It was difficult to decide which was more gratifying; Lady Jaise marching into Tyriel's cave gallery to demand him hand over his hidden accounts and ill-gotten relics (which included Meya's eye), or her declaring to the panicking Elmund Herzin that Atmund would henceforth be placed under her wardship, ceasing his tyrannical control over his son for good.

Interluding the two events was yet another treat; as they rode together in Winterwen's carriage back to the castle, the Lady proposed to Coris that they postpone their departure for a couple more days, so Meya could visit the Library of Eyes and learn more about dragons.

To Meya's immense delight, Coris promptly agreed. Yet, even first light tomorrow couldn't have come quickly enough for her. The combined euphoria of her triumph, and the prospect of unraveling the mystery of her kind, had purged the tire from her limbs and the drowsiness from her head.

"Could've taken us there straightaway. The night is still young."

Grumbled Meya to her Lord Hadrian, arms folded over her ample bosom, as she lounged against the stone wall of the small bathing pool, filled beforehand with steaming spring water by masked chambermaids.

Coris shed his silken bathrobe then sat down on the edge. One by one, his feet cleaved slowly through the water, like butter knives through thick molasses.

"Patience, my dragon lady. Remember, she has to investigate Wert's finances and help Atmund settle in, too."

Meya turned and glowered up at him in petulant annoyance, to which Coris smiled in satisfaction. When his gaze fell upon her restored eye, however, his smile sagged under the weight of guilt in his silvery eyes. He lifted a hesitant hand, pausing halfway, then caressed it with the barest tip of his fingers.

"Does it still hurt?" His timid voice reminded Meya of her little brothers whenever they had upset her and were trying to edge their way back into her good books. Even as her heart shuddered at the memory of Tyriel's Lattis cloak, and the blood market, Meya hitched up a brazen grin, as she served his rehashed quip right back at him.

"Peace, my human lord. I'm fine."

Coris's sharp eyes narrowed, unconvinced. And Meya heaved a weary sigh in surrender.

"Very well, I'm not." She confessed in a mumble, prompting Coris to slide down beside her. She leaned her head against his bony shoulder as he looped an arm around her back,

"It was a good start, but now the road seems much longer than I'd first thought."

"You also gained allies. They'd make your journey speedier and smoother." Coris reminded her with a little squeeze on her arm that he was one such ally. Meya didn't hold back the slight smile that had crept up on her lips, as she tried to snuggle up against his flank. If only he'd had more flesh over his ribcage.

"Sorry. For not confiding in you beforehand." She murmured. Coris's sigh caressed the top of her head. It also could have been the draft from the gap in the drapes. One could not tell from the similar lack of heat.

"It's all very well. I understand." So he said, but Meya felt Coris gathering her closer, and her heart writhed with guilt, "You needed my genuine reaction to convince Winterwen you're Lady Hadrian."

"And you delivered flawlessly." Meya finished with a wan smile, dipping her head to hide her cheeks behind her damp hair, as the inkling brought color to her face. Coris shrugged.

"I was scared out of my wits. I truly am." He said laughingly, as if he hoped it would distract from his trembling, tense hand on her arm, "I was furious with myself. I've failed to protect my wife."

"I'm sorry." Meya repeated. She coiled her arm around his waist, reassuring him that all was well, then steered the topic away to lighten up the discussion,

"Things turned out much different from what I'd expected, though. Better, even—Who would've thought Winterwen's a secret champion of Greeneyes? I was thinking I'd threaten that bastard with a usury charge or something, if I couldn't get Winterwen to budge."

Coris gave a few deep nods of acknowledgment.

"Now you've learned your lesson. Gather as much information as possible before making a decision. So you wouldn't have to improvise."

Meya rolled her eyes in equal parts annoyance, affection and amusement at the airy lecture, then blinked in slight surprise when Coris pulled away and spun around to face her full.

His silvery eyes beaming, his cheeks rosy from the water's heat, he looked awash with happiness. For perhaps the first time since she had known him, the lingering air of decay and melancholy around him seemed to have thinned somewhat. And she simply stared, mesmerized by the semblance of vigor and life before her, as he reached forth and tucked away a lock of wet golden hair dangling before her eyes.

