"Oedipus
And die you shall, unless you speak the truth.

Theban
And if I do, then death is still more certain."

—From Oedipus the King
By Sophocles

WITH HUGO BEHIND him as they dashed from their post at the queen's chambers over to where the shriek sounded, Alastair's thoughts ran almost as fast as he did. Skidding to a stop, he shoved at the door. It was locked, and he used the lock pick that always hung at his belt to break it open. The wooden boards thudded against the stone wall as he and Hugo marched into the room.

"Your Majesty?" He scarcely remembered to call her by her title, for she did not look like a queen, not in this moment. She looked like the scared but so very brave little girl he had seen her as, fifteen years ago.

She was crouching on the floor, her whole body seeming to tremble with shock and terror. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, falling in silky waves that his fingers itched to brush away from her face. He forgot propriety for a moment and knelt in front of her so that they were of equal statutes. Alastair reached out to tilt her chin up, her skin like silk beneath his fingertips. She looked at him, green eyes wide with panic, her full lips aquiver, their gazes locking with an intensity that almost hurt.

"Jovana," he said, too quietly for Hugo to hear. "What is the matter?"

His eyes were too drawn to her to notice anything else, which was why he was too distracted to notice the object of her fear.

She backed away from him on her hands and knees, far from dignified and yet still regal somehow, her dagger clutched tightly in her palm. "Do not touch me."

Hugo left the room with the excuse of needing to check the corridor for intruders. Alastair barely noticed his disappearance.

He held up both hands as if in surrender. "What happened, Your Majesty?"

She did not speak anymore, merely pointing. Look. And so he did: the basin of blood was on fire.

"What is this?" he spat in disgust. "Atlan magic of some sort?"

Jovana was trembling, her green eyes wild as they darted around the room. She stood up shakily, holding onto the table with both hands. Her face was illuminated by the fire. "I—I don't know. I do not know how this happened!"

At the sight of the flames, feral was coursing through his veins and making it hard for him to breathe, something that felt just as untamed as the look in his queen's eyes. No. Not his queen—never his queen... When had he started to think of her as his?

"Carlyle," she murmured, giving a soft laugh. He was still kneeling before her. Alastair ought to stand, he really did. At any other moment, in any other instance, he would have. But right now... he was scared to do it. The thought of getting up and looking her in the eye was frightening--not because of what he might see, but because of what she might see in him. "Now you are shaking as well."

He was, with desire or fear or shock, he could not tell, but he was. Jovana bent, her fingers carding through his hair before her hand, small and soft and littered with callouses, stroked over his back, his shoulders. If he had been unwilling to move before, he was utterly paralyzed now. Involuntarily, his body leaned into the touch, his heart thundering. Every sense seemed heightened. He could hear not only his erratic pulse but also hers, as steady as clockwork. Her sweet floral scent was heady, dizzying. When her hand trailed back up to his nape, that bare strip of skin beneath his collar and his hair that he had never really given much thought to, there was no part of him that did not come alive. There was no part of him that did not burn as brightly and strongly as the fire that had brought him in here.

"What are you doing, Jovana?" he asked her, still keeping his voice low as though any increased volume would break the spell she had woven around them and draped over their forms like a cloak.

"Stand up, Captain," she commanded. He moved immediately just as the door opened again.

Hugo strode in, his sword hanging at his hip. "I patrolled the corridors. No one is there who could have started this fire, Your Majesty."

"What are you implying?" Jovana's voice was ice, her posture not just statuesque but stiff as any granite statue carved by the Otharians. "That I am Atlan? That I started this fire?"

The stench of burning blood was acrid in his throat as he cleared it to speak. "I am certain that Captain Marchand did not mean to make such accusations, Your Majesty."

Alastair locked eyes with Hugo, who widened his own in an expression that Alastair could not decipher. He shrugged almost imperceptibly.

"He would do well to never even imply such horrid things, then." Jovana picked up the cloth and snapped it over the conflagration until it died down, before dousing it in water. "Call a maid in here to clean this mess up. And do not speak of this to anyone."

///

THE NEXT MORNING, the guards were having their monthly meeting in the armoury. With some stale--but hot--breakfast rolls wrapped in a napkin and stuffed in his pockets, Alastair skidded to a stop in the armoury, ten minutes early. He passed one of the buns to Hugo and kept the other for himself, biting into the flaky pastry shell and tasting sausage, scrambled eggs, and a mixture of Otharian spices. The cook knew him personally and always made one of the rolls especially with flavouring from the southern island since Alastair was the only one who enjoyed their taste.

"What do you think happened last night?" Hugo whispered to him between bites of food.

Alastair raked a hand through his hair as a blast of cold air hit him when another guard stumbled through the armoury door, looking drunk. "I don't know," he mumbled back irritably. "Maybe she just set it on fire with a... with a match or a candle by accident."

"No one looks so alarmed by that, Carlyle. And there were no candles or matches in the room." Hugo nudged him, finishing the last of his pastry.

Alastair's shoulders stiffened as he saw the Lord Regent walk in. "I. Don't. Know. What. Happened."

"No need to be so defensive, my friend!" Hugo chortled, clapping him on the back.

It felt forced to smile back but he did as his father turned to face him. Alastair held his gaze for a second before pivoting to face his friend once more. How to respond? To say I am not would only make matters worse. To agree would not help either.

"I only wished to end your... dare I say, interrogation of me." He crumpled the napkin in his hand and stuffed it into his coat pocket. "The meeting is beginning."

"Good morning, guards," Ilyas Durand said. "There was an incident last night."

Whispers erupted in the room as the last few guards filed in. In spite of being men, the guards enjoyed hearing and partaking in gossip as much as Jovana's tutor did.

"Silence!" He put his hand on his sword hilt, the blue sapphire of Durand house glinting from between his fingers. "A fire was set in one of the rooms in the queen's apartments... by magical means."

Alastair felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. How could he have known? Did Hugo betray the queen? Had someone else seen them?

"We must take all means necessary to ferret out the Atlan who was responsible for this heinous act. Guards, you are dismissed."

Only one question churned in his mind: how did the Lord Regent know?