I shoot him a look that says I won’t be answering. We are only a few feet behind Verhardt and the High Priestess.
Senator Verhardt comes to an abrupt halt, causing me to put my hand on the hilt of my sword and shift around them. Kerasea smiles at whoever they’re facing.
It’s just Verhardt’s thirteen-year-old son, along with a swarm of tutors, guards, and servants. The Senate Leader kisses him on both cheeks and exchanges some words I can’t overhear. The joy on the man’s face is genuine as he embraces his only heir.
The boy is the same age I was when my world was stripped away. But unlike me, there’s no way this gangly, pampered kid could survive it. I barely did.
An ocean of memories threatens to pull me under, but I push it all to the back of my mind. The woman who caused it hangs on Verhardt’s arm like a shining decoration.
I’ll admit that Kerasea is different than I expected. As she is the only child of Osiris Vestal, of course I knew her. Everyone does. But we have not been at any of the same events, and thus have never truly spoken. She is more beautiful than I anticipated tonight, but that hardly matters. Disturbingly adored andthat, everyone noticed.
But there is something off, almost vulnerable about her. She should’ve been victorious and proud after the crowd worshipped her, but she wasn’t. She blanched when I raised an eyebrow, yet shot back when I insulted her. She’s a contradiction, but one I can admit I don’t know nearly as well as I did her father.
I don’t want to get closer to her, but I have to keep an eye on her. Any priest this powerful poses a threat to the republic. And I already know she can deceive.
She and the Senate Leader resume walking, so I follow in stride. I scan for danger as he waves and shakes hands with some of the nobles, but really, I’m focused on the two of them.
“I understand you had a mal omen today,” Senator Verhardt says quietly.
“A black liver, charred and misshapen.” She matches his low tone. “The god speaks of death and chaos coming to Pryor.”
My muscles tense as she details the worst omen imaginable, but Kerasea is a skilled liar. This could all be a deception—but to what end?
Verhardt pauses or I can’t hear him…until I do. “Share the omen at the conclave, though not tonight. I called for additional sentries, but I don’t want to spoil the Revelry for our honored guests.”
Kerasea stumbles a step, her ruby lips parting. Surprise scrawls across her face, but she quickly makes her expression neutral, as if it never happened.
“As you wish,” she says.
Verhardt smiles like a wolf as they continue on, but I exchange glances with Julian. He caught it, too—something is afoot. The Senate Leader has no reason to keep the mal omen a secret, which means he has a hidden motive.
I now have until dawn to figure out what it is.
V.
Kerasea
The party is already in full swing when we arrive at the terrace. Gold-dusted musicians play as half-naked servants rush to refresh the goblets and plates of the glittering guests. Patrons and benefactresses of the elite Southside families wear revealing attire while hiding their faces behind gold and silver masks.
This will turn into an orgy later. I only hope to be long gone by then.
Lady Verhardt rushes over with feathers in her gray hair and her cleavage on display. I quickly cede her husband’s arm and gracefully bow to them.
Now free, I have a moment to wonder why he asked me to hide the omen. I couldn’t do anything but agree, yet it feels like a trap.
I mindlessly bless people as I pass, walking with purpose, like I have somewhere to be. Only two other senators are present tonight, and they are each holding court with their own entourages.
Senator Eyo has yet another mistress with him; this one looks barely eighteen. She fidgets with her brown ringlet curls and gnaws on her spice-plumped lips. Eyo’s pale, noble features gleam in the lamplight as he studies her plunging neckline. With thick black hair and chocolate brown eyes, he has the kind of handsomeness that’s striking at first but fades with familiarity. He is younger for a senator at thirty-six, but his position isn’t surprising given the massive gold family crest pinned to his white blazer. It’s his wife’s family with the real money, though. He used her connections to win the seat of the second province and has amassed a fortune since.
On the other side of the veranda is Senator Medea, unmistakable as the only female member of the Council. Medea was one of the original senators who killed the Elusian king. Although she is sixty, her shoulder-length black hair is just turning gray with streaks of silver. Blunt and no-nonsense, she has represented the sixth province from before Pryor was a republic, longer than I’ve been alive. She has always reminded me of a tactically charming version of Priestess Mirial.
I greet both senators from a distance, with my hand over my heart. The four other senators of Pryor are no doubt in the capital, but they will meet us at Jubilee Palace on Mount Ara tomorrow night.
Servants pass around flutes of ice wine, and I take one just as Senator Verhardt raises his glass. The dignified crowd quiets at the rise of his bejeweled hand, the diamond ring of the republic sparkling on his index finger. It’s huge and cut into the same shape as our original borders.
“A toast—to twenty years of the republic and a thousand more to come,” he says.
“To the republic!” everyone replies.
