“By the man in jail?”
“No, the real killer walks free.”
He stops eating and stares into the distance. Suddenly, he looks ancient, haunted. Numbing fear spreads its tendrils across my chest. I’m about to ask if he’s all right when he speaks again.
“They’ll come for me, too, because I know. I know all their secrets, their schemes, and their shames.”
My mouth goes dry, and I swallow hard. I try to dismiss it, but Antinous does know everything as the Senate Clerk. None of the senators ever confess to the temple of truth—they don’t risk even stepping on holy ground—but Antinous sees all of the messages, the ledgers, and the orders. If he believes they are responsible for Verhardt’s murder, they are. And now he fears for his life. I try to tell myself he’s just being paranoid. That he’s perfectly safe at Jubilee. No one would dare commit murder in a locked palace with the Praetorian here.
I shake my head. “But the Praetorian…”
“No one could investigate the investigator for years.” He slurs his words, but his accusation is clear.
My breath catches. He thinks Torren carried out the murder of Senator Verhardt.
The thought is a thunderbolt. I grip my robe, my fingers icy. My father warned me he was a dangerous killer. But is this why the Praetorian is suddenly interested in me? Because he wants to confess, or is it something more sinister?
I pour myself some wine from the bottle in front of Antinous. I take a large gulp, but something doesn’t quite fit in what he said. A thought, an inconsistency needles at me. I’m about to ask him to clarify when there’s a movement by the door.
We’re not alone.
I gasp. Antinous grabs at a steak knife and nearly drops it trying to point the blade, but a few moments later, a household servant comes into the kitchens.
“Good evening,” the older woman says with a bow. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes, we do.” I run my hands over my long hair, ignoring how badly my fingers shake.
This conversation is over, but I will need to ask Antinous more questions once I can process everything.
“I should go back to my chambers,” Antinous says, although he looks sad to leave his plate. He moves too quickly and knocks over his glass. Red wine bleeds down the white counter. The servant woman quickly wipes it up, and I realize Antinous is also trembling.
I drain my glass. “I’ll walk with you. I’m going to the third floor as well.”
He shakes his head. “I’m staying elsewhere. Lock and bar your door, High Priestess. Keep danger at bay. You have a kind heart.”
“Thank you—” I begin.
“But a kind heart is nothing more than a meal to wolves.”
Antinous rests his hand on my shoulder and then leaves. I stare out through the small kitchen window at the dark night. A few snowflakes fall before I realize I forgot to give him a word of blessing.
XIII.
Torren
I’m still hiding in the drawing room when Antinous stumbles through the kitchen doors.
The man who just accused me of murder looks both ways, his movements ferretlike and fearful, before he descends to the ground floor.
I grip the doorknob. He believes there’s danger, and he left the High Priestess alone.
Coward.
I followed Kerasea after hearing her bedroom door open, then stood in the shadows by the kitchens. With my ear to the opening, I heard her pry more information out of Antinous than I could with fire and sword.
I underestimated her. I should’ve known she would be a great interrogator. The Faith never forces the truth; they coax it out. Her soft voice and kind posturing promised an ease of his burdens, clemency in exchange for honesty, and he leaped at the chance. Then he told her that one or all of the senators commissioned the murder of Verhardt—and that I carried it out.
The night clock chimes three, and Kerasea comes out of the doors holding a candle and a glass of red wine. The head-on sight of her is arresting. She’s in a silk robe cinched tightly at her small waist. Her long black hair flows around her, down and untamed instead of tightly swept up or perfectly braided. Without makeup, she looks vulnerable, more like a normal person than a High Priestess. Her hands tremble as she holds the glass. She takes a sip, her lips a perfect pink.
