The arch of the pillars cast a shadow upon the Baroness's melancholic face. Noticing Meya's puzzled gaze, Sylvia composed herself. She moved her hand to point at the exploding mountain,

"That's Everglen."

Meya's eyes widened, though she could already guess, somewhat. The Baroness's gaze set next upon the man hanging onto the green dragon.

"Hadrian lore has it that our ancestor, Drinian Hadrian, was a Glennian. When the Everglen volcano erupted, he stowed away on a dragon to flee across the sea and landed in Latakia, while the dragons flew on to Nostra."

"So, the Nostran dragons came from Everglen?" Meya spun around and stared in disbelief. The Baroness's silvery eyes glinted. Meya shook her head with a frown. "Why don't they just land in Latakia, then? Why fly all the way to Nostra?"

Sylvia shrugged and cocked her head in agreement; having been married into the family like her, the Baroness seemed just as skeptical. Meya turned back to the painting, zeroing in on the runes she couldn't read.

Duty and Atonement. We Shall Return. One picture, two names. How were they connected? Had her ancestors migrated from Everglen like Drinian Hadrian?

"And what does atonement mean? What do the Hadrians have to atone for? I get the duty part—that's protecting the Axel, isn't it? Or did Drinian explode that mountain, and that made Everglen what it is today?"

The Baroness seemed impressed with her theory. She turned to study the painting, then heaved a bemused sigh.

"That was my guess, too. The lore did not say." Sylvia shook her head, then turned to eye the far side of the long hall. "There's someone here who would be happy to discuss with you, though, if you'd like."

Meya followed her gaze, and her eyes widened. The front rows of praying benches had been cleared away, making space to accommodate a group of youngsters. Standing before them was an old man in white and gold robes. He was mouthing a command to the young ones.

"Our chaplain, High Priest Frey. You probably recognize him."

The Baroness spoke up beside her. Meya nodded, still staring at the strange spectacle. Of course, she remembered him; that's the lovesick old priest who married her and Coris!

"He'll be your tutor." The Baroness went on. Meya almost choked on her own breath.

Tutor? Goodly Freda, I can't read or write! What am I gonna do now?

Seeing Meya gawking at her, pure terror splayed on her face, the Baroness let out a soft laugh, then wagged a reprimanding finger.

"Don't give me that look, young lady. I know they don't prefer to teach girls the letters in Crosset, but here in Hadrian, you can't escape education with marriage."

The Baroness glided towards the last row of benches, gathered her dress then settled down, signaling Meya to scamper after her.

"When you aren't accompanying me, you are to study Runes, Logic, Mathematics, History, Geography and the Holy Scriptures here, along with your fellow knights- and ladies-in-training." The Baroness continued in a whisper as Meya sat down beside her, her silvery eyes now upon the group of students.

"If you'd like to play music or paint, I could hire tutors for you as well. And you must also hone your needlework with me. No buts."

Sylvia raised a decisive finger, and Meya closed her mouth with a shudder.

Needlework. Oh, Freda. In the few weeks of embroidery Meya endured under Mum's tutelage at the age of seven, she poked her fingers as much as she poked the cloth. Needless to say, Meya's flower pattern was more blood and tears than thread.

Under normal circumstances, Meya would be thrilled to be going to school. Back home, the tuition was so expensive that Dad could only afford to send Myron, and girls in general weren't allowed to study. Yet, the gift of education just had to befall her when she was trying to convince a castle full of nobles that she was Lady Arinel. Just her rotten Greeneye luck.

In lieu of pursuing the troubling matter further, Meya watched the small classroom. The pupils had divided into pairs and sat facing each other from opposite sides of a board game, arranging colorful chips on the illustrated wooden board, with a screen hiding their opponent's positions from view.

"What is the subject now, my lady?" She leaned towards the Baroness and asked in a whisper. The Baroness was scrutinizing each student, a tapered finger pushing up her chin.

"I'd say Logic. They're playing Heist." She murmured back.

