The fountain maintained a stable roar, as its bell-jar-shaped water curtain cascaded into the rippling pool below, its deafening white noise backdropped by the hum of the crowd, and interspersed by the whimsical plonks of bowls, mugs and buckets being plunged through the surface.

All around Meya, masked tourists jostled for a gulp or more of the blessed water. Yet, Meya found herself at an impasse.

As the heat from her brimming cup warmed her chilly fingers, Meya's burnished reflection gazed back at her from the copper sign mounted on a ramrod-thin pole. Line upon line of black text rolled across her forehead and cheeks. Alchemy-ish names in block letters preceded advertisements of their healing properties, which ranged from promoting smoother skin and blood circulation to curing foot odor.

As reading practice, and for extra caution, Meya read the whole passage through twice. There was no mention of Lattis as one of the beneficial minerals in the water. But regardless, she should pass her coin over her cup, as Coris had advised. Just in case there were traces of Lattis lurking unnoticed that could be siphoned out.

Then again, how much difference would it make, though? If Lattis was everywhere in Latakia, then Meya had lived seventeen years eating, drinking, wearing, breathing invisible Lattis particles so far. If Lattis were poison, as Gillian put it, how many years had already been docked off her dragon lifespan?

Meya's lips were parching up fast, and she unwittingly licked and chewed on the flaking skin as she scrutinized the drink in her cup. It looked innocuous alright, but she was hesitant to take a sip. Because, come to think of it, these daily intake of trace amounts of Lattis might be the reason Greeneyes lived about as long as normal humans, despite not being made of the same stuff.

So this was why dragons from Everglen struggled to cross into Nostra. Even before being unearthed and refined into weapons, Lattis could still harm Greeneyes. In fact, it felt now to Meya like Freda's way of warning them, that they don't belong in this land.

A wave of lonesome, bone-chilling cold rushed up Meya's arm from her fingertips, even as the cup remained warm. Still, she couldn't repress that defiant little voice in her head, its whispered rebuff glancing off the uncaring, rigid back of the goddess.

But I was born on this land.

It was then that Gillian's voice echoed unbidden throughout her consciousness,

"If we find that dowry, then we could be anywhere you want to be. Latakia. Nostra. Everglen. Take your pick."

Meya nodded slowly to herself, finally comprehending somewhat.

So...this must be why Gillian came after the Axel. He must have been tired of dragons being confined to Nostra and under the Emperor's service, or withering away in Latakia, sapped of life day by day by unseen demons.

But what in the three lands could something so tiny it could fit in young Zier's gullet do to a Latakia-sized lode of poisonous Lattis ore? If only they had captured Gillian, they would have procured the answers long since.

Drat Zier for ruining it all.

With a heaving sigh, Meya shifted her focus back to her untouched drink. As she dithered on the best destination she should direct it to; down her throat, back in the fountain, or splash on the sandstone, a strident call pierced the air.

"There you are!"

Gretella's voice came with nails like a cat's claws sinking into Meya's arm, wringing her flesh like one would a wet floor rag.

"Youch! What the—!"

Meya barely kept a hold on her beloved cup. Hands dripping with hot spring water, she whipped around with teeth bared and a glare at the ready, only to lose her fluff when she found Gretella's malevolent finger hovering before her nose-bridge.

"You don't just stalk off alone in a crowded square in an unknown town, you dungheaded lass! What would you do if you'd lost us? Stay forever?"

Flinching back to put some distance between that pudgy finger and her eyes, Meya noticed Arinel standing just behind her grandma, arms crossed and lips pursed, not in the least inclined to lend aid, and she sighed in defeat.

"I'm sorry, Nurse. I was just..." Meya averted her gaze. In the process, she spotted the two children the old woman was shepherding at her side.

One was ten-year-old Frenix Pearlwater; with his stringy build, dark brown skin like walnut wood, and short, fuzzy black hair like tufts of fine goose-down. The other was little Amara Hyacinth; her silky, wavy black hair cropped short at her chin, her cherubic lips perpetually bent in a scowl as if lined by iron wire.

Amara's mask was decorated in the exact same manner as Frenix's; its whole surface was veneered with all the five colors provided, masterfully guided into multilayered, psychedelic swirls that curled and unfurled alongside each other, yet never mingling.

Curious, Meya bent down, her hands propped on her knees.

"Hello there, little Amara. Splendid artwork." She gestured at the little lady's mask, then hitched up a devious grin as she pointed between her and Frenix. "So, who copied who?"

"—Whom." Frenix piped in, shining Meya a full-width grin inset with two rows of white teeth and not a sliver of remorse at her annoyed glance, "Coris told me to take over your language practice while he's gone."

