Oleander

X. Messages (part three)

The cart ride into Semyra's slums was filled with Oristos's chatter. He shared gossip about a shouting match between Valen and Alleta. He detailed the curriculum he'd developed for Yalira's priestesses and described each tutor he'd handpicked. He explained the timeline for diverting freshwater to the strange little temple they were building. But mostly, he spoke of a party he was throwing.

"It started as a joke, you know. Lyroc—"

"Son of Lyroc?" Yalira interrupted with a teasing smile.

"Yes, son of Lyroc, the idiot—made a comment that full moons dip into our minds and fill us with deranged passion. He was aiming to create some curfew, I think, or maybe to decrease visits to the Daughter of Olia. It doesn't matter." Oristos swatted his hands, as if waving away the tangent thought. "But it gave me a wonderful idea for some rather debauched parties."

"For the followers of Antala, for her servants, the full moon is a time of ceremony," she murmured. With smothered hysteria, she wondered if Antala would strike her dead during the full moon.

Liar. Murderess. Doubter.

"Yes, yes, you priestesses and your bloodletting. Come this once and devote the rest of your life's full moons to bleeding for your goddess."

"I don't—"

"Don't be the teacup, Yalira. Antala isn't going to teach you anything about surviving in Semyra."

She flinched at the bite of his words, the dismissive cadence. Despite the sharpness, his eyes bore no trace of malice. Yalira was no stranger to strictness from her teachers. The barbed edge from a friend, however, pricked deeper than she had expected.

It grated that both Rishi and Oristos chastised her.

Defensive, she answered, "And what could I learn from debauchery?"

Oristos shared a lecherous wink.

"I imagine you could learn a great many things, little priestess." His easy return to humor and dramatic pretense soothed the sting of his censure. Where the innuendo might have once threatened to stain her cheeks, Yalira only rolled her eyes. Oristos added liltingly, "But I think you might have more to learn from the guests who might attend."

Oristos winked again before returning his eyes to his carefully trimmed nails.

"At last month's party, a very intoxicated Edyt confessed she'd had a son before her marriage to Andar. Not that he's particularly choosy when it comes to virgin brides, but imagine the gossip in the forum if something like that got out of the palace walls!"

Yalira itched to ask if that child was born in Semyra, if it was born whole and vigorous. Though the absence of oleander was like chewing through dirt, Yalira could feel the truth in his words. The goddess might not be charitable enough to confirm if, but the ring of sincerity echoed in her bones. It glowed and burned from the casual derision in Oristos's voice, the easy lines of his posture, the smooth humor in his features.

A night of worship sacrificed for information. For the truth.

As the cart rolled to their destination, Yalira said, "I'll consider it."

Before Oristos could answer, a flood of shouts greeted their arrival.

"Enjoy yourself!" he ordered, waving her off as he called for the cart to make a few laps of the busy market. He had no interest in visiting a gaggle of priestesses.

Like during her first visit, Yalira's steps into the small building were greeted with a chorus of cheerful welcome. Even over the course of a few days, the rooms had been cleaned and organized. Despite the cracked and aging exterior, the neat rooms and their flurry of quiet activity almost reminded Yalira of the cool, clean infirmary in which she had become a healer.