Chapter LX
LX.
Kerasea
My carriage rolls through the city gates of the capital, past the gentle splendor of the Southside villas. I’m seated alone as I return home. Mirial is dead. Zel is dead. And a coin purse sits on the bench next to me. I wrinkle my nose in disgust and push the velvet bag farther away.
Senator Terrance’s page handed me twenty gold bullions before we left Jubilee. Zel will never fall in love, never have children of her own, never see fifteen. But this is considered just compensation.
Her murdered body is tied to the back of this carriage, wrapped in my ruined robe.
Later tonight, I will burn her and say my goodbyes to the girl who squeezed my hand when I was being lectured, who quietly fixed my makeup to hide my sleeplessness.
Meanwhile, Medea is in her villa atop one of the hills in the capital. A viper back in her spacious burrow.
A scream builds in my throat from the unfairness of it all, but I exhale. She will stand trial. Torren and I will be able to convict her. There will finally be a type of justice.
The carriage rolls to a stop in front of the temple of truth.
I take a deep breath, sitting back in my seat.
I don the placid mask of High Priestess.
Not only will I have to pretend as per usual, I will now have to tell Zel’s parents that they lost their eldest daughter, as well as inform the priests and acolytes that Mirial was murdered.
I have been dreading this moment since I left Mount Ara, but it is time.
This is my duty. They all deserve to hear the truth from me—especially Zel’s parents.
I step out of the carriage and climb the stairs of the temple.
As the sun hits the horizon, I turn and look at the Forum.
The Senate Hall is aglow in the dying light of the setting sun.
They say the Elusians were corrupt and immoral, oppressive and unjust. I’m not sure how they were worse than the Council, though.
As I pass through the bronze temple doors, I enter the familiar embrace of home. I inhale the eucalyptus scent as the priests, acolytes, and servants stand in the Great Hall waiting to greet me. The braziers are lit, clearly illuminating all the familiar faces.
I bless each person by name, but I stop in front of Zel’s parents.
“Please see me in my chambers,” I say.
They both bow.
I accept the welcome by the rest of the servants and nod to the chief temple guard. It’s hard to keep my expression placid, as I now know what he did on the Crimson Night. But I’m sure he barely remembers it. Another body. Just another dead servant in Pryor.
I walk down the corridors to my quarters, but as usual, even in my own rooms, I’m not alone. One of my chambermaids waits to serve me, but it’s not Zel. It never will be again.
As soon as I step inside, the maid kneels and removes my riding boots. My bare feet have just touched the floor when there is a knock on my door. I already know that it’s Zel’s parents.
“Enter,” I say.
Her mother and father step inside on hesitant feet. Zel inherited her wide brown eyes from her mother and her father’s thick, curly hair. Looking at the two of them, I can piece her together, and it makes my heart break once more.
“Excellency,” they say simultaneously. They bow and sign with their fingers to their lips.
I close my eyes for a long blink, dismiss my chambermaid, and then I begin. “I regret to say that I have the most grievous news to tell you both.”
The husband and wife exchange worried glances.
Zel’s mother holds her skirts so tight that her knuckles whiten, but she waits patiently.
Surely she noticed that her daughter did not arrive with me.
She must at least suspect that something is awry.
I search for words to make this easier, but nothing can soften a death blow.
I draw a breath. “Zel has crossed to the Underworld. While we were at Jubilee, her life was taken. Your daughter died simply because I failed to keep her safe, and for that I can never form an apology worthy of your ears or make amends. I don’t pretend to understand how you feel, but do know that I loved her, too.
I grieve with you. We will honor her tonight with funeral rites and praise her memory, but I don’t expect that it will be nearly enough. ”
Zel’s mother closes her eyes, and her father bows his head. “May the Underworld receive her,” he says.
“May she navigate the River of Death to the shores of eternal peace,” I recite.
I mean it.
The quiet of truth descends on the chamber as they attempt to process the loss. I hold still and wait, ready to answer their questions, though I dread them.
“You said…you said her life was taken,” her mother says. “Do you know who killed her?”
Her father frowns. I suppose he doesn’t want to know, but it is now my duty to tell her.
“Lucius Calais, a nobleman and sentry.”
They exchange sad glances. They know that his elite status means that he won’t face any consequences. And he would not have, but for what happened.
“He is dead by my—” I begin, and then I catch myself. “By the will of the god of truth, he was killed for shedding blood in a holy place. He was struck down, but it was not in time to save Zel. She died quickly in my arms.”
Tears stream down her mother’s face, and pain radiates through my chest. I have replayed those last moments a dozen times. If only I’d acted faster, responded to the call of my blood sooner, she would still be alive.
In the end, this was my fault.
“That is all we can ask,” her father says. “Thank you, Excellency.”
“A million thanks be to your great name,” her mother says.
I stare. They’re thanking me? My stomach roils at their gratitude, but I maintain my composure.
“The Senate has offered recompense.” I swallow my disgust for their coin and for Zel’s parents thanking me when I cost their daughter her life.
I hand the bag of gold to her father. “It is not nearly enough, but please take this with my sincere condolences.”
“Excellency, you are too magnanimous,” he says with a deep bow. Her mother also curtsies.
The worst part is they are genuinely moved. I failed horribly as a shepherd. I allowed one of my flock to be eaten by a wolf. They were given mere gold for the life of their firstborn, and they are thanking me.
Because another noble would have kept the coins. Because another priest would’ve let him walk free.
I curl my hands in fists. I can’t stand this a moment longer.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say. “There are many matters that need my attention as we prepare for tonight.”
“Of course,” her father says. “Thank you, Great One.”
They both bow again, then take each other’s hands as they leave, and I remember finding my fingers woven with Torren’s.
He might be the only one who understands what I am feeling.
I’m livid at my failure, at the power imbalance throughout Pryor, at the senseless murder and now being thanked. Somehow, I know he’d understand.
I want to see him—it’s startling how strong the urge is to go to him—but unlike Zel’s parents, I will never be able to trust him. I’ll never be able to accept solace from a man who would persecute me to the ends of the world if he really knew me.
I call the chambermaid back into my room. I need to prepare for Zel’s funeral rites.