I choke on my wine as blood rushes into my cheeks. Senator Eyo is voicing a concern that I, specifically, could be a danger to their sovereignty.
“That is what Verhardt believed,” he adds with a shrug.
But the accusation is anything but casual. Maybe this is why he cornered me at the Revelry.
Everyone stares at me, including the Praetorian.
Was this why the Council asked me to serve as a deadlock vote, to test where my loyalties and ambitions lie? Mirial hadn’t mentioned that in the host of reasons why I needed to decline, but it now seems plausible.
They all wait for my response. I don’t have the ability to laugh it off the way Julian does, nor would they accept that from me. The only thing I can do is answer honestly.
“Spiritually leading the Faith and politically ruling the people require far different skills, Senator,” I say. “I am loyal to the Council, like my father before me, but my role is ultimately and solely as a servant to the god of truth, from whose light all things are revealed.”
They all quickly bow their heads, even the Praetorian. I relax my shoulders slightly, as my claim to no political ambitions seems to release the tension in the room.
“That light could also lead a mob, if you willed it,” Terrance adds loudly.
Everyone stops again and waits. They stare at me as if I’m about to declare holy war on the Senate.
“I’d only will the people to the defense of the Senate,” I respond. “Just as my father did twenty years ago.”
Medea’s page finally arrives, thankfully shifting attention away from me.
“Ah yes, you’re finally here—play for us,” Senator Medea says brightly. The man is around my age, with delicate features. He takes a seat in the corner and begins to strum his lyre.
The musical notes are a relief. As the second course is brought out from the kitchens—a rich pasta with an obscene amount of truffles—I resolve that one way or another, I will find a way out of serving in this conclave.
The third course is roasted game hen trussed with herbs—one for each of us.
I’m cutting into the breast when Foreau’s sentry appears at the doorway. He’s distinct with light brown skin but fire-red hair. He whispers something to the blond servant girl, who then taps the Praetorian on the shoulder. After hushed words, Torren wipes his mouth and stands. He glances at me before he leaves the dining room.
The senators barely notice as they continue to gossip about nobles in the capital. Talk then turns to the specter of an upcoming execution in the arena. The excitement is palpable except for Medea, as it’s her nephew who will stand trial. But even as Julian participates in the conversation, he eyes the Praetorian’s empty chair. His brow wrinkles, and then he clears the expression. He didn’t know Torren was about to leave, and he’s troubled by it.
Gods, what now?
XIX.
Kerasea
Dessert lingers on the table, the seven-course dinner complete as we approach our third hour in the banquet hall. The Praetorian’s chair is still empty, and something tells me he didn’t plan to return.
Curse his good fortune.
I hope that every dinner is not as long and drawn out as this, but dining is an event for the elites, so it follows that it will be. Priests typically break bread in humble, quick repasts with our acolytes and servants. We all sit together at tables in the dining hall and pass around simple yet hearty dishes—the opposite of this.
Julian glances at me and then leans closer. He carries a light scent of leather and citrus. “You look like you’re plotting a method of escape.”
I nod slightly. “Was it that obvious?”
He grins. “May I give you a piece of unsolicited advice?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t operate on their schedules. You aren’t a senator.”
I swallow a sip of dessert wine. That much is true.
“You are above them as leader of the Faith,” he whispers. “You can leave when you like—your father did.”
