It is one in the morning, and Kerasea is in my bedchamber. She is not, however, in my arms. No, she’s kept her distance, pacing in front of me for the last five minutes as I sit on the edge of my bed.
It is an understatement to say that something is off about her. One of her priestesses just died—by her own hand or, more likely, by a murderer—but somehow that doesn’t feel like the issue. What more could there be? A feeling of wrongness sinks its claws into me, tearing me apart.
“Kerasea, what do you want to tell me?” I ask.
She stops, her eyes wide, as if she forgot I was present. Then she runs her hands down her long hair. When she shifts her arm, there’s a bandage visible on her left wrist. It’s bloody, and it wasn’t there before. She must’ve cut herself while taking out Mirial’s liver, but the fact that it’s her wrist is odd. It’s almost as if it was on purpose—
“I need to say something.” She sighs.
Nothing else comes out.
“Just say it, then.” I speak in a gentle tone as I wonder what could be rending her speechless.
She shakes her head and presses her lips together. Then she slaps her hands down at her sides. “I can’t.”
Yet she’s here. If she truly didn’t want me to know, she would’ve stayed in her bedchamber. I thought perhaps this was about us, a speech about how our kiss was a mistake, but that’s not it, either. She wants me to know a fact, but she doesn’t want to be the one to tell me. Truth is fighting with self-preservation.
“You found something.” It’s a guess, but an educated one.
She stops pacing and drops her head into a nod.
“You want to be truthful, but you can’t tell me because…you’re afraid of the consequences?”
Another guess, but it makes her pause, so there is some validity to it. Still, other than confessing to murder, the High Priestess wouldn’t face consequences for nearly anything. So what has her so wound up?
“The issue is that I can’t reveal how I know, and you’ll ask,” Kerasea says. “You’ll ask because you’re a good investigator.”
She stares at me, her green eyes earnest. The strangeness of this makes the hair on my arms stand. I shake off the chill.
“All right,” I say. “In that case, I won’t ask. You have my word.”
She blinks, but the tension eases in her shoulders.
“Senator Medea murdered Mirial.”
I stare, and by the time I blink, my eyes feel dry. “Shock” isn’t the right word for what I feel. “Sucker punched” is more accurate. I allow myself a moment before I speak. Whatever I’d thought she might say, it was not an accusation of murder against Senator Medea.
Medea was one of the killers who formed the republic. Many suspect that she poisoned her patron brother long ago, leaving her in sole power of a storied family. She is as clever as she is ruthless and no doubt capable of pushing a priestess off a balcony, so it makes logical sense, though I’ll have to think on what motive she’d have. Would war be enough?
The wrongness, of course, is why can’t Kerasea reveal her source? It feels like I walked into a trap by promising not to ask. She didn’t have to tell me anything, so what does she stand to gain from this?
Nothing. Medea isn’t her enemy. In fact, she is friendly to Kerasea. So if there’s nothing to gain from the lie, it is likely the truth.
“All right,” I say. “But you know I cannot investigate a senator without the Council liftingun exorum. And the Senate will demand some manner of proof if you accuse Medea.”
Kerasea nods. “I know. Proof is the heart of the issue.” She begins pacing again. “Mirial was murdered, and that much I can swear to. If I say I witnessed it, that would be enough, but…”
“I would know you are lying.” The words fly out of me before I even think them through.
She stops, spreads her hands apart, and exhales.
That is the real issue and why she’s here. She is willing to swear falsely that she witnessed Medea push Mirial off her balcony. The Senate would accept that as a credible accusation. I would be able to search for evidence and, if I find anything, use pressure on Medea—that is, unless I admit that the High Priestess could not have seen the murder because I was with her at the time.
The wind is knocked from my chest as I realize the choice she’s put in front of me. I can pretend I don’t know she is lying in order to catch a murderer. Or I can refuse false evidence and potentially allow a killer to walk free. Which is better? Which is more just?
Without Kerasea swearing falsely, Medea will not face any consequences—that much is undeniable. And she could very well be behind the senate murders as well. Something sticks about the idea, some glances and smiles. Nothing more than a gut instinct, but that shouldn’t be ignored.
Only,howdoes Kerasea know? She doesn’tsuspectthat Medea killed Mirial. This isn’t someone spewing random accusations. She is as certain as I’ve ever seen an accuser. The High Priestess would hold up swearing before her god. She has nothing to fear, as she is nearly untouchable. Then again, other people around her are not.
