I enter Medea’s lavish bedroom with my skeleton key. The walls are white brocade with gilding on every inch of molding. The floors are laid with expensive marble. Despite the opulence, the most striking features are the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the mountainous landscape.
Unlike the chaos of Zel’s room, this chamber is neat and tidy. There are double doors that lead to a balcony. I decide to start at the scene of the crime. I turn the carved ivory handle to the glass-and-wood door. There are footprints in the snow, which means someone was out here, but those alone aren’t evidence.
I search every square inch of the balcony, but there is no blood splatter, no clues to be found. As Mirial was pushed, it’s not surprising, only disappointing.
While I’m at the balustrade, I crane my neck to the east, but I can’t see the tower from here. An unsettling feeling grips me—a hint of doubt—but I dismiss it. Just because I can’t see the tower from the balcony doesn’t mean the opposite is true.
I step inside and begin a meticulous search of Medea’s room and the massive en suite. There is a granite tub large enough for ten people and a mirrored dressing area encrusted in ivory and jewels. But there are no hidden weapons in the bathroom—nothing out of the ordinary at all.
I search the wardrobe. Like every benefactress, Medea has an array of clothes and a chest of jewelry that could feed a dozen Northside families for years. But inequality is not what I’m looking for. I turn over every drawer and search under and inside every piece of furniture in the room, but there is nothing. No robes, no letters, nothing to link her to Mirial’s death.
And without evidence, she will go free. As free as whoever poisoned Eyo and eviscerated Verhardt.
I have to think she was responsible for their deaths, as two killers at Jubilee is unlikely, but where is the evidence?
I breathe out a sigh of frustration, but I force myself to remain calm and focus on just the crime at hand. Criminals, especially those who have never faced consequences, are sloppy by nature. There should be something in here. Something she missed. And if I find evidence she pushed Mirial, I will be able to protect the Council if she was also behind the senate murders.
But perhaps I started in the wrong place. Medea is probably too clever to keep anything in her own chambers.
I search her sentry’s and page’s rooms. I work quickly but methodically, looking in all the usual and unusual hiding spots.
In total, I spend two hours tossing all three of the chambers, yet I come up empty-handed.
I raise my chin and try to shore up my reserve, reminding myself I’m doing this for Kera now.
If Zel were still alive, I’d be able to use her testimony, but she was conveniently murdered before Kerasea could accuse Medea.
I stop cold. Calais could have been conspiring with the senator. He was likely the one listening outside my door, and then he’d have reason to murder Zel. Calais had access to Eyo—he easily could have poisoned him. He was on duty when Antinous was killed, but drowning a man takes minutes. And he was at the Revelry party the night Verhardt was murdered. As a sentry, he could have escorted the Senate Leader to the altar of peace.
It fits, but I still need the evidence.
I return to Medea’s room. There has to be something here—something I missed. I feel it in my bones.
Her dismantled writing desk catches my eye. I’ve already pulled out every drawer, checked behind them, and found nothing. Nothing from Mirial, not a paper out of place, although right now everything litters the floor. But I check again.
Once I’ve gone through everything twice, I stop searching and sigh. These people have remained in powerbecausethey don’t make sloppy mistakes. I’ve always known how difficult it is to bring down the elite in Pryor, and Medea is at the very top.
The late-morning mountain sun is nearly blinding as it pours through the windows. The gilding glows, and even though I’m empty-handed, I know my time is up. The senators won’t tolerate being locked in for much longer. I will have to go down to the Council and admit that I found nothing.
A thought enters my mind. I could take something of Mirial’s from Zel’s room and claim I found it here. Medea would object, but no one would know that I planted the evidence.
I shake it off.Iwould know.
No matter how tempting it is, fabricating evidence isn’t just. And I promised myself once I became Praetorian, I would do things the right way.
I stare at the wood floor, nauseated by the fact that I had even considered it, but then notice that something is off about the notepad on the ground. It’s the same kind as is in all of our rooms. It’s blank, but as the sun catches the paper, I see there’s an indentation from the last note written on here. I pick up the notepad, and when I tilt it just a little more, I can read it.
Mirial,
See me before you leave
M
I clutch the pad so hard that I almost crush it, but this is it. My heart drums, victory coursing through my veins. This is what I was looking for. Medea not only knew that the priestess was at Jubilee, but she called her to this room. Implied in the note is that Medea was the last to see her alive. When I combine that with Kerasea’s accusation, it is enough to charge Senator Medea with murder underlex religio.
And I will be able to see Kerasea’s eyes sparkle like diamonds when I present the evidence.
I stride past the open wardrobe and come to an abrupt halt.Diamonds. I didn’t check Medea’s jewelry because I didn’t think I’d find evidence in necklaces and jewels. But suddenly, I remember turning Verhardt’s wrist. The emerald ring on his little finger was how we identified him, but his other ring was missing.
