Chapter 14
XIV.
Kerasea
The gray daylight causes my eyes to ache as I lie in bed. I barely got any sleep, staring at the ceiling and wondering if Antinous was right—was the Praetorian the murderer? It didn’t feel right, though—which means I’m trapped here with a killer and no idea who to fear.
Either way, one thing is crystal clear: I have to get out of voting. It puts me right in a killer’s path. I plan to claim that I cannot decide in the event of a deadlock. And then avoid being alone with anyone for the next six days. Especially the Praetorian.
I groan and rub my face.
Underworld take me. What a plan.
I still can’t believe I held a blade to his throat, but all I knew was that someone was following me. I didn’t know it would be him.
He wasn’t at all afraid, though. I close my eyes and remember how easily he disarmed me. The rush of heat from his body through his nightclothes made me shiver. There was so much desire radiating from him when we stood by my door, but then he stepped away like it was all a game.
Maybe it was.
Then why am I falling for it? Why play at attraction when he despises me?
It should be easier to get to the truth, since he’s such a terrible liar.
He knew I screamed, not because he heard it from way up here but because he was already by the kitchens.
I can only assume he believes I have some knowledge about Verhardt, but it’s Antinous who knows everything.
And he believes Torren is a murderer.
Another chill hits me, this time an unpleasant, blood-draining sensation, as I recall the fear in Antinous’s eyes. Poor Antinous. He’s an academic, a gentle soul among snakes and blades. But he believes the Praetorian is more dangerous than any of us imagine.
I should heed his warning.
Not because I believe the Praetorian killed Verhardt—I spent the night rolling the thought through my mind and, while Torren is certainly capable, I don’t think he did it.
He’s not a good enough liar to fake concern for the Council after butchering the Senate Leader, and he’s too rigidly devoted to his role.
But he is still a danger to me. I need to avoid the Praetorian, not lie here thinking about him pressing me against the wall.
A light knock on the door makes me gasp. But it’s just Zel. She’s always on time.
I placed a chair under the door handle last night. I shift it and smile as I let her in.
“Good morning, High Priestess, did you sleep well?” Her large brown eyes take me in, pausing at my face.
I nod. “The mountain air is quite refreshing.”
It is a half-truth. Unlike the Praetorian, I am an exceptional liar.
I skip the morning meal, and Zel spends extra time applying makeup under my eyes, although she says nothing about it. Sometimes, there’s a subtle kindness in silence.
I don a simple cotton dress and then my white robe. Like all of my ceremonial robes, this one is embellished with gold and lapis stones. I also slip on four-inch-wide gold bangles and a heavy gold necklace—symbols of being a servant to the god of truth.
Zel braids my hair, her nimble fingers working quickly. Zel’s parents are also temple servants, as were her grandparents—a respected position in the capital.
“Are you pleased, High Priestess?” she asks.
“Always.” I smile.
She grins brightly, her pale white cheeks turning rosy. “I hope you have a good day today. I’ll see you before supper.”
With that, I’m ready. I can’t help but look toward the Praetorian’s chamber as I walk down the hall, but his door is closed.
I arrive at the throne room before ten in the morning, but the Council is already present.
Flags of the republic hang over the whitewashed walls except for the northern window bank.
The snow continues to fall steadily outside, gathering on the mountaintops and the massive terrace.
If this continues, we will be snowed in.
Not that it matters for this week—no one is allowed to come or go from the palace during the conclave.
Julian stands by the door in his brown leather armor, his blond hair shining like the gilding around us.
He mentioned at dinner that he doesn’t do much this week.
His function is to organize the sentries, a purely ceremonial role, but twenty years ago, on the Crimson Night, a former Capital Commander protected the Senate, so they wrote his position into the lex conclave to honor him.
“Good morning, Excellency.” Julian smiles, and his friendliness is genuine and refreshing. He’s so different than his friend, like sunshine to a storm cloud.
I smile. “Good morning, Commander Monroe.”
The Praetorian is also in the room in his steel, but he stares straight ahead.
There are no longer thrones in Jubilee. The elevated, carved marble apse sits empty aside from a seal of Pryor on the wall.
The most prominent feature in the throne room is a large, dark wood table in the center and high-backed chairs around it.
