Everyone stops talking. Terrance seems put out, and closer than ever to Verhardt’s empty chair. The arms of his seat touch the head of the table, and I’m sure he was planning on giving the toast.
“To the Senate’s continued health and to the success of this year’s conclave,” Eyo says. “Already we have bridged our differences and made strides toward a better republic. Although we mourn the loss of our dear Verhardt, we will continue our reforms and service to the people of Pryor in his great memory.”
Eyo pauses and lowers his head dramatically.
“Today, with the guidance of the gods, we will elect a new Senate Leader to fill the cavernous void left behind by the senseless, horrific murder of our colleague. May our hearts and minds select a leader who will fulfill the legacy he established, further the interests of not themselves but of the republic as a whole, and bring glory to all of Pryor. May we each embrace the future over the past.”
I try not to look at anything in particular, but I meet the Praetorian’s gaze. His face is neutral, but his eyes betray his thoughts. He thinks Eyo may be a murderer.
“Hear, hear,” Foreau says. He bangs on the table, the white jewels of his bracelets contrasting with his rich brown skin.
Paolo taps his glass on the table while Suh continues to eat, eggs clinging to the sides of his goatee. Medea simply raises an eyebrow and goes back to her cheeses.
Terrance seems the least amused, sniffing as he frowns.
Eyo retakes his seat, and conversation resumes. He is drinking red wine despite the early hour. Everyone else is drinking water or orange juice, but they stop as a servant wheels in coffee.
The aroma is incredible as the servant distributes the drink in delicate porcelain cups with sweetened milk.
We import thousands of pounds of coffee beans from a faraway kingdom. Most is kept by the nobility, but some is rationed out to citizens on high holy days. The best is kept for the Senate and High Priests.
I’m enjoying my second cup when Senator Eyo begins to cough.
“Excuse me,” he chokes out.
Suh stares over his fork and Medea wrinkles her nose as his fit continues. Both have long-standing grievances with him.
Conversation stops as his cough worsens. Eyo’s arm shakes as he reaches for his water, but instead of grasping the glass, he knocks it over. Suh and Foreau both stand as water spills along the mahogany, but they merely brush off their togas. Suh looks particularly vexed, as he has now been spilled on twice.
“Get ahold of yourself,” Suh says.
But Eyo’s face is turning dark red, his breathing staggered.
Foreau and Suh exchange glances as my wrists and head begin to throb. Something is very wrong here.
Paolo pauses from cutting his steak to look at the senator. “Is he choking?”
“Not if he can cough,” Terrance says, waving his hand. “Really, Eyo—show proper decorum or excuse yourself.”
But Eyo continues to gasp and sputter as the room goes silent. He drops his wine goblet. It clangs onto the mosaicked floor, bleeding onto the tiles. Eyo clutches at his own throat as he leans forward and claws at the table, convulsing.
I rise from my seat, horror propelling me. He’s dying.
“Someone get a healer!” I yell out.
“We are locked in, High Priestess,” Julian says, also standing. He’s paler than I’ve ever seen him. “There are no healers in the palace.”
“There must be someone who can do something,” I say. “Please.”
Stares volley around the table.
“Fetch the sentries!” the Praetorian yells out.
His voice reverberates in the room as Eyo falls to his knees. The senator’s face is so dark red, it’s nearly purple.
The Praetorian leaves his seat and races over as Eyo collapses, but everyone realized the problem too late. Whatever is happening is killing him. Death wraps its tendrils around his body—I can see it. The room begins to spin, my head feeling too light, my pulse too heavy. He is dead even if he still clings to life. I grip the table, trying to remain in place. This can’t be happening.
Torren leans his ear close to Eyo’s purple lips. “He isn’t breathing.”
