Oleander

XIV. Warnings (part one)

"How can we stand in this room and blame natural disorder on divine vengeance? Are we not men of logic? Of thought?" Oristos's voice rang through the forum with seductive insistence. "Plagues, famine, chaos—these are the challenges nature sets before us to overcome with reason! Pray to your gods, but do not leave them to fight our battles."

Rishi yawned loudly beside Yalira. The feigned boredom of it drew irritated eyes, but the Lytvian queen only smiled in blithe apology. She turned to beg again, whispering her discontent.

"Let's go bathe or ride or drink... anything besides this dull bickering."

Yalira shushed her, her lips tilted. Rishi had soured at the uneventful wedding night, at Yalira's inability to seduce Andar. She puckered further at the thought of attending more forum sessions and fewer parties. Rishi disliked this strategy. But Yalira was hungry for news, for the hint of a new path, and for the chance to endear the elite of Semyra to her side in the wake of Andar's refusal. Each of these meetings afforded her opportunity: she had brought a tonic to ease old Emrys's aches, begrudgingly made a poultice for Rodan's leg. Smiles and medicines traded for trust.

Rishi's feigned attempts to valiantly endure, however, were distracting. The Lytvian queen's fickle whims toward their goals—and her reluctance to use the forum—made it difficult to strategize. Although she'd spun a tempting future, she seemed ambivalent to achieving with any plan outside of Andar's chambers.

Lyroc stood to counter Oristos, his smile oily beneath his cropped beard. "But the timing, my friend! A wave of illnesses through the slums, rebellion in Prynia, Volys amassing an army at the rumors of Tyran invasion, stillborn sons and whispers of far worse... can we afford to pretend to be blind to this pattern?"

"What whispers do you speak of, Lyroc?" Oristos smiled in lazy challenge. "Or do you mean to trade in gossip and secrets?"

The forum rumbled with laughter. They had taken Yalira's slight against the man—the idle comparison of his flattery to womanish prattle—to heart, and the returning pulse of it scattered chuckles through their sessions. A petty legacy, but one that twitched the corners of her mouth.

Rishi groaned again.

"Let's go," she said, pulling Yalira's attention from Lyroc's rebuttal. It was false pleading, but the willful ringing spurred her to stand. There would be no room for intrigue if Rishi was not in the mood to help her.

"—at the temple of Carthas. A flayed back, a single eye!" Yalira froze, the long golden touches of light, arrows against the marble, brushed her hem. "How can we not look to the divine?" Rishi's arm through hers tugged, the queen oblivious to the words. "The gods must be displeased."

"The gods do not punish the innocent." Yalira's voice rang from that highest tier of the forum, raining on the audience below with the low authority of a high priestess as she pulled away from Rishi. But while the proclamation garnered approving nods from most, Lyroc son of Lyroc sneered. His features were symmetrical, his eyes bright, his jaw sharp. And yet, in that moment, Yalira had never seen an uglier creature.

"She cannot speak here without permission," he snapped. "She should not speak here at all."

Andar, who had been silent, answered softly. "You speak of your queen, Lyroc son of Lyroc."

Lyroc did not flinch from the gentle danger that hissed across the floor. Paradoxically, it filled him with fervent purpose.

"It is she who brings these dark omens! A woman in the forum! A priestess turned queen! Antala's disfavor! It is not too late to undo this mistake!"

The room echoed with held breaths, uncomfortable pulses. Yalira knew these men, wealthy and educated, considered themselves experts in all subjects despite their lack of personal expertise. And yet their assuredness floundered in the face of greater confidence. An affliction, to be certain.