No one is sitting, however. They are all conversing together except for the Praetorian.
I take a deep breath and step into the viper pit.
“Good morning, senators, Praetorian,” I say.
The senators greet me warmly. It is my duty to open the conclave with a blessing and to foretell the future from a sacrifice at the end of the week. However, even though I am last to arrive, the doors remain open as the sun clock chimes ten.
No one seems to be waiting for me, but as the moments pass, doubt creeps in. Maybe I need to do something to start the event. All my father said was once the conclave begins, we do a blessing.
I keep glancing at the door, so frequently that the Praetorian cranes his neck to see what I’m looking at.
“Are we waiting for someone?” I finally ask.
“Antinous.” Senator Terrance sniffs, his voice loud and distaste clear. “He is late.”
“He was also not at breakfast or dinner,” Senator Medea notes, smoothing her purple toga over her curves. “Are we sure he is even present?”
“I am certain,” the Praetorian states.
Everyone turns toward Torren as if they’re first noticing him. He meets their gazes but avoids looking at me.
“Well, he is holding up the conclave.” Senator Suh raps his cane on the floor. “Commander Monroe, do order the sentries to locate the clerk.”
Julian glances at the Praetorian, and Torren nods.
“Certainly.” Julian issues a quick bow and leaves.
While we wait, I observe the groupings. Senators Suh and Terrance prefer each other’s company—one stocky and broad and the other tall.
Foreau and Eyo huddle together, occasionally pausing to preen, as they are both thought of as handsome.
Foreau is bald where Eyo has thick hair, so they are another pair of opposites.
Medea and Paolo speak briefly—him having to look up to her—but then they return to their respective circles of original senators versus those more recently elected.
I realize that’s what Eyo meant by us being part of a “new guard.” Once Verhardt is replaced, power will shift.
There will be more new senators than old for the first time.
One murder has changed the makeup of the Senate Council. The new guard, specifically Eyo, stood to benefit the most from Verhardt’s death. And he was speaking of change and war at the Revelry. Was it a confession that I was too intoxicated to process? Or was he simply drunk?
The sun clock continues to move as minute after minute passes.
“Excellency.” Senator Paolo smiles, walking toward me.
I incline my head. “Senator.”
He brushes his wavy hair away from his forehead. “I want to express again how saddened I was by your great father’s passing, but I am happy to see you in the robes and collar of the temple.”
He, and all of the senators, attended my father’s elaborate funeral procession just a few months ago. But Paolo and I both lost our mothers long before we could remember their faces, and now, we fill our fathers’ roles. He understands the loss better than most.
“Thank you,” I say. “I will do my best to serve the Council as he did.”
“It is a difficult time to be at your first conclave, given the circumstances.” He glances around the room. “If there’s anything I can do to assist you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
His voice is soft but genuine. I’m about to respond when I catch Julian’s blond head poking around the doorway. Paolo turns to see what I’m looking at, as does everyone else.
“Praetorian, may I have a word?” Julian asks. There’s something off about his tone and his eyes. He’s normally so casual and full of life, and he’s distinctly neither at the moment.
Torren and Julian exchange quick, hushed words, and then they leave. An unsettling feeling drapes over my shoulders.
“Is this how the first day of the conclave normally proceeds?” I ask.
Paolo spins his sapphire ring and shakes his head. “No, not at all. Verhardt would commence at ten sharp. As the eldest statesman, Terrance intended on opening the conclave this year. But we cannot start without a clerk to document and record the resolutions.”
Terrance was going to jump into Verhardt’s role? Was there a reason other than age?
“Nothing is normal this year.” Senator Foreau walks over with a frown. He rubs his palm along his bald head. “And now we wait on a secretary.”
All of them, including Antinous, are from elite families. Senators must be noble, and typically they are patrons or benefactresses, although Medea is the only female senator in the last fifty years. Yet they speak of Antinous as if he’s a servant.
It’s after ten thirty by the time the Capital Commander and the Praetorian return.
The mood is piqued at best with crossed arms, furrowed brows, and sighs.
Except for me. The longer the delay, the less time I’ll have to potentially serve as a deadlock breaker.
I am sure they had difficulty finding Antinous, since he was not staying in an assigned room, but I look past Julian and Torren and don’t see him.