"You were having an argument with Grogan Krulstaff."

The detail with which the boy recalled it unnerved Draken. Either he was that much in control—or that traumatized.

"The butcher, Brodel, was on his way to clobber me unconscious, when we heard movement in the trees. You readied your crossbows, then Krulstaff shot."

Draken's shoulder tensed under Maro's palm as the story hurtled straight towards the climax. Coris frowned, hesitating as his stream of recollections stuttered,

"Then, there was...a scream. A girl's. You ran off to see to her, but a gust of wind knocked you back."

The room had fallen so silent one could hear the draft teasing the candlelight. The Hild siblings were all staring back and forth between Coris and Draken. In all the times they nagged Draken to retell his kidnapping mission, Draken had glossed over exactly how Coris had escaped.

"There was a flash of bright light, before everything fell dark. Then there was a—roar." Coris halted as he struggled to find the word. Even so, he shook his head, unsatisfied with it,

"It was unlike any animal I have known. All of a sudden, there was fire everywhere. That's when I saw it."

Coris's wide eyes stared at the empty air above their heads, where it had been, as his listeners held their breath almost as one, waiting for the revelation,

"Its body was covered with metallic scales. It had two enormous wings, sharp metal claws and a long snout lined with metal fangs. It looked like the creature on the wall paintings of the Chapel. The one that carried my ancestor over the sea. A dragon."

Myron shivered in Marcus's arms. Even Arinel and Zier were frozen in their seats, their eyes never leaving him. Though Coris's kidnapping was synonymous to the Crosset Famine and known throughout Meriton, his 'wondrous' escape was simply credited to his prodigy—no-one knew the specifics of how he did it. Throughout the years Coris had remained uncharacteristically reticent, and folks assumed he was ashamed of being taken hostage in the first place.

"The dragon grabbed me and flew me high above the forest and towards the mountains. Krulstaff's arrow was still stuck in its front leg, and it kept screaming because that leg was rotting slowly. It couldn't get the arrowhead out with me in one claw, and it was falling unconscious. I pulled it out for it, then we crash-landed in a cave, and I fainted from the impact."

"When I woke again, there was a little girl beside me. She was naked, and there was a rotting wound on her arm."

"Her arm...?" Maro mouthed, his sweaty hand on Draken's shoulder trembling as hard as his whole body, as the truth dawned on him. Coris nodded, his eyes setting upon each Hild sibling in turn.

"She had glowing acid-green eyes. Exactly like the dragon."

Morel's cheeks lost whatever color that remained then. The only part of Marcus that was moving was his blinking eyelids. Myron's stayed folded up. Coris's gaze wandered once more, a faint, absent smile glazing his lips as he reminisced the events that followed,

"The rot was spreading fast. I tried the tourniquet but it was little help. Then I noticed the arrow was melted where it touched her blood. And it was attracted to my ruby brooch, which contains a Lattis razor. I hovered the arrow over her wound to pull the melted particles in place, then sucked the poisoned blood out with my mouth."

"After that, we huddled under my cloak through the night. She sang lullabies to comfort me, and her body heat kept me from freezing to death. Next morning, we clambered down the mountain. She blew on snow and melted it so we could drink, and gathered acorns to sustain us for our trek to Truncale."

"She stayed behind in the woods as I walked to the immigration outpost. I showed the yeomen my insignia and ask them to leave a sack of food near the forest's entrance, then I collapsed of exhaustion and woke up two days later on the way to Hadrian. By that time, I could no longer remember her face. Up until six years later."

His listeners frowned and blinked, puzzled, yet must abandon the unfinished thought as the young lord moved on with his tale, now in the present.

"The day before my marriage, I met Meya, disguised as my betrothed. When we lay together, I noticed she had a large scar on her left arm. The exact area where the dragon was hit by the arrow."

Coris trailed off. He slithered his hand under his cloak, rummaging through the various pockets in the lining.

"I noticed the medallion she was wearing was made from the same metal as Krulstaff's arrow."

