Torren
I pace in my room like a tiger in an arena cage, glancing over at my bed from time to time, but there’s no chance of rest. It is a good thing that in my service to the legions, I got used to operating on little to no sleep. This conclave will not be the boring respite it has been in the past. Then again, it never was going to be with her here.
Her.
Kera cried when I confirmed that Antinous was murdered, and it caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected her to show that amount of compassion. I didn’t think she had any at all, yet that tear that rolled down her cheek…
I stop and shake my head. What am I even doing? I can’t allow her to pull at my heart.
I don’t know why the gods have cursed me with thinking about this woman. Maybe it was the dead bird comments. But I offered her my protection and went beyond my duty, as she is the High Priestess, not a member of the Senate. If she ignores my warning and gets killed, my conscience will be clear. If the temple has complaints about her death, so be it.
I run my hands down my face. Son of a jackal. It’s one thing to lie; it’s another to lie to myself. If what I just thought was true at all, then I’d be fast asleep, getting the rest I sorely need. It’s been an hour since I left Kerasea, after arguing with her yet again, and I’m wide awake.
Enough of this.
I leave my room and stride past hers down to Julian’s door. It takes three knocks for him to answer. He finally opens the door with his hair mussed from bed. Evidently, he had no problem getting to sleep.
“Leave your door ajar and listen for anyone coming or going down the hall,” I say.
He rubs his eyes with a yawn. “Yes, sir. Wait, where are you going?”
“To patrol for an hour.”
Julian lets out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Should I ask where you’re really going?”
He left Kerasea’s room earlier because, as Capital Commander, he is supposed to report all breaches of protocol to Hadrian—even mine. Following Kerasea after being specifically instructed multiple times by multiple people not to investigate her counts as a breach, I suppose. But this time I have nothing to hide. He doesn’t hold the authority to inquire, but that hardly matters between us.
“You may ask.”
“Where, then?” Jules has all the enthusiasm for questioning me that a war dog has for a bath.
“The armory. I can’t sleep. I’m going to work out and then I’ll be back, but you need to stand guard until then.”
He sighs and leans on the doorframe. “You know, normal men who were this frustrated would just bed a servant girl.”
I curl my lip. Somehow, seducing a girl who is mildly willing but mostly unable to refuse doesn’t sound appealing. And Julian knows this, because it’s not appealing to him, either.
“I leave that to the esteemed nobility.” I bow and walk down the hall.
The armory is on the same floor as the baths and servant quarters. The weapons were removed from the palace after the Crimson Night, but the space still retains exercise and training equipment.
I light the torchiers in the darkened gymnasium until the sparring ring is illuminated. Every piece of equipment is the finest in the world—the Elusians demanded no less.
I spit at the memory of the magic bloods. At first, they were viewed as demigods, saviors who brought order and united seven city-states into one kingdom thousands of years ago. But all of that power corrupted the Elusians. The last king, being nearly immortal, was by far the worst. No atrocity or indulgence was out of reach by the end of his three-hundred-year reign. But it was really the endless war that left the Senate with no choice.
What was it Antinous said?Absolute power corrupts even the strongest hearts.There are times I wonder how much better we are with lifetime senators than the former monarchy. Then I shake off the thought. Of course it’s better.
With no one else in the massive armory, I strip down to my underwear and then jump rope to warm up my muscles in the cold room. I brought wraps for my hands, and I tie them. I take my time, focusing on my breathing, as I usually do when I prepare for a fight. It feels good to follow my routine, at least in this one respect. A shred of normalcy here.
I square up and hit a sand-filled leather heavy bag. I strike again and again, bouncing on my feet, pushing myself faster and harder until sweat starts to drip down my face. I deliver knockout blows, jabs, crosses, then I turn and roundhouse the bag.
I work out my frustration about everything from being stymied in my investigation into the murder of Verhardt to my failure to protect Antinous. He wasn’t a senator, but he should have been safe here. Kerasea was kind enough to pour salt in that particular wound tonight.
And then there’s her, generally. And that’s too much frustration to work out in a lifetime.
Still, I shouldn’t have said those things about the Faith. In truth, I shouldn’t have interacted with Kerasea at all. It’s a stupid, fatal mistake to get entangled with her. She is in danger, but maybe all that means is that she’ll finally get what she deserves. The temple is a rotten institution, fitting for someone like her.
I punch the bag ten times in a row as I remember her pointing to my father, saying she witnessed him start the fire that burned down half the warehouse district and killed thirty people.
