Chapter XXIX
XXIX.
Torren
Son of a jackal, I am this close to snapping. The cook has blubbered and wheezed his way up five flights of steps, muttering prayers to the gods to watch over his family.
I look up. We have too many stairs left.
Although the man is obviously in lousy physical health, it’s fear taking his breath away. He was bold in his confession, but now a coward in the face of torture. This is the worst showing of dignity I have seen in a while, and that’s a high bar.
We stop again on the first landing in the tower, as he’s red-faced and hyperventilating. I’m now worried about him dying before I can even question him.
I stand with my arms folded as he catches his breath. The man leans down with his hands on his knees. His whole body is shaking like a wet dog, and he smells like onions.
“I’m sorry. I just need a moment, sir,” he wheezes.
I wait.
Finally, he nods and we continue. We climb even though he’s still crying. We have to stop twice more, but eventually, we reach the door. I open it with the skeleton key.
The room is empty, of course—no one will use the western tower this week. This far up, he shouldn’t be heard or located by the Senate. It was the best place to stow him away.
I step inside the domed space. Gold constellations shine in the cobalt-blue ceiling.
The tower has an abundance of windows, and there are a variety of instruments to measure the stars atop a marble altar.
Like the tower on the other side of the palace, there is a basin for sacrifices, but this is a celestial room for the temple of the skies.
Since the Crimson Night, worship of the god has been nearly abandoned.
I toss a pair of manacles onto the altar, but I doubt I’ll need them. I could overpower this man with a paper fan.
The cook looks around with his knees quaking. “Why am I here, sir? I have already told you that I was the one who poisoned the senator.”
I lean against the altar and cross my arms. “That’s exactly why you’re here—for interrogation under pressure.”
He swallows hard and takes four rapid breaths.
“Let’s begin, shall we? Did you act alone?” I ask.
He mops the sweat off his brow with his meaty hand. “Entirely.”
“What poison did you use?”
He hesitates, his brown eyes circling. Gods, he isn’t even certain. I stay silent and let him squirm. Maybe he’ll rethink whatever bargain he made. I’ll certainly give him plenty of time to think about it up here.
“Romlock. It was romlock, sir.” His round face is hopeful that he landed on the correct answer.
“I know you’re lying,” I say. “Because that was not the poison used.”
It’s a bluff, but it’s effective. His face was sweaty and red, and now he’s paling and stammering.
“I thought…that it… I… Maybe I grabbed the wrong vial.” His eyebrows rise. The assertion is ridiculous, but he doesn’t seem the type to think well on his feet.
If it had been even partially his idea, he would know what he used. But of course, he was only paid to take the fall.
“I’m sure whoever you made a deal with didn’t bother to explain what poison it was, nor how it worked.” I wave my hand like it’s irrelevant. “How did you use it?”
“I put it in his food.”
It’s also a lie, but that means he wasn’t the one who put the poison in at all. If he’d poisoned a senator, I’d argue to put him to death, even though he wasn’t the mastermind, but he didn’t even do that much.
River of Death.
“You know, it’s funny, I burned his food myself and didn’t find any trace fumes from poison—romlock or otherwise.”
“He…he must’ve eaten the poison part.” His voice rises at the end like a question.
I sigh, closing my eyes for a long blink. Why is this man my best chance at solving the Senate murders?
“Do you understand how you will be executed in the arena?” I take a seat on the padded window bench.
“They try to make an afternoon out of it—allow you to battle wild animals to entertain the masses, then if you survive, you will be roasted inside of a brass bull, your screams turned into a melody. They will pull you out while still alive, and then the real torture will begin.”
He stares at me with mournful brown eyes. “It is what I deserve.”
I don’t entirely disagree at the moment.
“Why did you kill Eyo, then? You forgot to state your reason.”
“I…I accepted coin from Arthago in exchange for the poisoning.”
A loud sigh escapes my lips. This man has to be the worst liar in the seven provinces.
But his lies could accidentally add up to the truth. If he is implicating Arthago, either it is true or, more likely, someone wants to make certain we go to war. And that is exactly the Verity Guild case ahead of us—a nobleman from the sixth province wanted to make his own army for battle.
“Any idea why the Kingdom of Arthago wanted Eyo dead? His province is pretty far from their border.”
He shakes his head.
“How much did they give you?” I ask.
A spark of life returns to the cook’s eyes.
“One hundred gold bullions, sir,” he says.
Finally, something true. That is exactly how much he was given.
It is an easy sum for any senator to pay, but it would change a servant’s life and the life of his family.
The amount, invested wisely in the right shop, could elevate them from servants to the merchant, citizen class.
He knows that he will die, but he is willing to do all of this to better the lives of his wife and daughters.
He spoke of them lovingly during his confession.
It’s honorable, in a way, and there’s a pull of sympathy in my chest. But of course, he’s forgetting that his family won’t be able to keep that money or anything else. He will doom them, not save them.
Perhaps he is simply ignorant of the reality. Maybe the truth will be enough for him to disclose who paid him.
I bring my leg across my knee, my leather skirt shifting. “Do you know what happens when the Verity Guild finds someone guilty of treason?”
He blinks. “They are killed.”
“Obviously, but do you know what happens to their families? What will happen to your family if I submit your confession?”
He stills and looks around, but then he shakes his head. “No, sir.”
It’s not a surprise. It’s not often spoken about.
“They are thrown out onto the streets—their home and every single thing they own are all confiscated by the republic. Because your family isn’t noble, they will strip them naked first. Hopefully the sentries who conduct this are honorable—many aren’t, not to traitors, anyhow.
Your wife and daughters will have no home, no food, not even clothing.
Then the Senate will issue a decree to shun them, to not offer them shelter or work. ”
I pause and let my words sink in. The easiest part is that everything I said was true.
The only detail I exaggerated was stripping them naked.
That law changed fifteen years ago. My mother and I had the clothes on our backs, but that was all.
The sentries even had me turn my pockets inside out to prove I was taking nothing else.
Then they searched my mother’s dress for anything we might’ve tried to hide.
The sentry enjoyed groping under my mother’s skirts while I was held back by two others.
But then Hadrian caught him. At that time, Hadrian was the Capital Commander. He immediately, without pomp or circumstance, tied the man to the post and whipped his back.
Hadrian was the reason I enlisted as a sentry at sixteen. I had few other opportunities, but I saw what power could do when used for good. It’s why I must keep my position.
No matter what.
I lean forward and stare the cook in the eye. “What do you think will become of your wife and young daughters on the street? They are fourteen and eleven, right? Feel free to actually give it some thought—the three of them with no food, no work, and no shelter.”
He begins to cry again. “Please. Please, gentle gods, no.”
“You were played for a fool,” I say.
I slowly stand and stroll to the door. I will leave him in here to ponder his family’s future. If that is not enough, I will have to resort to violence, and I don’t relish torturing an innocent man.
Yet, if it is necessary, I will do what needs to be done for the republic.
I pause with my palm on the door handle. “I will give you until sunrise to recant your confession, but remember that whoever gave you gold to take the fall won’t feel an ounce of concern as your wife and daughters have to work on their backs for copper coins.”
The cook falls on his knees, wailing. I open my mouth, compassion getting the better of me, but I force myself to walk out. I lock the door behind me.