Chapter 18
XVIII.
Kerasea
The only other deadlock I had to break today was whether to increase the grain dole to the poor of Pryor, and that was a fast yes, even if Eyo, Foreau, and Suh argued that full stomachs make people lazy.
Terrance had a surprisingly passionate plea to increase the dole, but I’m not sure if that was to help the poor or not, since most of the grain is grown in his province.
I still need a way out of voting again, though. I am not a representative, and my role is already causing a shift in the attitudes of the senators—just as Mirial feared.
Having now opposed Eyo twice, I am clearly not nearly as attractive to him as I was during the Revelry.
Small gift from the gods, I suppose. But I have to keep everyone satisfied. The Faith doesn’t need powerful enemies, especially one as intelligent as Eyo.
We mill around the banquet hall before dinner, all of us in formal wear, sipping on sparkling wine. Unlike yesterday’s midnight meal, this one will begin at eight. Tomorrow’s conclave will start at nine, as the legislative days lengthen through the week. By the end, we will commence at dawn.
The Praetorian and Commander stand close to the doors, although, strangely, I don’t think they’ve spoken to each other since arriving.
Senators Foreau and Paolo stand near me. Foreau continues to talk about his province as Paolo and I pretend to listen, the youngest senator trying and failing to find breaks in the conversation where he can speak. Paolo leans on his toes, spins his ring, but he can’t get a word in.
“Of course, with our twin coast provinces, you’re already aware of how the god of the earth blesses our shores with abundance,” Foreau says to me.
“Yet it was kind of you to increase the grain dole today. I hope you will support me in my motion to increase the fishing allowance, as it will also benefit the less fortunate in the republic.”
He’s not really looking for a response, but I nod politely.
Foreau either doesn’t notice or care about how Paolo frowns at the mention of a coastline.
The seventh province’s entire coast was lost under his father’s tenure when the Senate gave the land to Arthago to end the Hundred Year War.
The annexation and retreat were a complete disaster for the new regime and nearly ended the republic before it began.
Senator Medea walks over to join us. She smells like elderflower this time and smiles gently. “You did well today, High Priestess.”
Paolo lights up at the change in topic, rocking on the balls of his feet. I am in heels, so we stand at about the same height. “Yes, you did an admirable job,” he says.
I voted on the same side as both of them, but I’ll take the compliments. They were the only two senators who seemed genuinely concerned about the people in their provinces.
“Courting the vote of the capital, are we?” Eyo says, strolling over with his wine. He smiles, all charm again. “You’ll find, High Priestess, that our two provinces have far more aligned interests than any of the others.”
“Because you are the only ones safe from our enemies,” Foreau says, frowning.
Eyo raises his black eyebrows and strokes his beard. “A barbarian horde at our border says otherwise.”
Foreau laughs. “You mean the people you steal from the wilderness, whom you force to work your lands and brothels?”
Eyo colors red. I’ve heard that rumor as well—that soldiers form raiding parties to capture women and children. Neither the Senate nor General Hadrian would sanction such a thing, but it’s certainly possible in the wilderness. People will always do terrible things for profit and power.
Is that the reason someone killed Verhardt and Antinous? For money or increased power? I’ve already had the thought that no one rises to high status with their hands clean. And every single person in this room rose to dazzling heights at a young age.
“What enemy does your province border, Foreau?” Medea asks. “Here I thought your province is safely in the east, is it not?”
“Which means my coast is highly valuable to the Kingdom of Arthago,” Foreau says, his voice a low rumble.
Conversation comes to a grinding halt at the name of our greatest enemy.
The servants announce dinner, and relief flushes through me.
I take my seat again next to Julian. Of course, Antinous’s seat and Verhardt’s chair at the head of the table are empty.
The Praetorian sits across from me and finally sets his gaze on mine. He’s disturbingly handsome in another tailored suit. He’s clean-shaven as always, and his neck looks no worse for having my blade to it last night.
I pull my eyes away from him, trying to forget the feel of his body pressed against mine outside my door, as servants bring in the first course of intricately arranged vegetables and delicacies.
I pick up my fork but then recall how some of the Council thought raw grain would be too much of a luxury for others.
“Skies, it is still snowing?” Medea stares at the wall of windows. “The roads will be impassable soon.”
“We’re locked in for the week, Medea.” Terrance chuckles. His chair is angled so that it’s nearly on the corner as he continues his bid to quite literally occupy Verhardt’s seat. “Don’t get hysterical. What is the difference?”
Her mouth slants. “Well, the body of Antinous…”
The room quiets as everyone realizes that having a rotting corpse inside Jubilee Palace is not ideal.
“I sent him down the mountain earlier, and he was received by the priests of the god of protection,” the Praetorian says. “They will see Antinous back to his family.”
The senators resume eating, no longer concerned about a decaying body.
Most bodies are burned in Pryor, but some of the older families, like Antinous’s, have mausoleums where they rest their dead.
