I twist the bangle on my wrist, reliving the day Torren appeared before the guild. It all happened so long ago that I’d pushed it to the back of my mind, but he came before them to beg for his father’s life. I’d gasped at his brave offer to take his father’s place—to be tortured and die in the arena—but my father heard me. My gasp drew his attention as well as his ire. I covered my gasp with a laugh and then, to my horror, others joined in.
My father was satisfied, but Torren had just stood there with his chin raised until he glared up at me. I never got the chance to explain it or apologize, and now it is so far in the past that it doesn’t seem worthwhile to pick at old scabs. But perhaps I owe him an explanation.
I’ll seek him out after this.
I’ve just resolved the matter in my mind when I notice Senator Foreau eyeing both of us. Goose bumps coat my skin. He says nothing, but from the slight raise of his chin, I can tell he knows there’s a connection between us. His eyes shine like a wolf’s at night as a smile plays on his lips.
I’m left with one thought: has our tentative alliance already been viewed as a threat?
XL.
Torren
Fifty resolutions are voted upon in ten hours as I stand guard. I’ve casually watched the Senate while trying to figure out a way to exonerate the cook.
If the Verity Guild is convened, he will be found guilty. As Praetorian, I am supposed to vote in favor of every high treason conviction unless there is insurmountable evidence to the contrary.
In this case, there won’t be. The healer will confirm Eyo was poisoned, and because I said the cook took his own life, that will be the end of the inquiry. The Senate wants to tarnish his memory and punish his family in order to hide their own crimes.
I cannot stand for it. This isn’t justice.
But it is too late to claim the cook’s death was foul play. And it’s not like corpses can talk.
My eyes fall on the High Priestess. She can divine whether or not a person was murdered.
That is my way out.Sheis my way out.
She catches me staring at her, and a blush creeps up her neck. The corner of my lips rises involuntarily, but then Foreau slams his fist on the table.
I didn’t find anything in Antinous’s papers on him accepting bribes from Arthago, but that information wouldn’t be in the Senate’s ledgers. I’d need to search Foreau’s personal accounts, and for that, I’d need unfettered access to his room.
“This is an outrage,” he says.
They’ve been debating this year’s fishing regulations—specifically, the size of the catch to be turned over to the republic. Not normally a hotbed topic, so this must be about more than fish.
“Already our fishermen must forfeit the most lucrative part of their daily catch.” Foreau’s voice reverberates through the room as the sunlight reflects off his bald head. “They are met at the docks, their boats searched by the sentries as if they’re criminals.”
He, of course, owns most of those boats.
“Now, if this regulation passes, my fishermen will soon be as poor as the farmers in the third province.”
Terrance stands, his face reddening. “Have a care for who you insult, sir.”
“I would never insult the man who crowned himself King of Pryor.” Foreau smiles and then stares at Terrance, daring him to react.
Terrance skirts around the table, the end of his toga over his arm as he closes the distance to Foreau. The Senate Leader is taller and athletic for his age, but Foreau is twenty-five years younger and the fittest of the senators. What he loses to Terrance in height, he makes up for in muscle.
“Bold speech from a man who takes money from an enemy king.” Terrance wags his finger in Foreau’s face.
I think Foreau may strike the Senate Leader—as I would, given the insult. I place my hand on my sabine, but it’s not like I can cut down a senator. I cannot protect them from each other.
Foreau softly chuckles, and then he stares at Terrance. “That’s all you have? Debunked rumors of my family’s wealth? You are the one who needs to watch your back, Terrance, lest you meet the same end as the Elusians. Pryor has a specific way of dealing with tyrants.”
There’s not a sound in the throne room. Julian stares from the clerk’s desk, and Kerasea sits frozen with her eyes wide as saucers. Suh casually leans back and takes in the argument while Paolo nervously spins his ring. Medea smiles to herself and then clears the expression.
What was that? Why was she amused?
I can’t remember the last time senators threatened each other’s lives directly. Certainly not during my time at the conclave, although, historically, they have attacked and even killed one another in the Forum. That was decades ago, though, when they were squabbling over crumbs from the imperial table. There hasn’t been violence inside the Senate in twenty years.
