A stone, the heavy pit in her stomach lingered through the evening. It rolled in her gut through dinner, despite the animated chatter of the queens. Sasha, Dezma, and Xaisha expectedly absent. Rishi unexpectedly so.

Sasha had not been seen since her sequestering for labor. Dezma was still away in Kythis. Xaisha never joined the evening meal, preferring to keep company with her sickly daughter. Four queens and a priestess remained.

Alleta whispered that Rishi had requested her meal be brought to her chambers. A headache, the queens gossiped, was the excuse. Normally silent, Avalyn made a scoffing noise and mentioned that enough food had been sent up for an army. Fresh-bathed after sparring, Edyt mentioned that she'd seen Andar heading towards Rishi's door. The queens all laughed with the implication.

I'm certain they'll work up an appetite, they tittered over wine.

Yalira's cheeks flooded with color. The queens teased her for inexperience, for her chastity, for her virginal blush. She let them. Better they sink their barbs into misplaced expectations.

For it was not chastity that sent her heart hammering in her chest. It was the thought of Rishi and Andar alone. It was for the words that might be said and the trust that might have been misplaced.

The chest will have the answers, she repeated. Yalira couldn't explain why the answers felt so important, but her bones insisted with quiet urgency. All of Antala's priestesses sought truth—this obsession was no different. It couldn't be.

She was certain Andar wanted her alive, but would he feel the same if she stole into his rooms? The man was unpredictable, violent. She did not want his attention re-focused on her. Better she slip into his domain and steal the truth than be forced to barter with him once more. There was precious little she had left to trade.

Yalira ignored the curl of Valen's knowing smile and the insistence of her pointed glances. Those black eyes fueled the flames of her anxious thoughts.

She could not escape them in her dreams.

The dread remained the following morning, churning through her reading lessons during which Oristos lamented her inattention.

Despite its heaviness in her gut, Yalira vibrated with the energy of anticipation. The phantom touch of smooth cypress against her fingers, the letters of Antalis in her mind's eye. Their presence gave her the courage to walk beyond the entrance to her rooms and into the hallway that would bring her to Andar's domain.

In that moment, she was grateful that the man was too arrogant to keep guards posted through these inner corridors. If it was arrogance in his ability to protect himself or in the belief that he was too loved to be at risk for attack, Yalira was not certain, but as her hem swished whisper-soft across the polished marble, she thanked Antala for it just the same.

The high noon sun filtered in, illuminating the simple exterior arch to the place where the monster slept. During her previous visit, consumed with purpose, she had not appreciated the details of his rooms. She had been too surprised to find a scholar's alcove to appreciate its intricacies. Even the archway, though bare of paint or gilt, was painstakingly carved with intertwined branches of laurel.

Yalira swallowed down the tongues of fire-laced fear that rose in her chest. She would not let that desperate smoke choke her resolve. The promise of the answers she sought was near.

She listened intently for a moment, straining to hear any signs of movement in the room. Valen promised to distract Andar, but Yalira did not trust the queen. It would be just as likely that she sent Andar back to his rooms. They might have found common ground but, more and more, Semyra was a place that punished misplaced trust.

Rishi would have distracted Andar. If you had asked.

The sharp thought willed new strength into her doubt. Yalira had already enlisted Rishi's help and had yet to find proof of her trust. The Lytvian queen had smiled and promised, but she had removed herself from palace life. A tendril of pessimism curled around her thoughts—did the queen fear that Yalira would see a dark truth behind those bright eyes?

Why else would she refuse to see me? Why else miss public meals?

Yalira had no stomach for the traitorous thoughts. She had never needed to fear women, her twins in spirit, those favored by the goddesses. Now she was surrounded by sisters who plotted and lied and schemed.

Before crumbling heartbreak stilled her purpose, determined to find that thread of truth and comfort, Yalira stepped into Andar's chambers. An empty hearth bore no embers. The smell of paper and vellum, ink and smoke. A perfect, still library.

Her footsteps seemed thunderous over the marble floor, heartbeat a war drum in her ears. Yalira barely breathed as she moved closer to the chests seated by the workspace. Its surface was the only one untouched by the careful hands of servants—it screamed its disarray in the otherwise pristine room.

Small and unadorned, the cypress chest sang to her. Yalira's hands darted forth, ready to spill its secrets. A rough hewn rope, twisted into a tangled knot, bound it shut.

Her fingers fumbled with the knot, hungry to unlock it. She looked for a knife, a sharp edge, anything that would loose its taut hold on the truth. She reached for a stylus, hoping to force it between the bonds. Her hands shook.

Yalira paused.

Desperation made her fingers clumsy, but her ears sharp. Footsteps called from beyond.

Run! Her heart screamed.

But where?

His bed was beyond a thick veil, but Yalira flinched at the thought of being trapped where he slept. She did not know the secret entrances of the servants—she saw no trace of their existence. Heart outracing the ever nearing steps, Yalira slipped onto the balcony.

