Chapter LXI
LXI.
Torren
It’s well into the evening when I return to the barracks with an expensive bottle of sparkling wine and a gold laurel wreath. I set both on the counter. Perhaps Hadrian will take this bottle instead of the vessel. Although given the reason for the award, perhaps I should just smash it in the sink.
“Take the commendation, Tor,” Julian says, again reading my thoughts.
We are both dressed in our finest armor, having been called to the altar of peace an hour ago. This wine was given to me as a gift, along with a laurel wreath for my investigation.
Little could have felt more wrong than accepting the awards from three remaining senators. Foreau was absent; the rest are dead or under arrest.
And I, first and foremost, am the Senate Protector.
“I can’t let this go, Jules,” I say. “Why would they publicly thank me? Verhardt, Eyo, and Antinous are dead. Medea is arrested. Don’t you find it unusual for them to reward me?” I tip the bottle and then leave it on the counter.
Julian’s brow wrinkles. “No. They are pleased with the result—they all got what they wanted.”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. With Eyo’s body having burned, the Council has decided that no further inquiry is proper.
No one will ever be able to say for certain whether it was poison or an allergic fit and, therefore, there was no murder.
To them, the only murders to solve were the ones already brought before them—the murder of Verhardt, which we have a suspect for, and the murder of Mirial, who was a commoner, and thus I have done my job.
Paolo and Terrance even hinted at my reappointment.
No one mentioned finding the diamond ring of the republic in Medea’s possession because it is not enough evidence without testimony.
“Do you not recall? You solved the murders.” Julian smiles.
My friend is also back to being deeply unserious.
I suppose nothing really changes in Pryor.
“Yes, Medea is now suffering the indignity of being confined solely to her city villa instead of her thousand-acre estate in her province.”
Julian parts his hands. “She is under house arrest, Torren. Some houses are grander than others.” Then he sighs. “What is really bothering you? Do I even want to know?”
Terrance and Suh have already floated the idea of Medea paying a sizable tribute to the temple instead of facing any real consequence.
Without Kerasea terrifying them, they have returned to their normal indifference.
They want all the murders swept under the rug and to move on with their own schemes and ambitions.
But something is off in all of this. I know there is information that would pull everything together and make sense of the timing and the chosen victims. One fact sits right at the edge of my knowledge, but I just can’t reach it.
“Everything.” I crash onto the sofa.
Most of all, Kerasea’s testimony itself gnaws at my mind.
Before we left Jubilee, I returned to the divining room.
I wrapped Zel’s body and brought it down, but not before I leaned out the tower window in the direction of the palace.
There was no possible way Zel saw Medea’s balcony.
Not during the day and especially not at night, which makes that a fabrication.
I was going to confront Kerasea, but then I remembered that she never said Zel was her source—that was my theory. But if not her…then who?
The other oddity in the room was that the remains of Calais were completely gone.
Because Kerasea and Zel sat unburned in the center of an enormous flame, I hadn’t noticed at the time, but there should have been ash and fragments of bone along with teeth.
I’ve never known fire to fully consume a body, so what happened to the remains?
And how did he wind up with his head sliced off cleanly?
There was no weapon in the room aside from a dagger.
I shudder. All of it was too similar to how Verhardt was decapitated, but Kerasea wasn’t responsible for that crime. I’ve already accepted that as true.
Perhaps the answer is simple: she was able to divine that Medea committed the murder from the god of truth. But then why hide it when she showed her power in the throne room? It has to be something else, something she wouldn’t say, but she swore on her god that it was true.
Maybe the thought I had in Jubilee was correct. If she were Elusian…
“Torren,” Julian says. “Leave everything else alone. Accept the win.”
I press my lips together.
He reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not going to do that, are you?”
“Probably not.”
He sighs, but turns to leave. “Then at least get some rest. Late morning tomorrow, the Council will announce Terrance as Senate Leader and there will be the funerary processions for Verhardt and Antinous. You’ll need your strength for those.”
With that, he shuts the door, leaving me in peace. I lean my head back. Tomorrow will be all fake mourning and ceremony. Julian is right. I need sleep or I’ll never be able to handle the cries of professional mourners.
Alone in my apartments, I remove my chest armor and set it on the cushion beside me.
Then I stand and take off my shirt and leather skirt.
With the weight removed, I realize that Julian is right.
The public announcements, day of mourning, and funerals will put to rest any question of the murders. Why can’t I just accept that?
Guilt, maybe. Perhaps I’ve always wanted them to discover who I really am. Getting away with murder is a punishment in and of itself.
I’ve just removed my shin guards when there’s a knock on my door. Julian must’ve forgotten something.
I throw open the door, but it’s not him. Kerasea stands in front of me in a beige cloak with her eyes wide.
“You’re not Julian,” I say. I feel the cool air on my bare chest as blood rushes to my cheeks.
“Not last time I checked, no,” she says slowly.
“Come in.”
The last thing I need is other sentries seeing the High Priestess here while I stand in my underwear.
It would fuel gossip for a week in the capital.
And now that we’re back home, I’m painfully aware of our positions.
In Jubilee, I could lie to myself because she was next door.
In the capital, she’s a Southside elite and the High Priestess.
I’m a man from the Northside who clawed his way to Praetorian.
Kerasea slowly nods and steps inside.
I close the door behind her, and when I turn, I see the apartment as she must—clean but sparse and, overall, shabby.
The ceiling paint is cracked, as are some of the floor tiles.
I have never been self-conscious about my home, even when Julian pokes fun at it, but having someone like her here is different.
I was offered Villa de Armas—the home of the Praetorian—but there is nothing that could compel me to take it.
Not after the screams that echoed there.
“Did you need something?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck. “I was just about to get ready for bed.”
“Oh, I…I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s late. I should go.”
It’s ten at night. Undoubtedly, she should leave. But now I have to know why she is here.
She takes a step toward the door, and I put out my hand. She stills, two feet from my palm.
“Kerasea, why did you come?”
She smiles, but then her eyes become glassy, and she sniffles.
“I don’t know. I… We burned Zel tonight and I just…
I couldn’t stand being at the temple and I thought…
” She stares at the floor and then shakes her head.
“I’m sorry. Now that I’ve said it aloud, I see how this is not your problem. I’m really very sorry to disturb you.”
She takes another step toward the door, and I splay my fingers, my arm still out. I know exactly what she’s feeling. She is sad, tired, frustrated, and seeking solace.
And she came to me.
“The Senate thanked me tonight, publicly commended me,” I say.
She narrows one eye and then clears her expression. “Well, your investigation found the evidence…”
“You know as well as I do that I didn’t deserve a laurel wreath,” I say.
She stares at the floor. “I know the feeling of undeserved praise. Who thanked you?”
“Terrance, Suh, and Paolo.”
“Not Foreau?”
I shake my head. “He was notably absent, but he said he was returning to the fourth province.”
As she stands here, I realize that I wanted to confer with her.
I missed her already.
It’s then that I notice we are far too close to each other. Her cloak looks soft, as soft as her lips.
My hand moves like it has a will of its own.
I reach out and touch the edge of her cloak.
It is as soft as a lamb. I want to peel it off her, but then I remember how she backed away from my touch, my efforts to console her.
I force myself to let go and drop my hand.
My fingers ache to feel her again, and I curl them in fists.
She breathes out, her chest rapidly rising and falling. Kerasea stares straight ahead, and then her expression hardens into resolve. I hold still as she takes a tiny step closer to me and then another until she’s inches from me. Kera stares up into my eyes, and then she stands on her toes.
Joy fills my chest, and I lean down and close the distance between us.