Chapter 32
XXXII.
Kerasea
I close and lock the door behind me and stand in the center of the tower, trying to catch my breath. My exhales make little clouds of mist in the frigid room.
Curse those flights of stairs.
Finally, my breathing returns to normal and I can speak to the divine with dignity.
“God of truth, I pray you hear your servant, your vessel here on earth.”
I stand next to the brazier and prick my hand with my hairpin. It hurts, but the truth often does. I push the pad of my finger until a drop of blood falls. It lands, sizzling into the eternal flame.
There are other ways to call the god, like how most priests use lapis, but this is the most direct.
When my blood hits the fire, it causes swirling red smoke to rise and float through the oculus of the domed roof.
I tilt my head back, watching as the crimson plume enters the night’s sky.
The storm has stopped, and millions of stars twinkle in the blackness, but the cold bites and lingers.
I shiver. I’m in my red dinner dress, not temple robes or furs, but this won’t take long.
“All-seeing divine, I call upon thee to answer my prayer and guide your humble servant toward the light.”
I bow my head and, moments later, a bronze eagle falls through the oculus. It gracefully descends until it lands on its back, dead in the center of the altar.
I give thanks for the sacrifice, signing a circle in the air with my drying blood.
Then I take the sickle knife and make the primary vertical incision.
The innards steam into the cold air, but the preternatural liver is exactly where it belongs.
It’s at least a positive beginning. The organ also has the correct feel and smell.
Maybe the omen will be positive. Maybe the killing is over.
I place the liver on the golden offering tray and sprinkle it with holy oil and blessed salts. I ask the god for an omen of the future. Then I place the tray into the center of the eternal flame.
Black smoke pours out of the brazier, surrounding me in a billowing circle. Darkness closes in, but there’s something amiss. The swirl of smoke is broken, and there can be only one cause for that—a disbeliever in my midst. And that can only be one man.
I sigh at Torren following me once again. I thought I locked the door, but I’ll deal with that later. I have to continue or the life of the eagle will have been wasted. I raise my arms and chant.
“In the dark of night, the truth will be revealed.
In the dark of night, all will be revealed.”
The heavy weight of the divine enters the room and extinguishes all the lights, the last being the eternal flame. The whispers of truth fill my bones as the god accepts the sacrifice. Then the light returns and the pressure fades as I lower my arms.
I reach into the eternal flame—a fire of intense heat that will not burn the faithful. Placing an arm into the fire is the final test for acolytes hoping to become priests, but I’ve never had anything to fear. I walked through the flame as a child.
I take the tray out and set it on the altar, then I stare at the liver.
Confusion roils my stomach. I don’t understand this, but I have called and the god has answered—even that much is a blessing.
Humankind is not owed anything more. The truth must be a comfort in itself; however, in this case, it is not.
Bloody lies, what now?
My face tingles and my chest tightens. I hang my head and wash my hands clean in the water bowl.
“I’m sure you want to see the prophecy,” I say aloud.
The Praetorian fully opens the door he was hiding behind. His jacket from dinner is gone, leaving him in a fitted white shirt and dress pants. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing his muscular forearms. Somehow, he looks more dangerous in cloth than he does in armor.
“That was quite a show,” he says.
I arch an eyebrow at him, but I refuse to take the bait. “You know, for an investigator, you’re not terribly discreet.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders as he strolls fully into the room. “I don’t need to be—typically.”
No, I suppose violence isn’t subtle.
I tear my eyes from him and look at the tray again. The liver is partially black—bisected in the middle. One side is healthy pink and the other charred. A line of gold divides the two. What is this?
The Praetorian’s eyes search my face, not the organ. “What does that mean?”
I sigh, because I am not sure. The pink is natural, signaling a return to order and peace, but the black means rot and death. How can it be both? How can our future contain a duality? And how can glory separate the two?
Stalling, I cradle the dead eagle in my arms and carry it over to the sacrificial basin by the window. Then I light the fire and say the prayers to the five gods of Pryor to watch over us and accept this offering.
“It means that either blood will continue to be spilled at this conclave,” I say, “or that the republic will return to normalcy.”
He moves closer to me. “Which is it?”
I grip the basin as the carcass burns. I don’t know.
“It is almost like diverging paths. I’ve never seen this kind of omen, but any amount of blackening is death and disaster. However, I am not sure which side we are on.”
His brow wrinkles as he stares at me. “Isn’t it your job to know?”
I feel my temper flaring, but he is right—I am supposed to know. The problem is, and remains, that I am not my father. He would’ve known.
