I was the poison.

He never said it to me, nor would any of our Brothers, but I knew the truth of it in my heart. I needed to do nothing more than to watch them all lapse into the same still inaction as before to know the veracity of such a statement. I had been the problem in the beginning, too, I now realized, although I had not known it at the time. Suspected, but not known. Not in the bone-deep, all-consuming way I knew now. Had I never entered my Beloved's life, he might have gone on to amass a herd that would rival his father's, to strike new alliances and deals that would safeguard the safety of their kind.

Instead, he played nursemaid to my own childish fears, clasping my hand and letting me wallow without ever turning the slightest amount of censure in my direction, no matter how much I deserved it.

And I, ever the peacemaker, avoided the conflict. Despite how it tainted Nashira's proudest moments, and how it brought them all down. I was selfish and inattentive and we all knew it. Every time that Antares called for me - which was relatively rare, given how adept we were at nimbly avoiding the subject - I worried that this would be it. This would be the moment he had enough and cast me to the side, where I had belonged from the beginning: their imposter Mira.

At least I had not fallen so low as to ignore my Husband's call, even if the dread I'd long felt seemed to to fill my limbs with leaden weight. I turned from the grass tip I'd been idly running my lips over and obeyed the summons, picking my way neatly up the sandy rise until I reached the other half of my heart. He was as devastatingly beautiful as always, the ruby strands of his forelock curling rogueishly across his forehead, accentuated the gods' own mark across his face. It was a wonder to me that he had ever belonged to me at all.

His choice of conversation was a ruse, but I allowed my gaze to follow his to where our youngest daughter stood, her every atom yearning for the attention of a boy that was not to be her own. Already an adult, already capable of defeating Rigel in battle, and most certainly not pure of breed, he would not have even been considered as an option if my father had had any hand in her marriage. I had to remind myself that he did not. That the only voice that mattered in this marriage was that of her father and - to some lesser degree - my own. He would not have been my first choice for Nashira, given their multitude of differences, but I wished to see at least one of my daughters happy in this world.

"He is a strong fighter," I echo, caging my worries with practiced ease. "Only time will tell if her infatuation is returned."

But it is not really my permission he is seeking, nor is this conversation about Nashira at all. I need only to see the longing in his eyes to know that I cannot run from this conversation any longer, and I steel myself with a bracing of my shoulders as I turn toward him, ears expectantly curved forward.

My mother had once told me she could tell when the emotions in my chest grew too rough to bear because the warmth in my eyes turned dark like the sky before a sandstorm, impenetrable to all onlookers. Still, I tried to smile in spite of it, to pretend as though I did not hear the dismissal coming.

"I understand," I murmur softly, swallowing my unease. "You do not need to say it." Despite my best efforts to keep my voice level and soft, to ease this transition for him and assuage the guilt he must feel, my voice still quavers. "I know that I have let you all down as your Mira, and I will step aside for whomever it is you choose to take my place."