Julian and the Praetorian exchange the guiltiest looks I’ve ever seen. I sigh. They wouldn’t last a day in the shoes of a woman who has to lie for her own survival. Julian needs to get better at this, as he’s a future patron. The Praetorian is a lost cause.
“You were selected to replace Verhardt in the conclave,” Torren says. “It’s incongruous with tradition, and the Council asked you for a reason. It’s not beyond imagination that if someone was so bold as to murder Verhardt in the Forum and Antinous here, they are settling all affairs this week.”
He thinks someone might want me dead. I shudder but push down the fear, because something is still off.
He’s telling the truth, but not all of it, which leaves more questions than answers.
“But you didn’t know any of this last night when you were following me,” I say.
Julian’s eyes dart to his friend. He didn’t know.
The Praetorian stares directly at me. “I found it suspicious that you were leaving your chambers in the middle of the night.”
“So you were, in fact, following me. And then you hid to listen in on my conversation with Antinous.” I state it as a fact, not a question.
Julian turns and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“That is correct,” Torren answers.
“I need to be…elsewhere.” Julian raises his hands. “I literally cannot hear this, Tor. Plausible deniability. Peaceful slumber, High Priestess.”
Julian bows to me before exiting the room.
As he shuts the door, I realize that once again I’m alone with the Praetorian and, this time, we’re in my bedchamber. The heat of his gaze burns when it’s just the two of us. Whatever roils under the surface in public erupts when we’re alone together.
My dagger sits in my nightstand, but, of course, it wouldn’t be much use if he wanted to harm me. He disarmed me last night so easily. My wrist burns with the memory.
He keeps his distance, though, staying on the opposite side of the room. However, there’s no sense of ease.
“Why were you following me, really?” I ask.
His gaze dips to my lips and then drifts to where my heart pounds. “Because your actions were suspicious.”
It’s the truth, mostly.
“Why should I trust you?” I ask. “If you were listening at the door to the kitchens, you heard that Antinous thought you carried out the murder of Verhardt. You’d have the motive to kill a clerk who suspected you. Especially when no one could investigate you.”
I hold my ground as Torren’s cheeks take on a reddish hue. He’s either embarrassed or angry—maybe both—but there’s no guilt in his expression.
“I didn’t kill Verhardt or Antinous,” the Praetorian says through his teeth. “If you’d like to consult your bird signs, feel free, but do me a favor and ask the eagles who actually commissioned the murders so I can bring charges against an elite.”
I spring to my feet, outrage flowing through me as I ball my hands into fists. He just insulted my entire Faith. “You mock the gods at your own risk, Praetorian.”
He strides closer. “You are the one at risk here. And rather than realize it and accept my protection, you accuse me?”
My heart leaps as he stops just a step too close. We’re face-to-face, and it’s like I can feel the heat radiating from his chest. I keep my chin high as we stare at each other. “I’m only at risk if you continue to fail at your job.”
He flinches, wounded for a moment. Regret floods me, but he clears his expression and squares his shoulders.
“As you wish, Your Excellency. Consider it my order for you to be escorted at all times. Ignore that and pray your god will protect you or, better yet, that you learn some skill with that blade.”
He bows with a flourish and leaves the room. My legs shake, and then I tumble back into the armchair once the door is shut.
Bloody lies, what have I gotten myself into?
More questions than answers swim in my mind, but I do know one thing: he was telling the truth. He didn’t kill Verhardt or Antinous. So who did?
XXII.