“What does it matter?” I shrug a shoulder. “You don’t believe in my ‘bird signs.’”
I glare at him. Mirrored back in his eyes is the same anger I feel. What happened to make him so full of frustration?
He looks away and then clears his expression, trying to fake a genial smile. “I think we have gotten off to a bad start. I’d like to begin anew, if you’re agreeable.”
A bad start? Does he mean our whole lives or just this week?
I stare at him. He must want something, but I can’t think of anything he’d need from me this badly. I have a feeling it’s related to the blood dappling his sleeve, though.
“Let’s start with honesty, then—why are you following me?” I ask.
He gives me another shrug. “I instructed you to have an escort. You know there is danger here.”
It’s the truth, but it’s not.
“I see that,” I say.
His eyes dart around. “What do you mean?”
Using small steps, I move closer to him. His breathing hitches as I reach out. I let my fingers graze the white cotton of his shirt by his elbow. He flinches, clearly repulsed by my touch, but he holds still as I raise his right hand.
“There’s blood on your sleeve,” I say.
He yanks his arm away, looking anywhere but at my face. He’s hiding something—shame, maybe, but that doesn’t make sense. The Praetorian isn’t ashamed of being brutal. His gaze flickers to me, and there’s just a hint of vulnerability in his face.
It’s completely unnerving.
“You seem… What happened?” I soften my stance, because something is actually wrong.
When I push aside what I know about Torren and force myself to not judge, it’s easy to sense the turmoil wafting off him.
I feel the weight as if it’s pressing down on my own shoulders.
It’s failure of some sort. I would think it was related to the deaths of the senators, but no, this feels like something else.
He clasps his hands behind his back and stares at the wall. “Nothing I didn’t expect.”
That much is true, but he’s shaken nonetheless. He’s not going to confess and cleanse his soul, though. Not to me.
“Why are you really here? What is it you need?”
“The truth,” he says. “But if you can’t understand your own bird signs, then perhaps I have reached a dead end.”
Fire rushes through me, and I clamp my teeth down to keep my insults to myself. Then I force a smile. The smile will irritate him more.
“This is an amazing new beginning,” I say. “A fresh start, yet it feels the same.”
His lips curl into a smile as he hangs his head. Then he draws a breath and unclasps his hands. “It’s more difficult than I expected to break old habits. But you’re right—I do need you.”
He lingers on the word “need,” and a shiver runs through me.
“Why?” I ask, holding my breath.
“You and I seem to be the only people who understand what is happening here,” he continues in a low voice. “Someone at Jubilee has murdered two senators and the Senate Clerk, and they believe they can get away with it.”
I exhale a cloud of fog. Of course I knew that, but it’s different falling from his mouth.
After today’s events, I no longer think Julian or the Praetorian was involved.
Most likely it was Terrance, either acting alone or with Suh and Medea.
If I’m right, we, along with the republic, are in terrible danger now.
“What are you proposing?” I ask.
He draws a breath. “That we form an alliance. Whoever is behind the murders won’t want you to discern the truth, and my position, if not my life, is in jeopardy. We both have a vested interest in bringing the murderer to justice. Our goals are aligned for now.”
I swallow hard and grip the altar as the truth of his words settles on me. “What exactly do you need from me?”
He opens his mouth and then closes it. He’s hesitating.
“For now, just stay alive,” he says, “and when your time comes, I’ll tell you. Let me escort you back to your chambers.”
I don’t want to accept an open-ended agreement, but if he’s willing to put aside his dislike for me, I should accept. It’s the only way for me to survive.
“All right, Praetorian,” I say. “Allies, then.”
I extend my hand. He glances down, keeping his arms at his sides, but then slowly he meets my palm.
As he touches me, the heat from his hand warms my whole body in the cold room, and the same feeling of calm grips me.
Our eyes meet, and a spark lights in my core. The same is reflected in his eyes. Silence drags its feet, making the moment too important, but I don’t know what to say. Torren’s breathing gets faster, and then I realize we are still holding hands. We both pull back.
He flexes his hand and then balls it in a fist. Then he steps to the side. “Allies, then,” he repeats.
He strides to the door but then stops and gestures for me to leave first. I take a shaky step.
I tell myself that aligning with Torren is a good thing.
It will enable me to survive the next few days.
And maybe, just maybe, together we can catch the killer and save the republic.
Most everything about working with him is good for me.
That is, of course, unless he uncovers that I am Elusian.