After a brief cuddle on Coris's chair, Coris was still tired and groggy, while Meya was still jumpy and somewhat lusty, and thus to the bed they retired. Even when it was still broad daylight.

The Sir Knight was too zonked out to fulfill his task of actively satisfying the fair maiden. Instead, he implored her to fool around with their bits and bobs to her heart's fill while he napped with his belly out. And so she did.

Meya was experimenting on the most comfortable position, when something prodded against her legs, almost sending her shooting headfirst to the ceiling in a flash of pure bliss. Strangling back a moan, she glared down at Coris, who was seemingly asleep.

"You said you won't be available again 'til tomorrow!" She cried in accusation. And she'd been making a fool of herself up here alone when he'd got juice left in him all along?

"That's my middle brother." Coris slurred, eyes still closed. Giggling at his pun, Meya gave him a playful pinch on his meatless cheek,

"Just rest. I'll take care of wee-Coris. Well, not so wee, actually."

Meya chuckled at her little joke, then took his hands as she leaned down towards him. Together they moved. Coris gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as wave upon wave of bliss coursed through his whole body. Gasping for breath, he stood firm against it until he felt he would be blown to smithereens if he let one more wave crash into him.

Then, he heard Meya's voice crying out his name. As she shuddered and arched back, tilting her face towards the Heights to bask in the radiant light at the pinnacle, she showered him with a stream of warmth so soothing, so calming, that he finally felt safe enough to let go.

He lay back, letting himself be carried away on the pulsating river of clouds into Freda's Caldera, drifting back down to earth like an autumn leaf, knowing he would miss it sorely when his time came.

Meya fell onto his chest, panting. He raised a feeble arm to caress her hair. She turned and rubbed her cheek against his palm.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice choked with tears of joy, "Do you like it?"

Meya pulled away to meet his gaze. Coris's silvery eyes were wavering. He had on a strange expression. One Meya had rarely seen on him. He looked insecure—desolate.

"Thank you, too." He whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling. Meya felt an ominous chill as he shook his head, "I'm sorry I couldn't satisfy you. I know I shouldn't be, but I'm glad I get to feel the Heights before drowning in the Lake."

"Coris, don't say stuff like that. You're not going anytime soon. And not to Fyr's Lake, that's for sure!"

Meya pleaded, a note of desperation in her voice. Yet Coris went on as if he hadn't heard, silvery eyes staring ahead but unseeing.

"But part of me wished I'd never known how it felt. Now I'm even less ready to die."

"Coris! Oh, Freda—"

Heavy tears plummeted down Coris's cheeks, swift as falling stars to their deaths. Meya sat up and eased the frail young man into her arms, absorbing his tremors with her firm embrace.

"I'm sorry. Sorry. So sorry." Coris muttered as he shook his head, rubbing his flooding eyes on her shoulder. Meya simply held him as she had held her little brothers whenever they were woken up by nightmares.

She could feel him jolting and bucking as he struggled to staunch the leak, but the dam was doomed to burst, and he finally let loose the festering whirlpool that for years he had kept repressed under clear, calm, soothing waters.

"I'm just so scared. Every night I go to sleep, I'm scared I won't wake up again. I'm sorry. I don't want to die. Not this soon. Not like this. But I can't tell anyone. I don't want Zier to blame himself. I don't want Mother to cry. I don't want Father to hate me. Perhaps it'd be better if I just drop dead than live on and on like this—pathetic—invalid—useless—waste of resources. Can't even pleasure a fair maiden. Can't even give her a babe. At best, they'd cry once and move on. What's the point of dragging it out? What could I possibly achieve from Safyre? But I don't want to die. I'm scared of melting away in Fyr's Lake. I'm scared—so, so scared. How would it feel to not feel anything?"

Meya's hand traveled his bony back, passing by her own hot teardrops trickling down his protruding spine, and she dithered on how to comfort him.

Back in the Forest when she had faced down death, it was an intense, yet different brand of fear. Certain. Urgent. Stark white and black. Not the drawn out and murky gray in-between.

She had had control of what she chose to do. She had the choice of fight or flight. But how would you deal with your looming death if it was entirely out of your hands, if your own body was your slow-torturing, whimsical enemy?

True, everyone knew they would die someday. But many wouldn't bother thinking about it until it was blinking on the horizon, and by that time, hopefully they would already be wise enough to deal with it.

But Coris, under all his wisdom, was only a lad of seventeen. Barely a year older than Meya. The same age as Morel. And he had been living like this since he was Mistral's age. Alone. Terrified.

"Coris, it's normal to be scared. Everybody's scared of dying. You don't have to blame yourself."