"Ugh!" As Meya rolled her eyes and air-strangled her absent husband's meatless neck, Amara thrust her nose in the air, threw out her chest, and crossed her chubby arms.

"I didn't paint anything. Frenix did both." She gave a little motion of her head in Frenix's direction, adding pompously once she noticed Meya cocking her head in question,

"Art is for boys."

Frenix's gleaming grin slid off his face faster than lard on a heated pan.

"That's rubbish! My mother would've become an artist herself if she were allowed to!" He rounded on Amara, who stretched up on tiptoes to argue her point, while Meya gawked in utter confusion.

"And she shouldn't be! Because, as my mother often said, girls parry while boys paint."

What?

Meya's frown deepened at that bizarre quip. While it was true that men was, in practice, the only sex allowed to pursue mastery in all the branches of arts and sciences, Latakian women weren't known to pick up swords, either.

As if the wind had heard her ringing mind, it reciprocated with a whispered explanation in her ear:

"Hyacinth."

Meya turned around. She found herself staring into a dozen of bright green eyeballs, rolling in all directions in blood-red sockets, and she backpedaled into the copper sign with a shriek.

"Fyre's Bollocks!"

The young woman with the brown ponytail doubled over with wheezing laughter, slamming her hands together in glee as Meya staggered upright, massaging her throbbing buttocks and righting the wobbling sign as she did.

"Lady Fione?!" She forced out a strangled gasp. Fione eased her hilarity with much effort, waving a feeble hand as if to fan away her belly cramps.

"I spooked a Greeneye with green eyes. Who would've thought that would work?!" She managed before succumbing to humor once more.

Mumbling curses under her breath as she smoothed a hand down her bosom, Meya turned instead to the girl standing next to Fione, whose mask was roughly the same color as her caramel-brown hair, with a few defiant streaks of blue and olive green peeking out here and there.

The sight reminded Meya of the time Jezia had brought her some oil paint and fine parchment, and she had given them to Myron. Poor boy had started off trying to draw Freda's rainbow, but, in his lack of expertise, ended up mixing the colors together into a passing imitation of sewer sludge.

A ray of malice radiated unfiltered from behind the ruined mask, and Meya caught herself still staring. Yet, she braved the Lady's fury with a meek simper to satisfy her curiosity,

"What happened to your mask, Lady Heloise?"

"Don't ask." Heloise's voice dripping with venom sizzled through her seething teeth. It was a wonder the grille over her mouth hadn't melted apart already.

"Because I'd tell you, anyway." Fione cut in, having successfully recovered from her fit. Ignoring Heloise's unseen glower, she grinned at Meya and cocked her head at the similarly smirking Frenix,

"I bet her ten latts she couldn't pull off Frenix's technique. Paid for my Jayri bowl and a black gum drink."

She held up her cracked white bowl joined with copper, filled with a steaming, viscous black liquid, which Lady Arinel was eyeing suspiciously. She took a sip, then let out a sigh of bliss.

"Ah, taste of the Heights. How about a sip, Haselle? You must be exhausted from all that crying. This will pick you right up."

Before Arinel could utter a word, Lady Agnes had reached out for the mysterious concoction, and in a blink was already downing it eagerly. Its sickly sweet smell was making Meya thirsty all of a sudden as well, before she was distracted by Heloise's sputtering excuse,

"I-I-I was nervous, that's all. Give me more time and leave me alone, and I'd even go one better." She insisted to Fione, who tore her gaze away from her bowl in Agnes's hand, then rolled her painted eyes at her pigheaded friend.

"Oh, Heloise, you never change, do you?" Lady Cristoria shook her head with a scolding sigh, then pointed a tapered finger to the heavens,

"You know Freda's blessings are like raindrops; you get some on the head, and you miss the rest. Meya's got her song, and Frenix's got his art. You'll find yours one day. Or better yet, make one!"

Fione patted the disgruntled Heloise's shoulder, then they all whipped around at the guttural slurping noise from behind them. Lady Agnes had her head tipped back, and was licking every last drop of black gum from Fione's bowl. At the sight of various masks pointed at her, she returned to her senses, and hastily lowered the bowl.

Arinel reached out, prying the bone-dry bowl from Agnes's trembling, unwilling fingers with both hands, all the while keeping a wary eye on those wobbling lips.

"I think that should be enough gum drink for you, Haselle." She suggested, her voice solemn.

Ignoring the confused stares from all around, she steered away with obviously contrived lightheartedness,

"How about a hot bath? Zier said the Pearly Falls is a must. We'd better hurry before all the pools are taken."