After my father was found guilty by the Verity Guild, I appeared before them and begged for clemency. Osiris Vestal sat in the center of the tribunal dais, looking down his nose at me as he flatly refused. Even at thirteen, I could tell that it was hopeless—I wasn’t going to change anyone’s heart or mind on a corrupt tribunal.
My voice shook with tears, and I begged them to punish me in his stead. Someone in the room gasped, and then Kerasea, who’d been sitting in the gallery, let out ringing laughter. Everyone else joined in. The sound still plays in my nightmares.
My lungs and muscles burn, and I realize I wasn’t breathing. I stop and catch my breath as I lean against the bag.
That is who Kerasea Vestal is—who she really is. Even if she fully believed her own lie, there’s no excuse for mocking me. I cannot allow myself to forget that she’s poisonous—and like most poisonous things, she is also tempting.
With too much energy left, I move on to a battery of other exercises until I’m exhausted and coated in sweat. Until I can finally think straight. The High Priestess may not have had anything to do with the murders, but she is not worth saving. No, I have to discover why someone is setting up the Faith and expose them. That way, they won’t be able to act on their plan, but I won’t have to interact with her anymore.
I finish my last circuit and relax now that I have a clear objective. I’ll go back to my room and closely review Antinous’s papers. Maybe there’s something in there pertaining to the temple or other clues I missed earlier. Once that is complete, I’ll finally get some rest.
I toss on my pants but carry my shirt over my shoulder. I turn out the oil lamps and snuff the gilded torchiers, not at all thinking about the golden dagger I pressed out of her hand.
XXIII.
Kerasea
When Zel knocks in the morning, I have to push the entire armoire out of the way of the door. She stares at me, no doubt puzzled as to why it took me so long to answer, but she doesn’t question me. It’s not her place to.
“I trust you slept well, Excellency,” she says.
“Yes, did you?”
I’m still trying to slow my heart from moving that heavy wardrobe. I can’t tell whether it was foolish or wise to let the Praetorian get into my head, but I didn’t feel safe with just a chair blocking the door last night.
Zel’s eyes dart around. “Well, I kept my door locked as you said. There were two knocks, and someone tried the handle, so I wedged a nightstand under it, but then it was difficult to get back to sleep.” She pauses and then forces a smile. “Otherwise, I slept just fine. Thank you for inquiring.”
Two knocks and someone tried to get into her chambers? My cheeks tingle as blood leaves my face. Did someone mistake her room for mine? Or were they simply looking for a young girl to prey upon?
“When was this?” I ask, as casually as I can. She’s already frightened, and I don’t want to worry her even more.
“Around an hour after you told me not to answer to anything but your voice.”
I exhale, relieved I told her that much.
Immediately, I think to inform the Praetorian, but he insulted my entire Faith last night. I won’t speak a word to him again without an apology. I swear it.
Zel readies me for another day of the conclave. It’s best not to think about how many more there are.
As she rests the golden collar of the temple on my neck, it feels like hands choking me. And the Praetorian thinks someone here wants me dead. I struggle to breathe, but then I remember that my father wore the same necklace. I’m sure the Senate wanted to eliminate him at points. I just have to be smarter, make fewer mistakes.
I sigh as I walk down the hall. I miss my father so much that there’s an actual pain in my chest.
As I enter the banquet room, I brace myself like someone will attack me in broad daylight. Instead, everyone is present, helping themselves to a sumptuous breakfast spread. We won’t break for luncheon for five hours, so I should eat something. However, the thought of deviled eggs, smoked fish, or charred steak is nauseating. I take a pastry and some fruit.
Even though all the food is already laid out, servants stand ready to pour our drinks and fix our plates. A blond servant stands holding an orange juice carafe.
Suh raps his cane to get her attention. She begins to pour a glass but accidentally overflows it. Suh curses, and she mutters apologies.
The senator remains red-faced, but as I sit, I have bigger problems than some juice on a toga. If what Julian said was correct, the Council will want to elect a Senate Leader today, which means I may have to choose who will ultimately be in control of the republic.
And if the Praetorian is correct, I will have to decide between the two men who may have killed Antinous and Verhardt.
I place my half-eaten pastry back on my plate, my appetite gone. I can’t be the one to hand them more power, but what is even the protocol for this? Verhardt was the only Senate Leader since Pryor became a republic. This vote should be up to the people, or at least an elected representative of the first province. The objection makes logical sense in my head, but I doubt their ambitions will accept it.
The whole conclave feels like a game of bock—the black-and-white board game of strategy where you think multiple moves ahead. And I am sorely lagging behind.
Eyo stands and raises his wine goblet. “May I offer a toast?”