Like in Antalis, the steep slope of the high city afforded her no escape. That memory of helplessness crept into her chest, a vice around her breath. Fingers into fists, he pressed her nails into her palms to focus.

The noon sun kept her shadow small. Yalira pressed her forehead to the warm marble of the wide columns. She prayed they'd hide her form, that the soft whistle of the wind from the distant sea would smother her breaths, that the footsteps were servants returning to finish their work, to light a fire, to do anything. She prayed it was not Andar who returned so early.

Still and silent, she sang to her fluttering heart, her shaky breath.

Voices lilted over the footsteps. Deep voices.

"Would you like me to kill him them? If he irritates you so, I'd be happy to do it."

Andar.

Only Andar debased that educated inflection with such casual brutality.

"I don't think it's necessary. Lyroc annoys me is all. He shouldn't make such comments unchecked."

And Oristos.

Yalira's ears strained to listen. They must be returning from the forum.

"I'd have thought our resident priestess's sharp tongue would have kept him from mentioning Soboa's offer again. Pity she wasn't there today."

"I find these sessions incredibly dull and I'm your best politico. I can't think of a single reason why Yalira would find them interesting."

A muted mumbling followed. Then a shout of Oristos's surprised laughter.

"It bothers you?" A pause. "Yalira, Yalira, Yalira, Yalira—"

For a moment, she feared they had spotted her. Hidden from their sight, Yalira realized that Oristos was taunting Andar. Taunting him with her name.

"Why is she so important? And don't play that game where you claim it's for divine favor, because—"

"It's for divine favor," Andar replied in a mockingly flat tone.

Oristos groaned. "Really, Andar. I know you don't listen to those idiotic rumors. Bed her if you want. But Lyroc isn't wrong about the dowry. A marriage to Yalira gives you what? Crumbling ruins?"

The harsh truth of her worth bruised Yalira's flicker of pride. Both curious and repulsed, she tried to silence her heartbeats so she might hear his answer. The reply did not carry to the balcony.

Their conversation carried in intelligible rumblings until Oristos let out a loud sigh. At least, Yalira assumed it was Oristos.

"Try," Oristos said. The sharpness of it cut to Yalira's hiding place.

"I am trying, Ori," Andar answered. The palpable frustration in his voice turned his words to a growl.

"Try harder, then."

"I can't change the past. If I had the power, I wouldn't."

"If anyone can do the impossible, it'd be Andar of Tyr. You've won over most of your wives, haven't you? The odds are favorable." The familiar sardonic drawl threatened to pull at Yalira's lips.

"I appreciate your confidence." She imagined Andar shrugging. "If I can't convince her—"

The wind picked up, sending branches rustling. Did he trail into silence? Or perhaps they whispered? Yalira couldn't say. She inched her ear closer to the edge of the column, but no part of a conversation met her efforts. Another hint of an answer was so close.

Why Antalis? Why me?

Her patience was nearly whittled away. She wanted to storm into the room, to demand the answers. Yalira's feet remained still. There was enough caution left in her to hold fast those last threads of waiting. She would not ruin her chance to find the truth with impatience. Antsy fingers twisted the stolen stylus in the folds of her skirt.

"Come ride with me," Oristos's voice suggested.

"You hate riding."

"I do."

Another pause.

"You're a good friend, Oristos."

"The best, even."

Andar laughed. "Let me finish some work. I'll meet you at the stables in an hour."

A set of footsteps whispered across the floor. With her entire body, Yalira listened. As the sound of rummaging echoed to her, the scratch of the stylus against parchment. An hour was not so long. A breath of encouragement and then her heart froze.

The stylus.

His workspace was cluttered, wild. Surely he wouldn't notice the absence of a single stylus?

"You can come out now, Yalira."

The predator's purr showered her with icy fear. It was so different from the voice he used with Oristos. Her feet sprouted roots into the floor.

At her reluctance to leave the safety of the balcony, Andar scoffed.

"I suppose it should offend me that you assumed I wouldn't notice that you've been rifling through my possessions."

He spoke as if she were a common thief! It spurred her forward in anger.

"If I'm not mistaken, there are things here than belong to me," she answered, entering the room.

"And if you are mistaken?"

Even seating, Andar towered. The warm sunlight on her back gave her strength. She would not let him deter her. Not when she was so close.

"Take it up with Oristos. He's the one teaching me to read."

"What here belongs to you, Yalira?"

The victory in his tone made her wary. It matched that promise in his bronze and fire eyes.

Give me strength.

Drawing herself to her tallest height, she raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the cypress chest.

The warrior king smiled as he leaned back in his chair. "Play for it? A game of truth and lies, priestess?"

A/N:

The full chapter of Dark Cresent will be posted throughout the week for a friend who is having their birthday during a rough time -- nothing like dark intrigue to feel better, I guess?