Coris didn't wait for Meya to return that night. Having fulfilled his sole objective of meeting his erstwhile kidnapper, he left with Zier and Arinel for Hadrian Castle, and arranged for Draken and Deke to hitch a ride on another merchant caravan back to Crosset the following morning.

After staying the night in the Silver Jug Inn, Meya spent her last days in Hadrian with her siblings and the two Boszels, enjoying her first May Fest. Meanwhile, back home, Coris busied himself supervising preparations for their voyage to Safyre.

Father and Mother had seen fit to add Fione, Heloise, Frenix Pearlwater and Amara Hyacinth to the entourage. In the case of Fione and Heloise, it was simply part of their training. However, for Frenix, it was also because being a Greeneye, the young page would probably burn Hadrian to the ground if he weren't allowed to go on such an adventure with the big boys. Figuratively and literally (You never know with that kid).

Over to little Amara, she was much less than thrilled to drop by her hometown, Hyacinth, which was the last stop on the way to Safyre. But her mother, Lady Amoriah, had insisted on Amara visiting, and it was speculated she was going through a mild case of the empty-nest blues, now that all her daughters had left for training and she was stuck with her son. Based on the rumors Coris had heard of the women of Hyacinth, this anecdote came as a slight surprise.

Still, it was nothing compared to the surprise he was about to stumble into at Bishop Riddell's lab.

⏳

Tenorus Riddell had always prided himself on his ability to focus on several simultaneous tasks.

While his eyes were fixed upon the rows of glass beakers at the center of his cluttered workstation, his mouth patiently explained the complex procedure to his young assistant Meya, who hovered beside him scribbling down notes.

One of his ears was tuned in to the steady drip of the water hourglass, as it chipped away at the remnants of his long wait, and yet, he still caught the gist of what the two men beside him were discussing with his other ear.

(If you must know, it was the weather, then their children's dissatisfactory choice of life partners, then the weather again, and whether it was just one of them or the other also caught a whiff of a burning smell. No one tolerated silent waiting like an alchemist).

And it was that same ear that felt the vibration of approaching footsteps, before the door to his lab swung open.

His assistant and the two chitchatting audience whirled around to face the visitor, while Riddell remain bent over his alchemy vials, waiting until that signature cool, cracked voice revealed his identity.

"Sir Apollon, you sought my audience?"

Lord Coris opened so quickly; he didn't allow enough time for the men of lesser status to address him first, as was customary. Head Cook Apollon was understandably taken aback by the visit; the three men hadn't expected Lord Coris to come down to the alchemist's lab himself, and right away, too.

"My liege, you shouldn't have." The large man raised a feeble protest, feeling his bald crown sheepishly. Coris cocked his head with a slight grin, silvery eyes twinkling.

"It was a choice between reviewing the budget for my honeymoon, or pushing it onto Zier while I watch Bishop Riddell singe his other eyebrow off. I chose befitting revenge."

Coris's smile widened in relish, but there was an apologetic look in his eyes as he briefly met Arinel's gaze. Reassured by her subtle nod, he turned to address the most senior man in the room,

"Bailiff Mansfuld. Sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Agh, nonsense," Hunchbacked old Frentis Mansfuld lifted a veined hand from his knobby cane to wave aside the apology. Traces of affection mingled in his smoky gray eyes, even as the lines on his face remained fixed in his usual scowl. "We're still waiting for the results, anyway."

"Results?"

Mansfuld gestured with a nod of his head towards Riddell's workstation behind him. Blinking, Coris craned his neck to see, and Apollon obligingly edged his voluminous frame aside to make way. As Riddell was still occupied with timing the experiment, Arinel moved forth to do the narration,

"These three beakers, my liege, contain soil samples from Amplevale being tested for nutrients." She swept a graceful hand to indicate the glass containers, which held a layer of dark brown soil steeped in different colored liquids, "Lord Amplevale had it brought over when he visited for your wedding."

"The fortress's cropland has been performing poorly this year, my liege." Bailiff Mansfuld continued, calling Coris's attention to him. He raised a withered hand and counted down his fingers,

"Weather ideal. No pest nor disease. No brimstone in the air. No acid rain. Tenorus has already tested the air and water samples he brought. Nothing out of the ordinary. That leaves the earth."

Coincidentally, at that moment, the last drop of red liquid in the upper half of Riddell's water hourglass slid through the tapering tunnel, rejoining its friends below with a minuscule splash.

Straightening up as if jolted by electricity, Bishop Riddell took the roll of parchment Arinel handed him and unfurled it, revealing instructions written in black ink, interspersed with illustrations, followed by a row of paint daubs. He held it to the beakers.

"Very well. Ten minutes for Dragon Crystal. Fifteen for Alum. And twenty for Mephitic Air." He narrated, narrowed eyes flicking back and forth over and over as he compared the colors, then finally concluded,

"No visible change in color. That means none or trace amounts."

For a beat, Coris thought he must have misheard. It was surreal. From his Sciences class, Coris had learned that those three minerals were the essential nutrients for all plant life. Without these three elements, nothing would grow. And Amplevale, being situated on the volcanic soil of Neverend Heights, blessed by Freda herself, had always been ample with them.

The movement on the workstation distracted Coris from his ruminations; Arinel was pushing aside the three beakers, revealing two more rows of similar beakers behind.

"What about these?"

