It’s pitch black aside from our candlelight, but the other side of the kitchen is lit by two candelabras. The staff left food on ice from dinner—cold meat, pastas, and vegetables all under glass cloches. I assume that’s why he’s here. But he’s also gotten into the brandy. Antinous reeks of spirits, and I’ve never known him to drink much.
“You weren’t at dinner,” I say.
No one remarked on his absence, but he should have been seated next to the Praetorian. I’d noticed his place card.
Antinous shakes his head. Between his receding hairline and glasses, it’s hard to tell how old he is. He looks more weathered and exhausted than I’ve ever seen him, and it’s not the lighting. I thought he was in his mid-forties like Senator Foreau, but now I think he’s well into his fifties, maybe sixty.
“I couldn’t stand to sit there like nothing happened,” he explains.
I nod. None of the senators were grieving, and Antinous worked closely with Verhardt. They were longtime friends and allies. Some insinuated they were lovers, but rumored affairs are just a cheap way to diminish someone’s importance.
“Are you here for dinner?” Antinous sneaks a look at the leftover food.
I shake my head. “No, please, you go ahead.”
He walks over and starts piling food on his plate. I consider returning to my room, but his eyes keep darting over to me. I know that expression—he needs someone to talk to. I see it before the start of every true confession.
I pull a stool up to the counter as he begins to eat.
“I am very sorry for your loss,” I say.
“Thank you. You’re one of the few.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his narrow nose and rips off another piece of cold chicken.
I try to find a compliment for the former Senate Leader, but calling Verhardt a great man or esteemed leader would be a lie. He was ruthless and feared far more than adored. But it was Verhardt’s idea to overthrow the king and create a republic, and that takes no small amount of genius and gall.
“He was a visionary,” I say.
Antinous sighs. “He was a flawed man, especially once he held great power, but he wasn’t always the person he became. Absolute power corrupts even the strongest hearts. And even at his worst, he didn’t deserve to be butchered like an animal.”
Butchered?
An icy chill washes over me.
Despite my shock, I will my face to stay neutral. My father used to say that people innately want to be truthful. It’s fear of consequences, of judgment, that creates lies, therefore no matter what the confession, we cannot judge. I remain silent and nod.
Antinous sways as he eats, dropping crumbs on the counter. I’m not sure how much he’s had to drink, but it’s enough to loosen his tongue.
“No one deserves that,” I remark.
Agreement, my father used to preach. Agreement forms a bond between the confessor and the priest. Agreement builds a bridge where the liar can walk themselves to the light of truth.
Antinous sniffles. “It was bound to happen. He knew too much.” He pours himself a glass of red wine. “About them.”
It takes all of my reserve to appear emotionless. I dig my nails into my palm and clamp my teeth down on the tip of my tongue until it hurts.
“Surely, they…” I trail off because I’m not sure of anything. A pit of vipers can certainly go after their own. But why? Why now when he’d survived for more than twenty years? “What did he know?”
Antinous stares into the distance as if he didn’t hear me. “Every one of them lies and conspires.”
Underworld, is he just drunk or is he actually accusing the Senate of murder? It’s one thing for me to consider the possibility and another for Antinous to say it.
My head spins, and I try to right myself. My father said to let the confessions slide off you and pool their shadows in your memory, that it is our job to act as temporary repositories for the truth. So that is what I attempt to do—to dismiss it for now. But this confession has barbs and burs that cling to me.
“You think they murdered Verhardt like the king?” I ask.
Medea, Terrance, and Suh were among the seven senators who mutilated the Elusian king with their own blades. They stabbed him a hundred times as he lay dying on the Senate floor. Is that what Antinous means?
He shakes his head. “No, they’re too clever. The people would not have accepted a public killing. They arranged for the murder.”
