Chapter XL
XL.
Torren
Fifty resolutions are voted upon in ten hours as I stand guard. I’ve casually watched the Senate while trying to figure out a way to exonerate the cook.
If the Verity Guild is convened, he will be found guilty. As Praetorian, I am supposed to vote in favor of every high treason conviction unless there is insurmountable evidence to the contrary.
In this case, there won’t be. The healer will confirm Eyo was poisoned, and because I said the cook took his own life, that will be the end of the inquiry. The Senate wants to tarnish his memory and punish his family in order to hide their own crimes.
I cannot stand for it. This isn’t justice.
But it is too late to claim the cook’s death was foul play. And it’s not like corpses can talk.
My eyes fall on the High Priestess. She can divine whether or not a person was murdered.
That is my way out. She is my way out.
She catches me staring at her, and a blush creeps up her neck. The corner of my lips rises involuntarily, but then Foreau slams his fist on the table.
I didn’t find anything in Antinous’s papers on him accepting bribes from Arthago, but that information wouldn’t be in the Senate’s ledgers. I’d need to search Foreau’s personal accounts, and for that, I’d need unfettered access to his room.
“This is an outrage,” he says.
They’ve been debating this year’s fishing regulations—specifically, the size of the catch to be turned over to the republic. Not normally a hotbed topic, so this must be about more than fish.
“Already our fishermen must forfeit the most lucrative part of their daily catch.” Foreau’s voice reverberates through the room as the sunlight reflects off his bald head. “They are met at the docks, their boats searched by the sentries as if they’re criminals.”
He, of course, owns most of those boats.
“Now, if this regulation passes, my fishermen will soon be as poor as the farmers in the third province.”
Terrance stands, his face reddening. “Have a care for who you insult, sir.”
“I would never insult the man who crowned himself King of Pryor.” Foreau smiles and then stares at Terrance, daring him to react.
Terrance skirts around the table, the end of his toga over his arm as he closes the distance to Foreau. The Senate Leader is taller and athletic for his age, but Foreau is twenty-five years younger and the fittest of the senators. What he loses to Terrance in height, he makes up for in muscle.
“Bold speech from a man who takes money from an enemy king.” Terrance wags his finger in Foreau’s face.
I think Foreau may strike the Senate Leader—as I would, given the insult. I place my hand on my sabine, but it’s not like I can cut down a senator. I cannot protect them from each other.
Foreau softly chuckles, and then he stares at Terrance. “That’s all you have? Debunked rumors of my family’s wealth? You are the one who needs to watch your back, Terrance, lest you meet the same end as the Elusians. Pryor has a specific way of dealing with tyrants.”
There’s not a sound in the throne room. Julian stares from the clerk’s desk, and Kerasea sits frozen with her eyes wide as saucers. Suh casually leans back and takes in the argument while Paolo nervously spins his ring. Medea smiles to herself and then clears the expression.
What was that? Why was she amused?
I can’t remember the last time senators threatened each other’s lives directly.
Certainly not during my time at the conclave, although, historically, they have attacked and even killed one another in the Forum.
That was decades ago, though, when they were squabbling over crumbs from the imperial table.
There hasn’t been violence inside the Senate in twenty years.
Just when I think this might come to blows, though, Foreau turns on his heels and walks out, laughing.
“I move to censure Senator Foreau,” Terrance says once the man is gone.
It’s an empty gesture when senators are elected for life, but it used to mean something. When Pryor was a kingdom, three censures by the Council would lead to a recommendation of removal by the king.
“Seconded,” Suh says.
Paolo draws a breath. “Opposed.”
The two elder statesmen look at Paolo in disgust, and he shrinks slightly in his chair. Then all three of them turn toward Medea. If she opposes the censure, they will deadlock. But she stares at the doorway.
“Medea, are you with us?” Terrance’s voice is laced with annoyance and condescension.
She doesn’t move her head, although her mouth shifts slightly. “The motion passes three to one.”
There’s something in her eyes when she stares at Terrance. Something sharp with teeth. But when I look again, it’s gone. Just like her smile earlier.
“That brings our day to a close,” Julian says.
The senators all variously stretch or slump in their seats. Kerasea releases a long breath.
Now they will bathe, change for supper, and then dine together for three hours as if they didn’t antagonize one another all day. As if they don’t truly despise one another.
The senators move to leave—Terrance and Suh first. I catch Kerasea as she rises from her chair.
“A moment, if you would, Excellency,” I say.
She smiles, this time in a genuine way. I can’t help but notice how it lights up her face, like she glows from within. “Of course, Praetorian.”
But I also don’t miss how Paolo and Medea both watch us as they speak to their pages. Julian also eyes us as he files paperwork. I suppose we are standing half a step too close.
“I’d like to show you something in the baths, if you’d follow me,” I say.
This time of day, there won’t be anyone using them.
Kerasea blinks, confused, and then clears her throat. “Certainly.”
Medea stares at Kerasea and then me before she finally exits the throne room. Suspicion creeps along the edges of my mind. Why would she be interested in our conversation at all? I suppose an alliance between members of the Verity Guild is notable to all the senators.
Of course, there’s another alternative: she thought we would be enemies by today.