Leaving the new altar left Yalira in a bitter mood. She could appreciate that it had been an uncomfortable journey home for poor Oristos, forced to endure her angry silence. Despite his attempts to cajole her, to entreat her into a sunnier disposition, Yalira had glowered from her pillowed seat.

Her bitter mood, fed on a diet of nightmares and poor sleep, grew stronger the following morning. Oristos canceled their reading lesson and Rishi declined her invitation for a shared breakfast. Trapped in her own sour company, pacing in her chambers, Yalira heard Tala's words echo in her ears. Hideous and biting, their barbed edge prodded Yalira deeper and deeper into an indignant, lonely fury. An ocean crested with the occasional wave of doubt.

What if truth was not the right path? What if the cost was too high?

The questions had plagued her through the night, even in the distorted memories and fears that imprisoned her dreams.

Yalira ached for the serene presence of her predecessor, for Thais dao Nadira, who calmly accepted all things. Thais who knew the world's answers and spoke with Antala's wisdom, who never faltered under her title as High Priestess.

Thais dao Nadira, who was not always kind, who would not have let Antalis fall to Andar of Tyr. She would have seen it. She would have known.

Why had Antala not warned them?

Bitterness threatened to pool at her eyes. Precaution and strategy faded against the assault of anger and indignation and guilt.

With the heel of her hand, Yalira rubbed at her eyes, furious, before painting them with kohl. Hungry for a fight, Yalira decorated her face, smoothed the creases from her dress, as if it were armor. Draped in comfortable routine, the vestiges of Antalis, Yalira told her reflection that her path was true.

She ignored the flicker of guilt and doubt hidden behind her shadowed eyes.

"No!"

The urgent whisper carried from the hall, ringing through Yalira's chambers. Her rooms, though overlooking the minor gardens, were the furthest from Andar's and closest to the atrium, along the main circuit of the palace. Yalira had grown used to the commotion that wafted into her rooms as easily as did sunlight.

This voice differed from the usual chatter. A single word, so quiet and angry. Angry—and frightened.

"I said won't do it!"

"Don't pretend you've grown a backbone, Alleta. You'll do this or—"

Yalira inched closer to the doorway, bare feet near silent against the floor.

"No—stop—"

Yalira couldn't make out the words, only a low murmuring and then a pained cry.

Heart pounding in her ears, Yalira froze.

Who would abuse a queen? Her mind raced through potential enemies. Enemies of queens. Enemies of Orvalle.

Before Yalira might remind herself that she was no longer kind, she moved to confront the assaulter.

Sunlight filtered in from the open ceiling, illuminating sparks of dust motes in the air. Besides the company of her echoing breaths, the hall was empty.

Yalira turned, desperate to find a trace of the queen from Orvalle.

"Something wrong, priestess?"

For all her beauty, Valen of Prynia spoke with a dripping disdain that cast her loveliness into sneering sharpness. Not even her sandalwood and jasmine perfume softened the hard edge to the trill of bird-like voice.

"I—I thought I heard someone," Yalira answered. Another edge of mistruth.

Valen tutted and smiled thinly.

"Oh, Alleta? She can be so dramatic."

The silence that lingered was shattered by the queen's breathy laughter, her sudden softening into a different creature. Harpy replaced by meadow lark.

"I think we've misunderstood each other."

"Oh?" Yalira failed to keep the surprise from her voice.

"When we met, I mean."

Yalira waited for the copper-skinned queen to continue. With another ringing laugh, she held out her arm for Yalira to take.

"Let's walk," Valen said as Yalira hesitantly threaded her arm through the queen's crooked elbow. "You see, I misunderstood your purpose here. I can be very thoughtless when I'm upset."

"It seemed like a rather thoughtless act of drowning."

Valen laughed brightly and the ornaments in her braids chimed as she shook her head. She led Yalira toward the gardens with a gentle firmness. Their shadows cast long figures in the morning light, reaching toward the perfect stillness of the garden's reflecting pool. The packed earth was rough against Yalira's feet—she wondered if the queen had intended to limit her ability to escape.

"We might be great friends, you and I."

"I imagine you have many friends, Queen Valen," Yalira said slowly. "I'm not sure what to offer you in friendship that you don't already have."

The third song of laughter grated against Yalira's nerves.

"Though I've lived in Tyr for years now, I've never been interested in its gods. I never cared for the Prynian gods either, really. It seems rather silly to put all that faith in something that we cannot see."

For a few of their steps, there was only the sound of their long hems following feet. Yalira tried to ignore the wings of irritation that fluttered in the face of such casual atheism.

"But I've learned more about your Antala." She paused again, bending to pluck a new bloom. She twisted the stem in her fingers, the onyx and copper of her rings flashing. "I want to help you, Yalira. I think we want the same thing."

