We stand next to the waterfall, and mist gathers on his armor and in his raven hair. He glistens as he leans closer to me.
“A woman’s voice. But only for a moment and then not again for the rest of the night, so maybe I didn’t even hear it.”
“I assure you there was no woman in my bed last night,” he says with a laugh.
Heat flushes my cheeks, and I stare at the waterfall. Curse my face. I might save the Senate some trouble and die of embarrassment right here.
“Kera…” he says.
The last thing I want to do is look at him, because I’m sure I am red as a rose. But the silence lingers.
Reluctantly, I look up. Amusement decorates his lips. He stares down at me, his features softer than I’ve ever seen. His full attention with that little smile is intoxicating.
Just a glance feels so intimate—like he’s only ever looked atmethis way. Like he’s only ever been kind with me. And unlike with Senator Eyo, this isn’t calculated. Tor’s gaze shifts to my lips, his eyes mesmerizing. The draw to him is a siren call, and my limbs itch to obey.
I hold still.
He had a reason for asking me here, and it wasn’t for this.
“What did you want to speak to me about?” I ask, clearing my throat. It’s a rather pathetic attempt to regain some footing.
His brow wrinkles in confusion. Could he have been caught up in the moment as well? Just as I think it, he inhales and stands straighter. “If I gave you the cook’s liver, could you divine whether he was murdered or took his own life?”
“What?”
My head hurts from the sudden change in topics and the jarring change in tone. I stare at him like it’s a joke, but, of course, he is serious.
“After Senator Eyo died, you said that you could divine whether he was murdered,” Torren adds.
Bloody lies. What do I say to this? I can’t admit that I fabricated it to cover up my admission. I have no choice but to continue with the charade.
“I would need the whole body—not just the liver.” I say a silent prayer that he doesn’t have it.
He nods. “I can give that to you.”
Of course he can.
I am doomed. It’s like I can feel the rope around my neck, but it’s just the collar of the temple. I grip my robe and force my breathing to stay steady as I think it through. The Praetorian is a disbeliever. If I put the cook’s liver into the eternal flame, nothing will happen, but Torren won’t know that. He doesn’t understand how I interpret signs from the god.
I take a deep breath. I can play along, but why does he even want this?
“You suspect the cook was murdered even though you said he took his own life?” I ask.
He frowns slightly. “I know he was killed.”
‘But then why…”
“Someone paid him to take the fall. If I reported that he was murdered after confessing, the Council would’ve convened the Verity Guild to convict him of high treason.”
That is the real story? My heart pounds. So this must be the reason for the blood on his sleeve and why he seemed off when he was in the divining room. And also possibly why he pulled away from me when I touched him. Did he align with me just so he could discern what happened to the cook?
“Why do you care so much about a servant?” I ask. It doesn’t match up with his brutal image, that’s for sure. “What if he did put the poison in?”
“He didn’t. And justice is never served by letting an innocent man take the fall.”
In his eyes, there are a million unspoken words. He still believes his father was innocent. I won’t be able to change his mind, because it would require changing his heart.
Still, the cook is already dead—there’s no worse the Senate can do to him. But maybe that’s not who Torren is ultimately worried about.