"These three, my liege, contains the soil I had the Bailiff took from our croplands." Bishop Riddell touched a disheveled finger to the first beaker in the front row, then moved to the back row, "And these are the soil from the castle's estate Sir Apollon brought in."

"I've noticed our experimental vineyard is growing feeble, so I talked to Tenorus." Head Cook Apollon clarified with a nod to the alchemist, "And he told me the Bailiff's received reports from the Reeve that our crops are withering as well."

"So are Clardarth's and Noxx's." Bailiff Mansfuld interjected, thrusting an unfurled scroll he had extracted from inside his cloak towards Coris, "Letter just came from Bailiff Hutten just now. I'll report to your father tomorrow morn."

Coris's eyes widened as he scanned the brief letter, which said as much. At the sound of rustling paper, he turned back to the experiment. Bishop Riddell was now holding the color chart to the six remaining beakers. As they watched, he furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched his face in deep concentration. At long last, he sighed, laid down the chart then shook his head.

"Slight change. Better than Amplevale, but much less than normal."

Coris felt a foreboding knot tighten in his bowels at the disheartening conclusion. After a moment of rapid thinking, he turned abruptly to Bailiff Mansfuld.

"What is Father's directive for Amplevale? Has he sent word to Meriton? or Aynor?"

"The Baron simply arranged for manure and marl in our stores to be sent to Amplevale for now." Amidst the lines of concern on the bailiff's old face was a fold of frustration between his bushy white eyebrows, "But have a look at this, my liege."

He beckoned Coris closer then slid a piece of parchment before him. It was a map of Latakia. It was unmarked, but it didn't take long for Coris to make a vague connection. He touched a pale finger to the dot marking Amplevale Fortress, tucked away in the mountains to the west, then dragged it slowly to the east...

"Amplevale. Hadrian. Clardarth. Noxx..." He murmured, then his finger skidded to a halt as his eyes noticed the largest dot at the heart of the map: Aynor, the capital. Then a smaller dot just above, lurking within the shadows of a mountain range.

Safyre.

The notion became clear to him then. But it wasn't cause for a smile of satisfaction.

"I see. So that's why you wanted to see me." Coris speculated, his voice slow and solemn, as his brain whirred for a solution. Head Cook Apollon nodded, speaking in a hushed tone as if divulging a deadly secret.

"We're noticing the start of a pattern, my liege. But it would be no use to report to Aynor without the barest guess of what is causing this."

Bishop Riddell nodded in concurrence, then turned to meet Coris's gaze, bowing his head in plea,

"How rude of me to trouble you with such matters during your honeymoon, my liege. But if you could instruct your men to take soil samples along the way and deliver it back for testing?"

Coris waved the overt apology aside in slight exasperation. Straightening up, he planted his hands on the table.

"Wouldn't it be more efficient if you just come with us, Bishop? Bring all the equipment you need. And your assistant, too."

Oh, Zier would love this.

He shot a sharp glance at Arinel, who nodded fervently, then turned back to the still-blinking Riddell,

"You made the right call to notify me. We must make utmost haste. If your guess is accurate, we could be looking at a countrywide famine."

He whipped around to Bailiff Mansfuld at that dire statement, and the old man gave a single, heavy nod. Bishop Riddell nodded, looking just as enthusiastic as he was anxious.

"Very well, my liege. I'll get packing right away." He said in a rush, his eyes already darting all over his workstation and his lab, apparently dithering on what he would have to bring along. Coris nodded, turning to leave,

"I'll notify Sir Jarl of the addition."

The door was already swinging close behind Coris when Head Cook Apollon's booming voice floated through the narrow gap,

"This is just my crazy hunch, but I'd say Nostra's behind this."

Coris stilled his hand on the doorknob, pulling the door in place, as he heard Bailiff Mansfuld's croaky voice rising in argument,

"This? My good fellow, you must have inhaled too much mushroom fumes in that kitchen. What kind of monstrous contraption could allow man to somehow suck the elements straight out of the soil or summat?"

Coris could vividly imagine Apollon shrugging the disparaging remark off his massive shoulders as he retorted blandly,

"Like I said. Crazy hunch. Why so stern, you old thing?"

Yet, as Mansfuld huffed and grumbled under his breath about the folly of youngsters, one word in particular in his tirade remained clogged in Coris's thoughts. He was unavoidably reminded of his conversation with Meya a few days ago, when she had asked him about dragon diet, and he had relayed what he had learned to her...

"Dragons derive their energy from the sun, and absorb their nutrients straight from the earth. Like moving trees."

"Maybe this is why Nostra want to invade Latakia and claim Everglen. Their lands has been sucked dry."

Moving trees.

Sucked dry.

Could it be?

Coris raised his gaze from the bustling courtyard to the sky. He could no longer see the sun. It must have drifted below the horizon, leaving behind fiery, phosphorescent salmon pink streaks in the darkening powder blue.

Meya would probably be back soon. Perhaps he could discuss it with her over dinner in their room. She'd probably have some outlandish theories for him. At least, that was how he tried to explain away the unbidden leap in his heart at the thought. And no, he was definitely not thinking about what usually comes after dinner these past few days.

Grinning to himself, Coris let go of the brass doorknob, careful not to prod the creaking door, then started toward the Stables, keeping his head low to hide his burning cheeks in the collar of his cloak, as he reminded himself he really should be focusing on work.

Lovesick as he was, poor Coris had no idea he was about to run into an even larger, more unpleasant surprise when his dragon girl returns.