well about Julian acting on his own under the guise of my authority.
Dinner begins as servants appear with tray after tray of delicious-smelling dishes. The Council remarks on the magnificent spread. Soon there is enough food on this table to feed ten times this many people. Most of the plates contain far-flung delicacies, but the senators only dine on the best.
My stomach turns. All this decadence while the Northside goes hungry, bellies groaning at night.
I remember that feeling—my want gnawing at me, keeping me awake.
Wishing I had even a crust of stale bread to soak in water.
But even if this dinner is wasteful, it is still better than a tyrannical monarchy.
Jubilee was created as a pleasure palace, where the king could do whatever he pleased.
It’s difficult to say how many people were murdered here—dozens, if not hundreds, by the mad king.
“An example must be made of the culprit,” Terrance shouts. “Justice in the name of our colleague demands no less.”
“One will be made, I assure you,” Julian says.
All the senators are evidently satisfied with the promise of a man being hunted, scourged, and dismembered in the arena—that’s what they mean by “an example.” Prisoners convicted of high treason are the ultimate source of entertainment for the citizens of the capital.
Of course, that means convening the Verity Guild and allowing the woman who may have conspired to kill Verhardt to sit in judgment.
The senators begin to eat. Actually, Suh is nearly finished with his first dish. He was once a general and still eats at legion speed. Only Kerasea Vestal doesn’t touch her plate.
“Did he say why he did it?” she asks. “The criminal?” Her eyes are glassy as she turns to Julian.
She seems genuinely concerned, just as she did in the Senate Hall. I sip more water. Perhaps she feels guilty that someone is taking the fall for her crimes.
Jules shakes his head. “We’ll have a full confession when we arrive back at the capital, but the criminal has ties to the Kingdom of Arthago and a violent past, having beaten his wife and young child to death.”
At the mention of Arthago, Senator Medea curls her lip and Suh frowns into his goblet.
Paolo spins his ring. Pryor lost half of its western seacoast in the Treaty of Everlasting Peace, leaving an enemy right at the border.
Sliver by sliver, they’ve incurred down the coast farther into the sixth province.
And now the Council will once again decide whether we go to war or cede more to the kingdom.
I doubt the man in jail has any actual connection to Arthago, though I do believe he killed his family. Having felt the back of his father’s hand many times, Julian would have no qualms scourging a man like that.
“You’d think the murderer would’ve loved Verhardt for giving away all of our land, then,” Eyo says.
The senator is well into his wine, but there’s truth at the bottom of a glass. Medea and Suh chuckle. Paolo smiles. The laughter and mirth in the room are real.
Perhaps Julian was right. Maybe I have been too focused on the High Priestess. She doesn’t have a motive, while every senator benefited far more from the death of the Senate Leader.
But just as I look at him, Julian gazes at Kerasea out of the corner of his eye. I know that stare. He’s in lust or love; it’s all the same to him. And they do make a stunning couple—elite Southsiders to their core.
My chest tightens, and I grip my napkin in my fist.
He and I have things to discuss after dinner.