“In here,” another sentry says.
Julian extends an arm. “By all means, you first.”
I smile but then peer into the upper, bowl-shaped tier of the fountain. I take a step back as Verhardt’s vacant eyes stare up at me. His mouth is agape, frozen in an eternal scream. A pile of bloody organs lies beneath his severed head.
Gods.
“We have confirmation,” I say slowly.
General Hadrian looks inside the fountain while Julian decides the sky is far more interesting. Jules has always been a little squeamish, but I can’t afford that luxury.
I crouch down and search the basin, but there’s not a single drop of blood in the rest of the fountain or on the stones around it.
How was this done and, more importantly, why?
I look into the fountain again. It’s hard to say if all the organs are accounted for, and I have to know for certain.
I draw a breath and reach in, shifting his head to the side. Under his neck, there is his stomach and heart, two lungs, but there’s something else in here. I stand on my toes because I caught a shimmer. It was the glint of something golden.
Could it be the murder weapon? A clue?
I have to reach it.
The bloody, cold viscera is an extremely unpleasant sensation on my wrist, but I push through it. I have to. I reach in until I grab a metal object, then grip it and raise my arm, pulling out a sickle-shaped knife by the handle. I immediately recognize this type of blade with its lapis inlay—it is a ceremonial knife. And these are only used in one place: the temple of truth.
“Bring me the High Priestess,” I say.
VII.
Torren
My command rings out into the quiet morning, my voice victorious and strong. I try to tamp down my excitement, but I’ve caught her. This is a misstep she can’t come back from. I finally have what I need to bring down Kerasea Vestal.
“No.” General Hadrian’s veto is gentle but firm.
No one moves.
“I beg your pardon?” I stare at him while clutching the bloody temple knife.
He shakes his head. “You already know that you cannot investigate the High Priestess due toun exorum.”
I lock my jaw and stare up at the sky.Un exorumis the doctrine that the high priests and senators are above reproach without overwhelming evidence—it literally means self-exoneration. Someone reputable, meaning one of their own, has to witness them committing a serious crime or they have to confess in order to even be questioned. But I have the evidence in my hand.
I open my mouth and sputter, “Th-This is a temple sickle.”
General Hadrian doesn’t blink. “Which proves nothing.”
Nothing?
Words fail to come out as a million retorts race through my mind. I look to Jules for help. Instead of meeting my eyes, he’s staring at his fine sandals.
Perfect.
“Don’t you find this, along with her mal omen, a little too convenient?” I ask.
General Hadrian shakes his head. “No, I think that’s the point of prophecy. She forecast calamity, and she was correct. You can’t interrogate the temple, and you know that. You would need to convince the Senate and ultimately get the Verity Guild’s approval—meaning Probus’s vote.”
“Then I will ask him,” I say.
