Chapter XXIV
XXIV.
Torren
Romlock poisoning has distinct hallmarks, and Eyo has all of them, from the way he collapsed to the purple marks now spidering on his cheeks and his engorged tongue.
Someone poisoned him, but who?
I stay next to the body as my suspicions immediately turn to Terrance. He and Eyo were both being blackmailed by Verhardt with payments recorded by Antinous and now, Terrance is the sole survivor.
The eldest senator looks shaken, collapsing into his chair, his eyes wide. It’s either an impressive acting performance or it’s genuine shock, because the color has left his lips and cheeks, giving him a ghastly appearance.
“What just happened?” Senator Medea asks. Her hands shake, her jewels shimmering. She pats her silver-streaked hair and takes a deep breath as she looks around. Her concern seems genuine, but I can’t rule out that it could all be for show.
“Did he have a stroke?” Senator Foreau asks, blinking rapidly. He’s standing near me, gripping his toga in his fists as he looks down at Eyo. The sky is gray with snow, but the lights of the room reflect off his bald head.
“Or a fit of some kind?” Paolo nervously brushes his wavy hair away from his forehead and spins his ring.
“It looks like poison,” Senator Suh says.
He is one of the only people in the room who is completely calm right now as he stays seated in his chair. Suh was a general before he became a senator, and he saw death regularly under the old king, but is his placid demeanor just because of the legions?
Terrance shakes his head, his hands still trembling. “It couldn’t be poison. He looked…he looked like my son Emilius when he died of an allergic fit. It must have been allergies.”
Terrance’s eldest son died in his thirties.
From my understanding, he was a rising star who choked at a dinner party thrown by Verhardt.
Medea and Suh were also at the soiree during the celebration of the ten-year founding of the republic.
Many tried to assist Emilius, but he died in his father’s arms.
The death, of course, was never ruled as anything other than a tragic accident—an unknown allergy—but it’s more than a coincidence if they died in the same manner.
Medea looks from Suh to Terrance to Eyo’s body.
“Praetorian, what happened here?” she asks.
“He might have died of an allergy of some kind, but I can’t rule out foul play,” I say.
It was certainly not an allergy, but I must tread carefully.
Someone was bold enough to act in the daylight, to murder a senator in front of us all.
Poisoning is clever, as it is notoriously difficult to trace.
Romlock takes between fifteen minutes to an hour to kill a grown man, depending on the dosage and the victim’s health.
Eyo could have been poisoned by anyone in here or even before he came down for breakfast. Yet given the acuity of his death, it was likely done here.
“Close the doors, Commander,” I order. “No one comes or goes from this room.”
Julian rubs his knuckles, his old worried habit, but he shuts the doors. The sentries had arrived in the hall.
Now that I’ve said that it could be foul play, the senators have the good sense to look shaken. They laughed at Antinous’s death, and none seemed fazed by Verhardt’s grisly murder, but this is different. This was one of their own dying in front of them.
“Praetorian, are you saying you believe someone in this palace may have…poisoned him?” Paolo asks, his mouth agape.
“Under your watch?” Medea adds.
I’m certain of it. Eyo didn’t have any known intolerances, and there was nothing in his airway, but if I tell them that, I admit to failing to keep Eyo safe. But it’s notable that Medea is pointing out my responsibility.
“You also mentioned allergic fits,” Foreau says before I can reply. “Isn’t it possible he had a condition we weren’t privy to?”
I take in Foreau’s smooth brow and steady voice. He, like Suh, is calm considering the death of his ally.
I bite my tongue. “It’s certainly possible, as Terrance said. I will need his body examined by a healer to be certain. Of course, that will prove difficult with this storm.”
Everyone slowly turns toward the windows where snow still falls. It’s not a whiteout, but it’s not far from a blizzard. The storm that started yesterday has caused steady, accumulating snow. And we can’t even see the capital below us. The roads are now impassable.
We are all trapped inside the palace with a killer.
The room is silent, the five remaining senators in various states of disbelief. Julian and Kera are simply quiet, looking around at intervals. But they already knew we had a murderer here.
I must solve this, but for now I have to deal with another dead body. I can’t send Eyo down the mountain like I did with Antinous, but I need to preserve his corpse. I stare out the windows. If I bury him in the snow, that will hold him until we can leave.
“Hopefully the storm will subside tonight, and then we’ll depart at dawn,” I say.
“We…we must proceed with the conclave,” Terrance says. His lips are still colorless, and his spotted hands shake, but his white head is high, determined as he stands.
Everyone looks at him. The High Priestess’s eyes widen. I can feel the ridges in my own brow as Julian’s head tilts. What did he just say?
“I beg your pardon, Senator,” Kerasea says slowly, “but there is no one to vote for the province of Cortana now. Surely we must conclude.”
It’s the first words she’s spoken since Eyo died.
Her eyes are glassy, and her skin is another shade paler. She’s rubbed her temples several times and clutched at her golden bangles. She’s the only one who is reacting like a murder took place, and she was also the first to suggest we do anything to save him.
“Terrance is right,” Suh says. He uses his cane to rise from his seat.
“We cannot conclude the conclave under any circumstance. Even this.” He pauses and looks down at Eyo with the same regard he gave to the orange juice earlier.
“Not when we are on the precipice of war. Now, more than ever, is the time to act with valor. We must vote upon the Arthagian aggression before we conclude.”
He bangs his cane on the floor.
Terrance nods eagerly, wetting his lips. “All Senate sentries and pages are from our home provinces. Due to the critical nature of this year’s conclave, I propose that one of the staff from the second province stands in Eyo’s stead.”
Paolo waves his hand, physically brushing away the suggestion.
“We cannot allow a commoner to vote on matters before the Senate just because it is expedient. We must conclude the conclave and allow the provinces to hold elections. We can convene a special assembly in the Senate Hall regarding Arthago after the new senators have taken their seats.”
Suh shakes his head. “That will be months too late. Today is already a tardy response if we want our nation to be respected. If we want to uphold the dignity of this republic.”
“Eyo’s sentry, Lucius Calais, is the son of a man I made noble decades ago,” Medea says. “He is young, as he is serving his legion time, but he is no younger than the High Priestess. He could step in if necessary.”
Foreau shakes his bald head. “He is not elected.”
“Neither is the High Priestess,” Terrance urges.
Conversation swirls around Kerasea Vestal like sharks circling blood. She stays silent but seems increasingly agitated, twisting the bangles on her wrists and clutching her necklace. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and then her eyes dart over to Eyo’s body on the floor.
“Commander, bring in Sentry Calais,” Suh says. “We will interview him and then hold a vote on whether he is suitable.”
I step forward. “Senators, I have ordered that no one is to come or go.”
They cast incredulous glances my way. No one restricts the movement of the Senate. But in this case, I must. After three murders, this is my first opportunity to take in the scene before anyone can tamper with it.
“You ordered?” Foreau repeats.
The senators variously express their outrage with being trapped in here “like a bunch of commoners.” I focus on my steady breathing to keep frustration at bay. They just watched Eyo die in front of them; either they are blinded by their ambitions or they are being led by the murderer.
“I am sure you want me to determine whether anything else might be tainted,” I add casually. “If, as Senator Suh posited, it was poison.”
That sobers them. Each one looks around, casting suspicious glances at their own goblets and plates and then at one another.
“I can divine the truth,” Kerasea says.
Everyone turns and stares at her, including me. A fork clatters to the ground. Someone gasps, and color returns to the High Priestess’s cheeks as she blushes.
“As to whether it was a natural death or a murder,” she adds in a quieter voice.
Son of a jackal. She is going to get herself killed.