The bulge that was his hand stopped fidgeting under the crimson cloth. He extracted it, then reached his arm across the table, and deposited the bloodstained, broken arrowhead on the wood. The Hilds leaned forth to see. The Krulstaff insignia, a scepter mounted with a sun, looked distorted when touched by the candle's glow.

"One morning while Meya was asleep, I took it out for a closer look. She felt it and opened her eyes. They were glowing green."

Coris glanced at each of the Hilds who stared back at him in turn, then paused at Draken. There was a brief moment of silence before he resumed, his voice barely audible yet solemn.

"I need to be sure. There could always be other Greeneyes."

Another stretch of silence ensued as Draken's emotions surged and fought under his impassive face, his tense jaw and throbbing temple vein being the only sign betraying his turmoil. Finally, he sighed and nodded in surrender.

"There is no other, Lord Coris." Draken shook his head in emphasis. He looked up and met Coris's gaze, "For the last seventeen years, Meya is the only living Greeneye in Crosset."

Even as he had anticipated it, Coris fell back like a dead weight against his chair as all the strength temporarily deserted his torso, thrown by the astounding truth. He stared along with the Hilds as the old farmer went on, his gaze on Coris staid even as his hairy arms shivered on the table.

"Your memories are accurate. You have my word, and the words of my men who had witnessed it that night. You were not hallucinating. That was a dragon that rescued you. And it was Meya who Grogan shot."

Draken at long last averted his eyes. He seemed tortured by the unpleasant recollections, yet at the same time relieved and liberated, as the weight of the secret he had for six years borne alone was shared with the occupants of the room. Tapping his fist nervously on the wood, he licked his dry lips and went on,

"Her father and I are close. As close as Deke and Meya are now. I recognized her voice when she screamed. I recognized her eyes on that dragon."

"After you escaped, we followed the dragon until our lamp went out. We dare not return to Bailiff Johnsy, or to our families barehanded. We decided we must find the both of you. For days we searched in vain, surviving on squirreled acorns and snow, until we were found by Truncale's search party. They found you, but not Meya."

"Soon as we were freed, I fetched Grogan and headed to Mirram's house to tell him the bad news. He was searching for Meya, then, you see. The villagers were raring to lynch her for the Famine, so she'd fled into the woods. I was surprised to find him and Maro home. And Meya inside. Unconscious but alive."

Draken turned to the eldest Hild boy, who nodded and recounted his part, his voice frantic.

"Dad and I had just returned home the night before, when we heard a knock at the door. Mum answered it, then she shrieked the house down. It was Meya. She was wearing nothing but a crimson cloak, and she was covered with blood. She dragged a sack full of food behind her. She was clutching her arm. Then she looked at Morel and said—"

He glanced at his sister across the table. Morel was staring fixed at some point above Maro's shoulder, wide blue eyes unseeing.

"Tisn't growin' back, Morrie." She whispered, her accent thick, her voice as dead as her eyes, then she nodded listlessly, "Then she fell onto me. I remember her skin was even hotter than usual."

"We fetched the healer." Maro retrieved the baton, "She had to carve out a swathe of flesh around the wound because it was dead. But luckily it didn't go too deep. So we could save her arm. Next day, Draken and Grogan came to see Dad."

"Grogan said he thought Meya was a wild hog. That's why he shot. He said she just happened to be hiding around there. But she was trying to help Lord Coris escape, wasn't she? She must have been following you all the way. She thought the Famine was her fault. It was so like her to pull stupid shenanigans like that!"

Maro burst out then shot a reproachful look at Draken, who dipped his head in shame then met Coris's gaze, continuing once more.

"Mirram is my best friend, and I've known his children since they were in their mother's womb. But I have no idea what I should tell them then. I decided to leave out the dragon part. I wasn't sure if I believed it myself. Especially when Meya woke up and remembered nothing of the past few days. She didn't even seem to notice the days in between had been lost. Her memories betrayed her, just like yours."

Draken shook his head, frowning in disbelief. He fell silent for a moment, still mulling his turbulent past, then glanced up at the boy who shared it.