"Heist?"

"It's a wargame designed to train the future Baron Hadrian to protect The Axel." The Baroness replied, eyes still on the students. "Still, I say heirs of western manors could learn from it as well. If the Nostran army ever crossed the Zarel Pass again, the west would be Latakia's first line of defense."

Her eyes slid back to linger on the brown-haired lad to the left, and she muttered to herself in utter weariness,

"And now I worry for the future of Latakia."

Meya traced her careworn gaze to Lord Zier. Taking advantage of the opening while High Priest Frey was busy talking to another pair of students, with cautious fingers, the Baroness's younger son and heir apparent stacked blue soldier chips up into tall, wobbling towers, whereas his opponent, the Coris-lookalike Meya had seen this morning, lined up miniature trebuchets and loaded them with red soldier chips. Judging from their deep red, inflated cheeks, they were trying their utmost not to burst out laughing.

"That's Zier, of course. Fooling about as usual." The Baroness heaved a heavy sigh, as a game of strategy wouldn't involve blasting mini-towers with mini-trebuchets. "And Simon of Amplevale, Coris's cousin and unofficial double. His poor mother wishes the resemblance goes deeper than skin."

Meya studied Simon's features. He did resemble Coris, except for his healthier build, pale blue eyes and carefree smirk. Pursing his lips in concentration, he hooked back a trebuchet and let fly. A red chip sailed over the screen and chafed one of Zier's towers, which lost balance and fell to pieces.

High Priest Frey spun around at the sound of falling chips, then swatted Zier and Simon on the noggin with the copy of the Holy Scriptures he had swiped from the altar behind.

Meya stifled her laughter with immense difficulty. The handsome, stone-faced squire High Priest Frey had been talking to shook his head in disapproval, while his opponent, the girl with the brown ponytail, pretended to busy herself arranging her chips to hide her grin.

"That's Christopher Merilith, the Meriton heir. And that's Lady Fione of Cristoria. She was sent here to ensure Cristoria would not rebel twice."

The Baroness narrated, then indicated the next pair with her chin. The little ten-year-old page from the Southern Isles was raining fistfuls of red chips onto his half of the board, his mouth chanting the words die die die. Heloise was looking over the screen, trying in vain to talk him out of massacring his whole army.

"Frenix of Pearlwater, the wee devil. And Heloise Dunstaal from Westrell. Poor girl still hasn't given up teaching him strategy, Freda bless her."

At the last table sat the sullen seven-year-old girl with curly black hair, pushing pieces onto her board with dejected reluctance. Her opponent was a chapel clerk around Meya's age who kept sweating and dropping his chips.

"Little Amara of Hyacinth. Freda help that poor clerk. She starts pelting chips at you if you're winning." Sylvia shook her head in dismay, heaving another sigh, then turned to Meya with a wan smile. "And we used to have your brother Klythe, of course."

Meya blinked, a little taken aback at the comment that came out of nowhere. Remembering she was supposed to be Arinel, the Lady with a missing brother and two dead sisters, she adopted what she hoped was a wistful smile.

Wishing to steer the topic well away from dangerous waters, Meya glanced back at the young lords and ladies, casting about for anything to ask. Her gaze fell upon Zier as the only person she had directly interacted with. That was when something out of place caught her attention.

That's right; the other lords and ladies all came from other towns to train. Why was Zier staying at home, not to mention Coris as well?

"My lady? Why aren't Lord Coris and Lord Zier training elsewhere?"

Meya felt the Baroness tense up, and chanced a glance at the still silent woman. Sylvia's eyes stared ahead, unblinking and unseeing as she struggled with herself, swallowing and taking quick, shallow breaths. Meya was on the verge of taking it back when she complied, her voice strangled by unshed tears.

"Well, I guess it's obvious in Coris's case." Sylvia's trembling hands twisted the crimson silk of her elaborate dress, and Meya's anxious gaze flitted between them and her now paper-white face. "They both trained under Baron Grimthel of Graye. Up until the heist."

