I stare at the cylindrical tower of the Ministry of Justice. The temple to the god of justice is seven stories high and doesn’t just offer prayers to the divine. The priests are justices who handle all manner of crimes and citizen complaints except for high treason, which is the province of the Verity Guild.
And a member of the guild is now a person of interest.
Hadrian rests a hand on my shoulder. “You will be denied, Torren. Even if you could convince the Senate—which you can’t—one high priest is never going to consent to the investigation of another. Let me save you the trouble.”
The truth of his statement hits my chest, knocking the wind out of me, but I shake it off. This weapon can’t be denied. At the very least, I need to question Kerasea Vestal and find out how many people have access to these blades and the number contained in the temple. And then I need to know her whereabouts after she left the terrace last night, if she has any scars on her body from a struggle.
“We’ll see about that,” I say.
“No. We won’t. Do not go to the Ministry of Justice. This inquiry ends here.” The general raises his chin with finality. He is the type of man who speaks softly but always gets his point across.
I freeze, my mouth going dry as Hadrian forbids me from asking Probus. Before I can begin a proper investigation, I’ve been stymied. I can technically maneuver around the general as he’s not in my chain of command, but that would put me in opposition to a powerful man I respect.
Frustration eats at me, but I know better than to show it. I’ll have to be more cunning, less by the book, to get to someone like Kerasea Vestal.
“A bet, then?” I suggest. “A friendly wager on whether Probus will agree?”
General Hadrian’s brown eyes light up. He has one vice—and it’s gambling. We’ve spent many hours together passing the time by playing dice and cards.
“A vessel of wine?” he asks.
“Torren.” Julian sighs.
Sure, now he finds the ability to speak.
“Stop this,” he says. “You’re about to lose twice, and you’re a notoriously sore loser. I refuse to be locked up for a week with you when you’re in one of your moods.”
I’m not sure what he means by “one of my moods,” but Jules is correct that we’ll soon be locked in the palace for the conclave, if it goes forward. Still, that only puts a fine point on my need to investigate the High Priestess. By law, we’ll spend seven days sequestered on a mountaintop, and I’d rather not have a murderess in our midst.
“Done.” I shake hands with General Hadrian. “I’ll drink to you.”
I don’t drink, but that vessel will net me a nice payday when I sell it.
The general smiles slowly. “You won’t, my boy, but you are young. Perhaps it’s best you learn that for yourself. Come, Julian, we need to handle the senator.”
I stride to the Ministry of Justice with the knife in hand. I am right, and I’ll prove it. No one is untouchable—not even Kerasea Vestal.
VIII.
Kerasea
A rich patron sets a heavy velvet bag overflowing with gold coins into my hands and then gives his onyx-and-ivory cane to his servant. He slowly lowers himself to his knees at the feet of the colossal statue of the god of truth.
From the break of dawn, the patrons and benefactresses of the elite Southside families have come to the temple to confess their lies and buy clemency for last night’s misdeeds. They are, of course, first in line. Lower nobles and merchants will follow, then citizens, and only then, if there is still time, will we hear servants.
As I hold the velvet bag, I wonder if Atonement Day was created just to fill the temple’s coffers, but I shake away the doubt and hand the offering to an acolyte.
The line of nobles waiting with their gold suddenly shifts. I look up from anointing the patron’s forehead as four steel-clad sentries enter the inner hall. One would be unusual; four Senate sentries standing at the other end of the reflecting pool is remarkable.
“State your purpose,” the chief temple guard says, stepping out to meet them. He is a former battle-hardened sentry with a white scar across his brown face.
“The Senate Council requests an audience with the High Priestess,” a sentry replies. “We have orders to accompany Her Excellency to the Senate Hall at her first convenience.”
An icy feeling settles across my chest, and my stomach twists. Why am I being summoned? My mind flashes to the omen I concealed and then my other, darker secrets. I grip the sleeves of my white robe as I recall the black liver, and the smell of death fills my nose. Was this another misstep? Or did they discover something far worse?
Guilt rises through me, but I swallow it down. They don’t know my secrets. They can’t.
“For what purpose?” Mirial asks, folding her arms as she appears to my right out of nowhere. Last I saw her, she was taking confessions in one of the silent alcoves far from the inner hall.
