Oleander

XII. Submission (part two)

The debauchery and the answers she'd hope to find in it were delayed. A lonely shadow fluttered in her room. A shadow with mismatched eyes.

Her anger at Oristos—at his betrayal—faded the moment she returned his searching gaze. He pulled her hands to inspect them.

"Oh good. You're not bleeding."

His sardonic inflection rolled over her like heady wine, cloying and warm. The wound still stung, but in the face of his earnest smile, Yalira could not fault him. In a world where she had only just deceived her sisters, that barest breath of friendship sang with nectar and honey.

"I escaped my priestesses unscathed," she answered with the same lilt, brandishing her unmarked forearms. Yalira knew the man well enough: a hint of humor would distract him from looking too closely at the unsteadiness and self-loathing that lurked beneath her skin. "Andar overestimated the forces required to overthrow my temple. Should I mention the unnecessary expense in the next forum meeting?"

Oristos snorted. "I imagine Lyroc—"

"—son of Lyroc—"

He rolled his mismatched eyes and pressed her lips shut with a finger.

"Quiet, you—he would choke on his tongue if faced with a woman who had the mental capacity to consider finances and military expenditure."

"So I should mention it then?"

Their easy banter was a salve, his closeness comforting. It did not vibrate with the energy that pulsed between her and Andar, but the bond was as familiar as moonlight.

"You're distracting me!" he cried, pulling her toward a carefully laid dress spread across her coverlet.

"What's this?"

"You can't come as yourself. That defeats the entire purpose of a masked party."

"You didn't say it was a masked party."

He clicked his tongue as if he were certain he had mentioned it. "Rishi picked it out for you. I was only supposed to make sure you dressed up."

Yalira fingered a length of the bright fabric, its smoothness cool and slippery against her skin. Each edge bore fringed feathers that reminded her of a thousand dark eyes. In the waning light of day, the blues and greens glowed. It shamed even the most elaborate of her ceremonial garments.

"Thank you." The reply was habit, without thought.

"I'm sorry, you know," Oristos breathed. "Andar told me you overheard our conversation, that you two spoke."

That I know you're loyal to him first. That you doubt my worth. Unspoken words between them.

"It doesn't matter, Oristos," Yalira answered, both truth and lie. "I am happy to own whatever friendship you can offer me."

She tried not to take pleasure in the conflict behind his blue and brown eyes.

"I'd give you more if I could."

As he turned to leave, Yalira reached for his hand.

"Does he own everything in Semyra? Must he own all of you?"

His pause was stuttered by half a laugh.

"When we were young, I imagined we were two halves of the same spirit." Oristos shrugged, shared a smile that bore no joy. "But boys grow up, eventually."

The servants who replaced his company did not replace the conversation. They pulled her into the peafowl dress, twisted her hair with gold and silver, and left Yalira to consider his words.