"When Coris swallowed The Axel?" Meya asked, though she already knew it couldn't have been any other. Sylvia whirled around to her, eyes wide.

"Coris told you?" Her voice was almost inaudible. Meya hesitated, then nodded. A new name has joined the ever-growing Must-remember list in her brain, and her interest was piqued, but seeing Sylvia so troubled, she wasn't sure if she should let her continue. The Baroness nodded to herself, heaved a sigh, then soldiered on nonetheless,

"Yes. It was around the time your brother disappeared, actually. My husband suspected Baron Graye was behind it, that he set his daughter, Lady Agnesia, to charm Coris, and that Coris tried to steal The Axel to please her. He pulled both our boys out of training after that."

Meya gaped. Coris had told her he swallowed The Axel to keep it safe. Yet, his mother was painting a different picture, one that made much more sense, and Meya wondered why the notion never crossed her mind.

Coris was lying?

Meya felt as if she was sucked down a quicksand hole on the road of time; events seemed to be progressing sluggishly.

"Coris was protecting The Axel, not stealing it." She heard her own indignant voice as if from the end of a tunnel, distant and echoing, and she wasn't sure if she believed it.

"Only Freda and Coris himself know the truth of what transpired that night." The Baroness replied without a breath's pause, her voice dead, her unfocused gaze filled with sorrow borne of a mother's love for her child. She shook her head, her eyes haunted by her unpleasant past.

"Of course, I don't love my son any less, but my husband is a born Hadrian. So is Coris. And the Hadrian men's duty is to The Axel alone."

Sylvia's voiced trembled with bitter fury; she still hadn't forgiven her husband. Meya didn't know what to think. Coris had seemed so sincere, so honest and kind. He didn't look like the type that would cook up elaborate lies just to make himself look good.

Even though they had known each other for mere days, somehow it pained her that Coris would see the need to lie to her, when she could understand why he would want to steal The Axel. How frustrating it would be, having to sacrifice all that one held dear without even knowing why.

But, did Coris lie? Did he mean to steal The Axel? He didn't seem bothered while he told her of the heist. In fact, the way he recounted it, it was as if it had happened to someone else. Or, at the least, he didn't believe he was in the wrong.

And, seeing as Meya had just let Coris in on her secret, this revelation couldn't have come at a worse timing. Could she trust him? What would she do now?

"What happened to Agnesia after that?" Deciding she should contemplate it later in private, Meya continued the conversation. The Baroness looked, if possible, even more reluctant. Swallowing hard, she began, uncertain.

"She—was staying in Hadrian as my attendant." Sylvia wrung her hands, her eyes downcast. It seemed as if she had been bursting to confide in someone but was bound by duty not to. She closed her eyes in surrender,

"There was a nasty fire in her quarters. We couldn't save her."

Meya felt the strength leave her legs as the implied truth sank in.

The Baron ordered Agnesia's death!

Meya was thankful she was sitting. The two women locked gazes, sorrowful silver upon horrified emerald, then the Baroness whispered, her voice heavy with pain.

"I'm telling you all this, because you are now part of our family." The Baroness's hand was ice-cold as she took Meya's hand, her eyes pleading. "The Axel is now your duty as well. I must impress upon you how important it is."

Meya met the Baroness's intense stare, her emotions in a turmoil. The Baroness's dress, like Meya's, was Hadrian Red. She felt the weight of the ruby Hadrian Rose brooch, pinned to the chest of her undershirt. She remembered the five guards and the decoy entourage, killed by Gillian and his men. She remembered Coris's haunting eyes as he recalled his three nights of torture. And she must now add Lady Agnesia Graye to add to the death toll.

She remembered the white pavilion amidst the sea of Hadrian Roses. The rippling lake of vivid red flowers was now a sea of blood, as she wondered how many more would have to die in the name of The Axel.

And whether that would include Meya herself as well.