"And what is that?"

"You out of Semyra."

She did not intend to, but Yalira smiled. Framed by cypress and ivy, bronze and glorious in the sunlight, Valen could not hide the wavering note of desperation from her voice. That a queen saw her a threat tickled Yalira with a strange satisfaction.

"I said as much in the bathhouse," Yalira answered. "I do not want Andar of Tyr."

Valen almost flinched at the name. "We never do, at first."

But the sentence died into a silence that fought across her face, fixed between melancholy and hatred, desire and pain.

"If we are to be friends," Yalira began. "How might you help me?"

The moment of stormy thoughtfulness, of conflicted introspection, vanished. Valen's smile, her black eyes, returned to brightness and consideration.

"Prynia might not be the empire it once was," she said. "But I'm not without my resources here in Semyra."

Their slow circuit took them to the edge of the high city, the gardens overlooking the ebb and flow of the busy tide below. Yalira's head swam with the strange perspective of it. Valen's skin against hers felt very unlike an anchor.

The Prynian queen continued, "With a bit of distraction, I imagine I'd be able to spirit you away."

With the hint of escape on her tongue, Yalira paused. The bitterness of reality swept away all sweetness.

It would not matter the distance or with whatever secrecy she might flee. As long as Andar of Tyr wanted her in Semyra, he would keep her within its borders. He would give eternal chase, out of stubbornness and pride alone. A life running from the man? Yalira shuddered.

The thought was as imprisoning as being his caged songbird. There would be no return to Antalis if Andar was forever in pursuit. To be free, the predator had to be dealt with first.

"I will have to think on your offer," Yalira said.

"Of course! This must be a carefully crafted friendship." Valen's lips twitched into a smile, her fingers still twisting the stem she'd plucked. It snapped. She let the broken pieces fall to the ground. "If we are too hasty, something might go amiss."

The smile that Yalira returned to the queen was a lie. For behind the musical voice, Valen's threat was clear as water. As if they were back in the echoing quiet of the bathhouse, Yalira's breath caught in her chest. But there was no Edyt in the garden, no brute force at Valen's command.

An errant thought flickered. Valen must hold some power over the other queens. Alleta who feared her. Edyt who obeyed. The others with wary faces. Another unknown thread woven into the high city. Yalira wondered what might happen if she pulled.

"In the name of our new friendship," she began, mind racing. It was a calculated move, this attempt to bind their interests. Yalira felt herself sinking into the intrigue of Semyra, muck and mire. "I wonder if you might help me with a favor."

The queen's smile rivaled a fiery sky, brilliant and burning.

"Only name it, priestess."

"Andar has something of mine," Yalira said. Truth. "I would like it back."

Valen trilled into derisive laughter. It was difficult to see at whom the mocking edge was directed. "I cannot sneak into Andar's rooms. He does not desire my presence there."

"But could you keep him away for an afternoon?"

The queen shrugged. Her answer came with a hesitant lilt. "For a favor in return."

Yalira waited for the cost, the expected exchange in Semyra. What would be the price for a queen who abused queens?

"This might be something only you can give me, priestess," Valen continued. Her smile did not meet the cold fire of her eyes. "I want something from your goddess's domain.

"The truth."

A pause. Valen looked over the city, all the way to the distant eastern horizon. Perhaps past the mountains and beyond the eastern sea.

"What happened to Sasha's child?"

Yalira's pulse raced, but the anxious fear did not fill her as it once had. This was a familiar lie, etched into her bones.

"Stillborn," she answered. Her voice was smooth and unwavering. The more who believed the babe had been born dead, the safer they would all be. There was no risk in telling Valen when Yalira wanted the story to known.

The queen's smile twisted with that mix of pleasure and sorrow, victory and defeat. As it had been with Rishi, with Andar, there was no surprise. But with Valen, there was something more. A sharp interest.

"How unfortunate," she murmured. "Sasha bragged of its kicking only hours before her labor."

Yalira stiffened, but she kept her tone cool with the practiced inflection of her training. "Childbirth can be a wonderful and terrible mystery. I cannot say why Sasha's child was not born to live in this world."

That twisted smile did not falter.

"Healing is another domain of your goddess, is it not?" The question rang closer to statement than inquiry, closer to censure than fact "But I imagine Andar was furious just the same."

Before Yalira could speak, the Prynian queen re-captured Yalira's arm and pulled her back towards their circuit of the garden.

"I will occupy Andar's attention for you, truth priestess. Tomorrow, when the sun is highest."

Valen ended her promise with more laughter, her copper skin bright, her kohl-rimmed eyes dark. It rang with sincerity, and the sound of it filled Yalira with dread.

A/N:

Valen returns. Has anyone guessed which ancient empire Prynia is based on?