Meya had memorized verses from the Holy Scriptures. But none of the hymns lauding the beauty of Neverend Heights and recounting the stoic deaths of Latakian heroes seemed to work to assuage Coris's fears.

So Meya simply told him what she thought. What she knew.

"Zier loves you. Your parents love you. And I need you. You're my liege. My mentor. My good friend. My—whatever-it-is-we-have-now. Stop saying stuff like It's fine, we still got Zier and, I don't want to orphan my babe and all that. You're getting used to it—you shouldn't."

Meya extricated herself. Coris's empty eyes in their sunken sockets stared at her, lost in a pool of tears, and she cupped her hands to his gaunt cheeks, staring into their depths.

"You asked what you could possibly achieve. You're achieving stuff every day, Coris. You saved Arinel and her men. You're always thinking up ways to help Hadrian and your people. You're giving me the chance to make something out of my life."

Coris bit his trembling lips, as if he was willing himself hard to believe in those words. Meya shook her head in slight frustration, shaking Coris's face slightly now to get his attention.

"I know you think your father is sidelining you, and you can't do anything about that. But you can try talking with Baroness Norena. Maybe she'd help you with the Ban."

Coris pulled away and reached under the bed for his chamberpot, then emptied the quagmire in his nostrils into it. Meya edged off to the bedside cabinet and poured him a basin of water. He splashed some on his face, poured some through his soiled fingers into the pot, then gulped down the rest.

"I doubt it." He finally answered, dabbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, as Meya put away the pot and the basin for him. His voice, though still thick with nose gunk, was on the way back to his usual serene croak.

"Safyre is neutral on the Ban. It has no resources of its own, and champions living in harmony with nature. Its economy is based on tourism and luxury goods."

"Your father mentioned they're still affected by the metal shortage, anyway." Walking back on her knees, Meya shrewdly pointed out. She plopped down then leaned close, suggesting in earnest, "Maybe you could talk Norena into helping you. You're good at talking."

Coris shook his head, a shrug rippling down his bare shoulders.

"I don't know. I don't actually have Hadrian's sway behind me this time, do I?"

You didn't have nothing but dogs during the Heist, neither. Meya opened her mouth to argue, but Coris cut across her with a sigh as he slumped onto his pillows, an arm on his forehead.

"Remember when I told you, that the incumbent Baron Hadrian is the only one who knows the truth about The Axel?"

Meya blinked, then nodded slowly, still not sure where this was heading. Coris went on, his eyes closed in exhaustion.

"When the Baron were on his deathbed, he'd pass on Maxus's Memoirs to his heir apparent. It contains all the secrets surrounding the Axel."

Meya's eyes widened in intrigue. Coris's pale pupils reappeared, half-hidden under heavy eyelids, then slid to meet Meya's.

"The truth we seek is here, in Hadrian." His voice was stronger now, as he jabbed a finger into the supple bed, then gestured in frustration,

"And Father's deliberately sending us away from it. To a tourist town with no military significance. No say nor stake on the Ban."

Coris's pale, thin arm slapped lifelessly down on the bed, and he shook his head, jaded eyes boring twin holes in the wooden ceiling of the four-poster,

"I just don't see a way to wring optimism out of this."

Silence fell. Meya wordlessly watched as Coris took several sighing breaths, her dark, solemn expression set in cold stone. Yet when she spoke, her level voice was charged with fire.

"Whenever Lord Crosset slaps down some new law or tax, I don't grumble as I plow the fields or join the folks protesting at the bulletin board. I stay quiet, wait for a loophole to open up for me, and exploit it. Sometimes I got away with easy gold. Most times I didn't. But that's what I do."

Coris opened his eyes wearily. Meya propped an arm on the bed and loomed down over him, her long golden locks trailing onto his sunken, ridged torso.

"If the Baron's word is law, there's bound to be a loophole. Or a way around it." She enunciated with a rebellious shrug,

"If we can't read those Memoirs, then we find another way. Safyre is closer to Everglen than Hadrian. We're traveling towards the place where it all started. Where the first Hadrians and Hilds came from. At least, if Norena won't help with the Ban, she could help us get there."

Coris's eyes flicked away, seemingly contemplating, but not actually convinced, and Meya leaned down even further.

"You're always shutting your door all the way. Why not leave it open a sliver? You need to have some hope, Coris."

Those silvery eyes focused feebly on her, and Meya grasped his clammy hand in hers, squeezing those knobby fingers between hers, as she forced her words through gritted teeth.

"Hope got me through the Famine. Hope made me negotiate with Gillian that day. Hope is why I'm still alive today. And it'll keep you alive much longer than any elixir would."

Again, Coris smiled his usual gentle smile, his chapped lips glistening with tears. But Meya wasn't sure if he believed her.