Oleander

XXII. Crumbling Walls (part one)

All four of them—five, with the mute Gallus—together made for a strange party.

"When I invited you for drinks," Rishi drawled, settling herself at the lounge. She was wrapped in evening silks that whispered with each of her gestures. "This is not what I had in mind." She winked at the standing Andar. Without encouragement, the queen bent forward to pour glasses. "But I wonder if this is something more than simple revelry."

Across from her, Yalira's lips curved in absent humor. Despite her playful air, Rishi near always held a thread of the intrigue. Oristos lowered himself next to Yalira. If judging by the clenched jaw, the worried lines in his brow, and the stiffness of his posture, he did too.

Only Andar, a motionless statue before the open archway of his rooms, appeared uninterested.

"Do you plan on explaining your afternoon?" Andar asked, his voice smooth. Any concern that had broken through his stoicism in the garden, in their brief walk through the palace, had been replaced. That spark of humor in Antalis, the playful patience that sometimes slipped through in her presence. Both were gone.

He's worried.

Yalira steadied herself for the onslaught that would come. She reminded herself that this game had become too much to play on her own. Her voice did not waver.

"Someone is poisoning the queens."

Oristos let loose a strangled breath beside her, but Andar dominated her attention. In an instant, he understood. He stiffened and his golden eyes met hers in haunted disbelief, shamed relief. The slant of his mouth tightened, flinched as if he meant to speak. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and lowered himself to the lounge with Rishi.

"Explain," he commanded in a forced breath.

"The tonic the queens drink." Yalira began simply, slowly. "A vial was broken today in the slums and I recognized the scent of the herbs within it."

She did not mention the pull of a goddess, the otherworldly confirmation that returned in furious vengeance. In her shock, Yalira had not considered what divine influence might mean in a world where she doubted divine influence. Now, surrounded by clever eyes that demanded answers firmer than the goddesses I do not believe in have made it known.

"Intentional, or no," Yalira said. "The queens have been taking an herb that I suspect and fear harms their unborn children."

Oristos opened and closed his mouth as if forming the right words to say. Rishi only leaned forward with interest. Yalira took one of the glasses for the diversion it afforded her nervous hands. She kept her eyes fast to golden king across from her.

"It is the common link. When I came to Semyra, I assumed it was you who were responsible. That you were the tie between the malformed children." Andar's eyes darkened in silent fury, but Yalira continued. "I was wrong."

She could not force her tongue to apology, to confess fully, but confession it was. In comfortable naivety, she had clung to the familiar and easy, she had avoided the sharp nature of truth. In the silence that followed, Yalira drowned her buzzing thoughts with a swallow of wine.

"I'd hate to make an accusation without evidence," Rishi said. It broke the pause. Though she smiled, no joy met her green and gold eyes. "But we know a poisoner in Semyra."

Andar flinched and shot to his feet.

Yalira waited. She did not want to believe that the queens, even the jealous Valen, could be capable of such darkness. With certainty, she knew Xaisha and Sasha had physical proof of their innocence; Avalyn implied through her loss of stillborns past. And Dezma would not knowingly harm Sasha, the woman of whom she was so fond. Or, at least, Yalira had seen no shadow of malediction hidden in her grief-stricken face as she dosed her friend with another swallow of the poison.