I don a simple cotton dress and then my white robe. Like all of my ceremonial robes, this one is embellished with gold and lapis stones. I also slip on four-inch-wide gold bangles and a heavy gold necklace—symbols of being a servant to the god of truth.
Zel braids my hair, her nimble fingers working quickly. Zel’s parents are also temple servants, as were her grandparents—a respected position in the capital.
“Are you pleased, High Priestess?” she asks.
“Always.” I smile.
She grins brightly, her pale white cheeks turning rosy. “I hope you have a good day today. I’ll see you before supper.”
With that, I’m ready. I can’t help but look toward the Praetorian’s chamber as I walk down the hall, but his door is closed.
I arrive at the throne room before ten in the morning, but the Council is already present. Flags of the republic hang over the whitewashed walls except for the northern window bank. The snow continues to fall steadily outside, gathering on the mountaintops and the massive terrace. If this continues, we will be snowed in. Not that it matters for this week—no one is allowed to come or go from the palace during the conclave.
Julian stands by the door in his brown leather armor, his blond hair shining like the gilding around us. He mentioned at dinner that he doesn’t do much this week. His function is to organize the sentries, a purely ceremonial role, but twenty years ago, on the Crimson Night, a former Capital Commander protected the Senate, so they wrote his position into thelex conclaveto honor him.
“Good morning, Excellency.” Julian smiles, and his friendliness is genuine and refreshing. He’s so different than his friend, like sunshine to a storm cloud.
I smile. “Good morning, Commander Monroe.”
The Praetorian is also in the room in his steel, but he stares straight ahead.
There are no longer thrones in Jubilee. The elevated, carved marble apse sits empty aside from a seal of Pryor on the wall. The most prominent feature in the throne room is a large, dark wood table in the center and high-backed chairs around it. No one is sitting, however. They are all conversing together except for the Praetorian.
I take a deep breath and step into the viper pit.
“Good morning, senators, Praetorian,” I say.
The senators greet me warmly. It is my duty to open the conclave with a blessing and to foretell the future from a sacrifice at the end of the week. However, even though I am last to arrive, the doors remain open as the sun clock chimes ten.
No one seems to be waiting for me, but as the moments pass, doubt creeps in. Maybe I need to do something to start the event. All my father said was once the conclave begins, we do a blessing.
I keep glancing at the door, so frequently that the Praetorian cranes his neck to see what I’m looking at.
“Are we waiting for someone?” I finally ask.
“Antinous.” Senator Terrance sniffs, his voice loud and distaste clear. “He is late.”
“He was also not at breakfast or dinner,” Senator Medea notes, smoothing her purple toga over her curves. “Are we sure he is even present?”
“I am certain,” the Praetorian states.
Everyone turns toward Torren as if they’re first noticing him. He meets their gazes but avoids looking at me.
“Well, he is holding up the conclave.” Senator Suh raps his cane on the floor. “Commander Monroe, do order the sentries to locate the clerk.”
Julian glances at the Praetorian, and Torren nods.
“Certainly.” Julian issues a quick bow and leaves.
While we wait, I observe the groupings. Senators Suh and Terrance prefer each other’s company—one stocky and broad and the other tall. Foreau and Eyo huddle together, occasionally pausing to preen, as they are both thought of as handsome. Foreau is bald where Eyo has thick hair, so they are another pair of opposites. Medea and Paolo speak briefly—him having to look up to her—but then they return to their respective circles of original senators versus those more recently elected. I realize that’s what Eyo meant by us being part of a “new guard.” Once Verhardt is replaced, power will shift. There will be more new senators than old for the first time.
One murder has changed the makeup of the Senate Council. The new guard, specifically Eyo, stood to benefit the most from Verhardt’s death. And he was speaking of change and war at the Revelry. Was it a confession that I was too intoxicated to process? Or was he simply drunk?
The sun clock continues to move as minute after minute passes.
“Excellency.” Senator Paolo smiles, walking toward me.
I incline my head. “Senator.”
