Maybe the omen will be positive. Maybe the killing is over.
I place the liver on the golden offering tray and sprinkle it with holy oil and blessed salts. I ask the god for an omen of the future. Then I place the tray into the center of the eternal flame.
Black smoke pours out of the brazier, surrounding me in a billowing circle. Darkness closes in, but there’s something amiss. The swirl of smoke is broken, and there can be only one cause for that—a disbeliever in my midst. And that can only be one man.
I sigh at Torren following me once again. I thought I locked the door, but I’ll deal with that later. I have to continue or the life of the eagle will have been wasted. I raise my arms and chant.
“In the dark of night, the truth will be revealed.
In the dark of night, all will be revealed.”
The heavy weight of the divine enters the room and extinguishes all the lights, the last being the eternal flame. The whispers of truth fill my bones as the god accepts the sacrifice. Then the light returns and the pressure fades as I lower my arms.
I reach into the eternal flame—a fire of intense heat that will not burn the faithful. Placing an arm into the fire is the final test for acolytes hoping to become priests, but I’ve never had anything to fear. I walked through the flame as a child.
I take the tray out and set it on the altar, then I stare at the liver. Confusion roils my stomach. I don’t understand this, but I have called and the god has answered—even that much is a blessing. Humankind is not owed anything more. The truth must be a comfort in itself; however, in this case, it is not.
Bloody lies, what now?
My face tingles and my chest tightens. I hang my head and wash my hands clean in the water bowl.
“I’m sure you want to see the prophecy,” I say aloud.
The Praetorian fully opens the door he was hiding behind. His jacket from dinner is gone, leaving him in a fitted white shirt and dress pants. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing his muscular forearms. Somehow, he looks more dangerous in cloth than he does in armor.
“That was quite a show,” he says.
I arch an eyebrow at him, but I refuse to take the bait. “You know, for an investigator, you’re not terribly discreet.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders as he strolls fully into the room. “I don’t need to be—typically.”
No, I suppose violence isn’t subtle.
I tear my eyes from him and look at the tray again. The liver is partially black—bisected in the middle. One side is healthy pink and the other charred. A line of gold divides the two. What is this?
The Praetorian’s eyes search my face, not the organ. “What does that mean?”
I sigh, because I am not sure. The pink is natural, signaling a return to order and peace, but the black means rot and death. How can it be both? How can our future contain a duality? And how can glory separate the two?
Stalling, I cradle the dead eagle in my arms and carry it over to the sacrificial basin by the window. Then I light the fire and say the prayers to the five gods of Pryor to watch over us and accept this offering.
“It means that either blood will continue to be spilled at this conclave,” I say, “or that the republic will return to normalcy.”
He moves closer to me. “Which is it?”
I grip the basin as the carcass burns. I don’t know.
“It is almost like diverging paths. I’ve never seen this kind of omen, but any amount of blackening is death and disaster. However, I am not sure which side we are on.”
His brow wrinkles as he stares at me. “Isn’t it your job to know?”
I feel my temper flaring, but he is right—I am supposed to know. The problem is, and remains, that I am not my father. He would’ve known.
“What does it matter?” I shrug a shoulder. “You don’t believe in my ‘bird signs.’”
I glare at him. Mirrored back in his eyes is the same anger I feel. What happened to make him so full of frustration?
He looks away and then clears his expression, trying to fake a genial smile. “I think we have gotten off to a bad start. I’d like to begin anew, if you’re agreeable.”
