Oleander

VII. Politics (part two)

Her heart pounded as the forum followed Rodan's gaze. The fresh weight of eyes pricked her skin, raising the hairs on her arms. Her thoughts followed her racing heart as she looked to Andar. He frowned from his seat, his fingers clenched at his knees, but nodded almost imperceptibly.

It's not his test, she realized. The cane, the crooked spine, they belied something deeper than she had first judged. Rodan of Tyr was more than the crippled brother to the king.

The crowd parted to let her pass the last few tiers.

"I surrender the floor to Yalira dao Eheia," Rodan said. His voice carried through the strained silence.

She promised Andar to keep the secret truth of the fall of Antalis, and yet she had vowed to uphold honesty in her position as High Priestess. Again that discomfort of telling truths with intended misinterpretation.

"Semyra!" she called, throwing her voice with the ring of the goddess. "I stand before you as a servant of Antala. In her temple, before her priestesses, Volyn soldiers were executed for their crimes."

Their crimes? Yalira did not say. She could not say. Only Andar of Tyr—narrowed golden eyes burning between her shoulder blades—could speak to his purpose in their deaths.

"I cannot speak for war." She had no honied words to feed these men, and yet their attention did not waver. The bloodthirsty and pacifist alike watched her face, each smooth gesture of her hands.

"But Antala speaks through her priestesses: Andar is favored like none before."

For there had been none before who so blatantly insulted the goddess—who destroyed her temple, who lied in Antala's stronghold, who silenced the truth of her priestesses—and stood in unopposed victory.

"I surrender the floor."

The ripple of chaotic murmuring surged. Although Andar had not mentioned the inner workings of the forum, nor had Oristos explained its secrets, Yalira knew that no other priestess had stood before Semyra and used its political stage as one for the gods. She was the youngest High Priestess, and now she was the first to speak in public forum.

Let him see my worth as High Priestess, Yalira thought darkly. She could not imagine one of his wives wielding such power over the minds and hearts of men.

Refusing to turn to meet his gaze, Yalira glided back towards Oristos and Rishi. The scream of her pulse loud in her ears, she forced her face into an impassive calm. She had fought and nettled and pouted on the road to Semyra—now Andar would have to fight her without brute strength. His arena did not frighten her.

Rishi's fingers found her icy hands and squeezed encouragement and warmth into her flesh.

"Not exactly what I expected from a sweet little priestess," she breathed in Yalira's ear.

Oristos murmured in the other, "Watch Rodan."

Before the man could better control his expression, Andar's crooked brother scowled. The sienna of his eyes darkened as they found her gaze. The look smoothed into stoic poise as he stood to speak once more.

He lectured on the cost of war—though his focus seemed more financial than on the cost of human lives he'd touted before—and the challenge of reaching Volys and the southern peninsula through the mountain's pass.

The mountain's pass that houses Antalis, her mind whispered. The image of the rocky slopes, the fierce natural defenses that had protected her temple-city for centuries. Sharp oleander invaded her senses. Antalis, now stationed with Andar's army.