"What should we tell her, my lord?"

Coris was petrified for a beat, then he too shook his head slowly,

"I—I have no idea, as well." The young lord lowered his gaze as he fidgeted with his hands, then tilted his head, indicating Arinel and Zier,

"As we've encountered other Greeneyes who could transform into dragons when struck by Lattis, I think it's safe to assume this to be a proven fact. And, of course, Meya deserves the truth. But I don't think I have the right to reveal it to her."

"If not you, then who, my lord?" Draken protested, but Coris still seemed unconvinced, even as Draken reminded him of the obvious, "You are the sole witness of the full events. You must be the one to tell her!"

Coris shook his head, eyelids weighed by fatigue descending over fearful silver eyes.

"How could I convince her when she remembers nothing?" He whispered, his expression pained. He propped an elbow on the table then dragged a hand through his fringe, clutching at his temple. Then Maro interrupted his reverie, his head finally wrapping around the whole notion,

"My lord, so, to conclude, you're telling us..."

He rasped, his voice sounding like it was strangled out of his constricted throat. He stared at Coris as if begging him to deny,

"My sister—my little sister...is a dragon?"

"Not just your sister, Marovel." Arinel spoke at last, drawing Maro's bulging eyes to her. The Lady looked just as faint and pale. "Every Greeneye in Latakia."

Maro turned away, head still shaking, eyes still wide and disbelieving, lips rippling in frenzied murmurs.

"No, it can't be. It just can't."

As Coris gave Draken a weary look as if to prove his point, Morel reached both hands behind her neck. She detached the fine silver chain tarnished by sweat and grime, then coiled it up in her palm. Amidst confused stares from her brothers, she slid it towards Coris,

"I believe you should have this. It might give you a clue about what my sister is made of."

She flipped her hand, like one would a chest lid over an ancient treasure. Underneath lies a quaint handmade amulet. A distorted-looking crescent curl of iridescent metal embraced another piece of thin, tapering, curiously shaped metal with a dark gray sheen, forming a passable M.

"What's that?" Myron was the fastest to react. Morel's eyes remained on Coris's, which contained the same query, as she gave her baby brother a bloodcurdling reply,

"Meya's fingertip. The old one she chopped off when she was nine. The healer told me to chuck it in Yorfus's furnace so I'd get a nice Greeneye bone amulet."

"And you did!? You're sick, Morel!" Marcus cringed away from his sister, not bothering in the least to hide the scandalized look on his face. Morel started, evidently hurt, then went crimson with rage.

"Oh, I'm sick, aren't I?" She rounded on Marcus, who blinked, taken aback,

"She was thrashing and screaming and bleeding all over the place, and I wrapped her hand in this apron—" She yanked up her bloodstained pinafore and shoved it before Marcus's nose, "—then rushed her across the village to get help. Mum came home from the bazaar with Marin, found a bloody knife, and she was ready to bury me alive when we got back. Thought we were fighting and I used the knife on Meya. And Meya defended me."

Morel's normally steady fingers trembled as they pinched up the tiny bone. She felt its contours, tapping it compulsively on the table as if its icy chill calmed her.

"This thing. It's gross. But it was a part of my sister. Meya didn't ask about it, so I just kept it. Because it reminds me of the one time we were actually sisters. Am I sick for holding on to that?"

Morel whipped back to Marcus, and there were hints of tears in her eyes. All his life, the only sister Marcus had ever seen so much as sniffle was Mistral. He didn't know if that was good or not.

"Sorry, Morel." He blanched in shame, struggling to put his contrition into words, "It just...it doesn't seem like you...Don't cry..."

Marcus tugged gently at her raggedy sleeve, large brown eyes pleading, and Morel relented. She breathed deeply, lips pursed and eyes sealed tight as she willed her tears back. She turned back to Coris, and laid a scarred finger on the twirl of metal hugging the silver phalanx.

"This is the ring I was wearing that day. It's melted through."

