Oleander

XI. Dark Crescent (part three)

Yalira started. The words transported her back to Antalis, back to that first night of traded barbs. She had been the one to suggest the game, to prove her power over him. Was that his goal now?

She smoothed away her surprise into a smile of her own. She had won that night. Andar was the one who fled. Victory short lived was still conquest.

Antala's presence had still been with her then. Oleander had burned bright against her tongue. Far from her temple, with lies burned into her bones, a haunting thread of doubt pulled at her chest.

"It's not a very fair game against a priestess," she murmured, perching at the end of his workspace. She returned the stylus to its scattered brethren. Yalira focused on keeping the aloof confidence of a High Priestess at her surface. She would not let doubt distract her.

"That didn't stop you last time." Andar matched her relaxed air. This was his arena, his world. If he realized that she had no oleander to chew, he did not mention it. She hated that he did not need to.

"I had more to prove then."

"And you don't now?"

The game had started.

"You made it clear that you don't see Antala's blessing on me."

Andar's mouth twisted. In the clean daylight, the curls of his golden hair softened the hard planes of his cheeks and jaw. His eyes glowed with the embers of passion, not fury. Mercurial and fluid, Yalira wondered if shifting between these forms exhausted him.

"That was unfair of me. I spoke in anger."

It was not an apology, but Yalira wondered if it was the closest Andar of Tyr could muster.

"Your abilities are uncanny," he added. "I enjoy watching you in the forum, your expressions toward the liars.

"I worried your eyes might roll out of your skull."

Determined to regain control of the game, to smother his attempts to soften her, Yalira ignored the teasing, the gentleness.

On the goddesses! She had just heard him discussing how to win her to his side!

"Do you tire of having so many false tongues around you?" The question was pointed. Its tip aimed at him.

"Immensely."

There was no flash of oleander, no divine proof of truth, but Yalira knew he answered honestly. Before, it would have annoyed her. Now, it was proof he had learned nothing from their first game. Invigorated, she pressed on. She would ensnare him in the game, in its rhythm. Just as in Antalis, Andar would try to use truth to win. His strategy was short-sighted. It was a training exercise for priestesses, a training exercise Yalira had mastered.

I only fight battles I know I will win.

The memory of his arrogance branded her with determination. You are not the only one who knows how to fight, her spirit answered in reply. And you did not win that first time.

"How did you know it was me in your rooms?"

"Salt and honey and oleander."

The answer gave her unexpected pause. She didn't like to imagine Andar knowing the details of her person. The sudden memory of spice and sweat flooded her senses, the scents that haunted her dreams. She did not like knowing the details of his person.

Yalira increased the speed of her questions and moved them further from herself. She would pull him into thoughtlessness.

"Do you always leave your workspace in such disarray?"