Praetorian Rising, стр. 21
VI. All Asperians must submit their lives to compete in the Praetorian Munera Trials if they are chosen to enlist. To abandon this order is punishable by death, including the end of one's own family.
a. All chosen Asperians must submit their lives to the Praetorian Guard and live out their remaining years as an enlisted soldier to the High King.
b. If one is not a high-ranking competitor in the tournament, one is required to submit one’s skills to the High King's Equestrian Guard. If one is deemed unworthy of the Equestrian Guard, one will be sentenced to trade work by order of the High King.
c. If one is deemed unworthy of trade work, one will be sentenced to life in a designated section of the High Court grounds by order of the High King.
"What's this one?" Camille said, pointing to the smeared ink of number six. "Is this still in effect?"
Jacob shrugged casually as he shoved a large hunk of bread into his mouth. He elbowed Brian to speak up.
"We aren't supposed to talk about it," Brian hissed back at Jacob, who rolled his eyes upward and forcefully swallowed the bread he'd been chewing.
After taking a quick gulp of ale, he turned back to Camille. "The quick answer is yes, but it hasn't been put into effect for a while. The last Praetorian Trial enforced happened..." he paused, nose scrunching in deep thought as he soundlessly counted through the years. "Eight years ago? It'll be eight years this Yule festival."
"Isn't that a long time? Why wasn't there another trial afterward?" Camille slid the tattered paper toward Jacob's greased hands after reading the document twice over.
"The High King went into hiding. There's no reason to build a guard in his absence," Jacob said with conviction.
Camille stared at him in shock, but he didn't appear to take notice. No reason to build a guard. The red eyes in the forest slipped across her thoughts again, and Camille shuddered in fear. Dark creatures roaming freely through their lands was an excellent reason to enlist an army, Camille thought.
The boys kept eating, unruffled, while her thoughts galloped into full speed. How was it possible that a single Praetorian could cause such an uproar? Was the High King so afraid of this single Praetorian that he removed himself from the spotlight of his own subjects? Perhaps the drifting away from a Praetorian Trial was the outcome of his fear.
With her appetite sufficiently ruined, Camille began to pack up her few belongings. She wondered what caused the Praetorian to commit such horrible crimes knowing the consequences of his actions. Had he known what the outcome would be for the others? Why would the High King just up and vanish after exiling the offender? None of it made sense to her; it didn't fit. There was more to the story, and she wanted answers.
Camille pushed away her plate, having wrapped up the few remaining bits of bread and meat. She slid off her chair offering a clipped goodbye to Jacob and Brian as she waved to Betty Anne before heading back to the butchery.
The rain went from a light drizzle to a steady downpour as she snaked her way back toward the tiny cabin, a hand raised to protect her eyes. Each falling drop of water dimpled the puddles with significant force, creating a cadence of musical pings and plops against the tin roofs of the village. Her boots sloshed through the mud, squelching with every step. She picked up her speed, not wanting the rain to soak clear through to her skin before she reached Peter's home.
As she rounded the corner along the outskirts of the village, she focused on a single thought. Being a Rogue and fighting against the sovereign rule, Peter knew more than he let on. There were apparent connections to her past and the Praetorians; the timing was just too coincidental. She could feel the answers thrumming beneath the surface of her skin. After listening to the dark paths taken that ended in the Praetorian exile, she couldn't help but liken herself to them in several ways—and the more she ruminated on it, the more she was desperate for answers.
Chapter Six
In the Depth of Shadows
The townsfolk of Sierra Village had decorated the great hall grounds with green, yellow, and red apples alongside colorful gourds from the vegetable patch. A large turkey that Camille herself had shot rotated on a giant spit above the roaring fireplace at the end of the hall, and every table had several bowls filled with nuts and dried berries from the summer season.
The harvest that year had flourished in Sierra Village, making Fόmhair even more elaborate and decadent than previous years. Even with a Moon Tax under their belt, they still had plenty of food for the festivities.
The town center's great hall was looking its absolute best. Stubby candles sat on every table, with soft leaves of orange, red, and yellow strewn about. There was a large fireplace the width of Peter's home at the end of the sitting area, and a tiny table laden with copper mugs for red wine and mead. Though the hall was mainly used for town meetings, weddings, and funerals, for Fόmhair the space had been transformed into a rare sight of warmth and beauty.
After filling her mug with a sixth helping of sweet red wine, Camille walked along the outskirts of the growing group of villagers. She felt nothing more than a warming buzz in her body as she watched the evening unfold. Count Jenkins had pushed most of the tables and chairs to the outer part of the hall to