I’ve never understood why they pay taxes to keep skeletons in the darkness rather than burn them in the light, but it is an old tradition from before the rise of prominence of the temple of truth.
Every one of the Faithful are burned on a pyre.
“Have you completed your investigation, Praetorian?” Suh asks as they clear his empty plate. He claps his hands free of crumbs.
The Praetorian nods. “I found no evidence of foul play.”
It takes all my composure to not skew my face. He’s lying. And just awful at it. He shakes his head slightly as he delivers a mistruth. However, no one else notices, or at least they don’t care enough to.
Torren meets my stare. We both know someone killed Antinous. One of the people in this room gave the order, if not held him under. But he can’t investigate any of them.
“Very well. An unfortunate accident, as we stated,” Senator Terrance says, projecting his voice down the table.
“But at least the other members of the Council will be satisfied now.” He sniffs at the frivolous concerns and then quickly composes his face and fakes a genial smile.
“We should have music with our meal to lift this somber mood. Medea, your page can play the harp, can he not?”
“The lyre, yes. Go fetch him,” Medea says to the nearest servant. A redheaded woman who is around my age takes off running.
But I keep my eyes on Terrance. He is much too happy to sweep Antinous’s death aside.
“Commander Monroe, you have done a commendable job as clerk,” Suh remarks, shifting his cane. “Perhaps we should make it permanent.”
The suggestion is greeted by laughter, as was intended. A man like Julian is far more likely to be elected senator than serve as a clerk.
“I am afraid that, like my uncle, I am more suited for the sword than the pen.” Julian smiles.
“Ah yes, here’s to General Hadrian.” Suh lifts his glass, and everyone joins him. “May the gods ride beside him on his victory chariot.”
Everyone drinks.
“Many in the fifth province believe he could finally lead us to victory against the Arthagian bastards,” Suh continues, holding Julian’s gaze. “If we are bold enough to go to war, we could win back our ceded territories and possibly more.”
“The same is said in the seventh province,” Paolo adds, spinning his ring at a dizzying speed.
“I will relay your commendations,” Julian says with an easy grin. He’s far more skilled at politics than the Praetorian or me.
“Some say he should be a warrior king.” Foreau frowns into his goblet.
Terrance sniffs and nods in agreement.
“I believe I’ll skip that particular recommendation,” Julian says to hearty laughter at the table. But Foreau wasn’t joking. He exchanges glances with Eyo. The general’s popularity is a danger to their power. Perhaps that is why they haven’t voted on declaring war yet.
“Some say the same about a holy queen,” Eyo says, turning his attention to me. His brown eyes are suddenly sharp instead of dulled with drink.
I choke on my wine as blood rushes into my cheeks. Senator Eyo is voicing a concern that I, specifically, could be a danger to their sovereignty.
“That is what Verhardt believed,” he adds with a shrug.
But the accusation is anything but casual. Maybe this is why he cornered me at the Revelry.
Everyone stares at me, including the Praetorian.
Was this why the Council asked me to serve as a deadlock vote, to test where my loyalties and ambitions lie? Mirial hadn’t mentioned that in the host of reasons why I needed to decline, but it now seems plausible.
They all wait for my response. I don’t have the ability to laugh it off the way Julian does, nor would they accept that from me. The only thing I can do is answer honestly.
“Spiritually leading the Faith and politically ruling the people require far different skills, Senator,” I say. “I am loyal to the Council, like my father before me, but my role is ultimately and solely as a servant to the god of truth, from whose light all things are revealed.”
They all quickly bow their heads, even the Praetorian. I relax my shoulders slightly, as my claim to no political ambitions seems to release the tension in the room.
“That light could also lead a mob, if you willed it,” Terrance adds loudly.
Everyone stops again and waits. They stare at me as if I’m about to declare holy war on the Senate.
“I’d only will the people to the defense of the Senate,” I respond. “Just as my father did twenty years ago.”
Medea’s page finally arrives, thankfully shifting attention away from me.
“Ah yes, you’re finally here—play for us,” Senator Medea says brightly. The man is around my age, with delicate features. He takes a seat in the corner and begins to strum his lyre.
The musical notes are a relief. As the second course is brought out from the kitchens—a rich pasta with an obscene amount of truffles—I resolve that one way or another, I will find a way out of serving in this conclave.
The third course is roasted game hen trussed with herbs—one for each of us.
I’m cutting into the breast when Foreau’s sentry appears at the doorway.
He’s distinct with light brown skin but fire-red hair.
He whispers something to the blond servant girl, who then taps the Praetorian on the shoulder.
After hushed words, Torren wipes his mouth and stands.
He glances at me before he leaves the dining room.
The senators barely notice as they continue to gossip about nobles in the capital.
Talk then turns to the specter of an upcoming execution in the arena.
The excitement is palpable except for Medea, as it’s her nephew who will stand trial.
But even as Julian participates in the conversation, he eyes the Praetorian’s empty chair.
His brow wrinkles, and then he clears the expression.
He didn’t know Torren was about to leave, and he’s troubled by it.
Gods, what now?