Coris held the twisted metal up to his eyes. It gleamed rainbow in the candlelight as Morel's necklace trailed down from it.

"Lattis." He concluded. Morel nodded.

"Like her collar." She added brusquely, "It took me a while, but I pieced it together. I knew it was more than just her eyes."

Morel's eyes like shards of ice flitted to Maro, her hands clenched and her voice heavy.

"Think about it, Maro. Her body radiates heat like a furnace. Her bones are metal. Her blood can melt Lattis. Her limbs regenerate. Like those lizards when we tried to snatch their tails. And our clan's insignia is an honest-to-Freda dragon!"

"But why aren't we dragons, too, then? Why's Meya the only Greeneye in our family? In our whole manor?" Myron blurted out, his voice breathy with frustration. Coris could only shake his head.

"We don't know any more than you do." He admitted with a labored sigh, as he slung Morel's amulet around his neck, "All we have is a hunch that this has something to do with the metal shortage we're having. And we're hoping Meya could help us get to the bottom of this."

Coris leaned across the table towards the eldest Hild brother, who was cradling his head in his hands, laying a soothing hand on his forearm.

"Once this is over, I will see to it that Meya returns safely to Crosset. Your family will be rewarded greatly for her service to Latakia. I understand. It is a great risk, but we'd be grateful if you let her stay for a while longer."

Maro's fingers slid down from his face, revealing tortured brown eyes. Coris lowered his as he extricated his hand and moved back.

"You are her family. You have the right to decide."

Maro resolutely shook his head.

"No, I can only guide her. Not decide for her."

He concluded with a heavy heart, as the tension in his body streamed out in a lengthy sigh. He cocked his head, acknowledging Coris's quizzical, yet admiring look. Normally in Latakian tradition, the father or eldest son would have the final say over all family affairs.

"The choice is up to Meya. No matter how it turns out, she won't have it any other way. Neither will I. Same goes for all my sisters."

He declared firmly, then dropped his his head back onto his palms, massaging his worn out brain as he confessed,

"But how in the three lands would I explain all this to her? Fyr, I feel like a coward."

"Join the club." Commented Zier gingerly in his first reaction of the day. He gestured with a tilt of his head to his brother, who looked just as deep in a dilemma. Draken glanced at the tormented youngsters around him, then cleared his throat and shifted in his seat,

"Lord Coris. If I may," He began, calling Coris's troubled gaze to him, yet his eyes were downcast and far away in the past,

"I've seen Meya since she was a wee babe. She was...is...a lonely, wretched thing." The old farmer shook his head in sorrow,

"Mirram is a good man, but he isn't good at showing his daughters the love they need to see. It's the same with Marin and Morel. It turned them against him, and each other."

He nodded sadly to Morel, who was trying and failing to sob without a sound, her shoulders in Marcus's hands, then returned to the middle daughter,

"So Meya poured her heart out to scoundrels who showered her with affection. They betrayed and exploited her trust, then left her to bleed out and harden on the wayside."

The lights in Coris's eyes flickered in shame as he thought back to their altercation two days ago. He could understand now, somewhat, Meya's chagrin at his secretive and deceitful ways.

He must have reminded her of the men who had charmed her with their seemingly benign facade, only to reveal their impure intentions. But what was it about himself that was different? Why had she chosen to stay by his side? And was there more than naivety that had driven her to trust him and Gillian, like he reprimanded her for? Meya was half-dragon, after all. Was it...instinct?

And it seemed Draken, wise from his years, had figured out the conundrum,

"I believe she has a good reason for giving you her virginity. Even as she knew you might not live long. Or ever be destined for her. She must have sensed something in you that feels familiar, yet different from those men before you. I suspect it's your pure intentions, Lord Coris."

Coris blinked, astonished, as the old farmer creaked out a melancholic yet hopeful little smile at the corner of his lips, then bowed his head slightly.

"You possess a virtuous soul, and a sharp intellect. I believe you will find a way to retrieve her lost memories, and help her to accept them. So, I implore you, my liege. Please, guide her to the truth."