Veron commented that perhaps it was a way to feel vaguely human in her position, but Chastra scowled at him for such naivety. ‘She was a manipulative bitch, plain and simple. Her brother’s no better.’ He waved down Veron’s protests. ‘No, I’m too old to care for the consequences of what I say, and I have little time for royals, but I am not surprised in the least that she ended up this way.’ He gestured to her corpse with his free hand, his other firmly on his cane for support. ‘The gods will punish the wicked.’
I noticed the derogatory way the old man spoke about women, his patriarchal and archaic attitude if they did not conform to his beliefs of how they should behave.
Chastra’s account of events continued. There had been small theatrical productions all evening, improvised shows in alcoves. Many of the senators had apparently grumbled at having to share this grand event with mere thespians, who then had the audacity to try to talk to guests who were far above them in social ranking.
‘So there were a lot of people from all walks of life in the building,’ I offered. ‘People who would not normally be permitted.’
‘Everyone had been given the password,’ Veron said. ‘Security had to be relaxed tonight, but usually there’s a new password each day, known only to a select few.’
‘We had many different types of people here, many of whom could wield a blade to cut a throat. Even a senator could do that. Even one as old as you.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Chastra spluttered. A part of me enjoyed his enraged expression. ‘I have committed no murder. Such crimes are for the young and ambitious.’
‘You said it was the gods a moment ago,’ I said. ‘Now, I’d like the soldiers present to take details and accounts of people’s movements this evening.’
Chastra’s face reddened as he glared at me. ‘This is outrageous. A god of some sort has clearly seen to it that this woman’s life was not to be. I am a senator—’
‘And a potential suspect in a murder investigation,’ I reminded him. ‘Of course, your reluctance to conform to protocol will be noted.’
Names and addresses were taken from those who were still here, which I would later match against the guest list I’d asked for. I requested that those soldiers in the King’s Legion who could write put down any useful information. Those who could not write, I asked to continue searching the building. Eventually, people grew tired and protests came from the heads of powerful families to be allowed to go home.
I didn’t want people leaving immediately, not when things were fresh in their memory, though I did not mind if anyone came to me later with information. Faces or snippets of conversation could crystallize in the mind days, even weeks after a crime, and still prove to be useful. Afterwards, my details were circulated to anyone in a position of authority in the room.
People could not be kept on site for much longer, despite my efforts, and the sun soon began to rise on a new day. When the guests commenced their exodus, I returned once again to the outer doors of the temple of Trymus. Leana was still there, sketching out the inside on a piece of parchment.
‘I am convinced it is sealed,’ she said. ‘No way in. No way out. Apart from that battered door.’
‘You would have thought we’d have a few days to relax before being thrown straight into a murder investigation,’ I remarked, staring at the temple door.
The face of Trymus looked down upon me, his severe expression somehow appropriate for the mood.
‘What does Trymus even stand for?’ Leana asked. ‘I never can understand why there are so many gods. You people have a fixation with them.’
‘Trymus and his wife, Festonia, built Tryum. They are the god and goddess of war, among other things. He made himself king and defended the original settlement against waves of strange invaders. Apparently during the Detratan Empire one couldn’t move for his temples. He’s seen as a blessing in wartime – and for agriculture. No doubt in times of food shortages, like now, people make as many offerings as they can so that he’ll heal the crops.’
‘It does not seem to have done much good,’ Leana remarked.
I eventually came to an agreement with some of the senators that we would return to Optryx later, after everyone had rested. If the killer was in the building, the soldiers stated in no uncertain terms that they would find them – though given the amount of skills he or she might possess, I doubted that. If the killer had indeed escaped, they were likely to be far from Optryx by now.
As we were about to leave, Veron informed me that he had arranged, with the administrative staff of the residence, for me to be granted a meeting with King Licintius later in the day.
What would my father have thought about all of this? Would he, too, be making the same decisions?
The matter needed to be resolved as quickly as possible – it was a chance to prove myself to the people of Tryum.
First Steps
Though the remainder of the night was humid, I slept peacefully enough, and dreamt of falcons soaring over my house in a most unnatural manner.
After waking, I was prompted to make an offering to the small shrine to Polla, which my father had kept in immaculate condition. There, in the corner of the open hallway, with a cool breeze passing across my back, I muttered the purifications in an attempt to clear my mind, channel some of her essence, and to think logically.
How had Polla coped in a crisis? When she had been alive all those centuries ago, before she had become a goddess and assumed a position of power, she had been a remarkable lady, living through times of deep religious and political strife, when women were treated abysmally by their societies, and never failing in her quest to understand the world better, to fathom her position within the universe. Praying to such a figure each morning was always inspiring.
Bellona provided a hearty breakfast: despite the events of the previous night I was famished, and devoured the minced pork and flatbreads. Leana had been up for a little while and joined me just as I was finishing. She had been to the Forum to see what people were saying of the murder, but it seemed no one had even heard the news yet. Or if they had, they were too afraid to talk about it.
After breakfast, I took a moment to walk around the house trying to familiarize myself with my past once again – it was an uncomfortable process because in some ways I didn’t like to be reminded of the person I had once been. The small details were fascinating: indentations in chairs that had come from years of sitting; the well-worn wooden surfaces on the sides of tables. The echoes of my father lived on in these areas of wear and tear.
Also, I noticed that an item had gone missing from a table in my father’s bedroom. There was a square within the dust that indicated something had stood there once, but had been taken away. Perhaps a few weeks ago, since some dust had settled in its place. Was it significant in any way?
While Leana worked through some martial exercises in her room, in my study I looked at the sketch she had made in the temple on the night, examining the structure and dimensions, where the shrine was located, where the body of poor Lacanta had lain, and where the doors stood firmly barring entry to the chamber.
So Lacanta had been spotted moments before she had been found dead. That meant, in five or ten minutes, someone had managed to break her away from the celebrations in the main room, steer her into the temple, and kill her, before going back outside. But the celebrations were at their height and, as Veron pointed out, at that point those temple doors would have been watched by guests right up until the moment General Maxant entered to don Trymus’ mask. What’s more, the door was locked on the inside and murderers do not just vanish into the air.