"Anyway, you were marvelous." He breathed, shaking his head slowly in awe. His fingers trailed absentmindedly to caress her jawline, yet his eyes never left hers, "I've seen how remarkable you could be, but you keep overwhelming me. I...I..."

Coris's voice died in his throat, as his lips continued to mouth words he just as soon decided not to utter. In his excitement, it seemed as if he was on the verge of letting it all out, but his good sense overrode him and held him back.

Meya knew she shouldn't hope for the impossible. Yet, she had a vague idea what that slip could have been, and could as well become. And that certainty rendered it all the more difficult not to wait with bated breath.

And so she stared, and waited, and searched his wavering eyes, his blanching face, as the young man continued to falter and fluster. Looking to all the world patient and unassuming, even as the cynic and the daydreamer battled for dominance within her, and her heart hammered like raindrops in a storm.

At long last, Coris's vacillating lips settled upon his usual empty smile, and the vulnerable depths of his eyes were shielded by the customary devious glint. He leaned in and blew her a secretive whisper.

"I have a gift for you."

"A gift?" Meya blurted out, her voice strangled, forced through the bitter lump of disappointment she must now swallow as the price for daring to hope. Coris had ascended from the pool and was striding towards their bed as he toweled himself dry. Blinking back rebellious tears, she spun around and hollered after him. "Why? What for?"

"Nothing. Could be to commemorate your victory, if you'd like."

Coris turned and called back over his shoulder. As Meya frowned in bewilderment, he came to a halt before the heavy wooden chest at the foot of their bed, and knelt down to undo the clasps.

He duck his head under the lid he had propped up with one arm, scanning the chest's contents he was tossing around with the other. Meya heard thuds and rifling. They sounded like leather and paper—heavy books. And she threw her head up towards the heavens with a cry of terror,

"Oh, Fyre. Don't tell me..."

"I have no choice but to." Coris straightened up, a brick-thick leather-bound grimoire in his hand, along with some blank papers, and Meya moaned and clawed at her face as her worst fears were confirmed.

Every night before tucking in, Coris had made it his foremost duty to hone Meya's vocabulary and spelling, using a list of words he had curated from one of his multitude of books. Afterwards, they would discuss the meaning and background of each word, during which Meya would glean invaluable knowledge and understanding about Latakia's inner workings.

Meya immensely enjoyed the latter half—and what usually came after that, of course. But that would be only if she survived the endless lines Coris would punish her with for every misspelling.

"Coris, it's already late!"

Meya lamented as she slid like dead weight down the wall of the pool. Coris spun around to what appeared to be a submerged crocodile with glowing green eyes flaring from behind a curtain of yellow vines. His grin widened, undaunted even as he stood stark naked save for a towel on his shoulder, in the face of imminent dragon fireball.

"Haven't you just said the night is still young?"

A burst of bubbles foamed before Meya's nose as she cursed underwater. Exasperated, she propped herself up and retorted,

"But I don't want to study now!" She flipped over on her back, stirring up a water tantrum with her flailing limbs, "I'm lounging naked in a hot tub, for Freda's sake! And you're doing runes instead of me?"

Coris looked up from where he was crouched, setting down the book topped with stationery beside the pool. His fair maiden lie splayed just underneath the surface, the rippling, ice-clear water revealing and distorting her bare form, as if to tantalize and seduce. Yet, he retained his smile even as the beast within him was furiously rattling its cage, raring to feast.

"Fear not, my lady. We'll get around to that later." He reassured her with a smirk and a wink, then settled down cross-legged on the damp flagstones beside the pool. He retrieved his bathrobe and slipped it on.

"But education comes first. It's in the royal decree. You won't get to see your gift until you have completed your daily required study, as assigned by yours truly—"

"—Coris Hadrian, the Pompous Donghead."

Meya drawled. Coris merely chuckled as he tied the sash at his waist. The length of the remaining rope was a chilling sight, and Meya gritted her teeth against grief as her resolve solidified, as she was reminded that he was doing this solely for her. Her and her future. For, as far as her little Lord Hadrian was concerned, he himself no longer had one.

Despite her melodramatic objections, Meya obligingly ascended from the water, toweled and robed, then planted herself opposite him, before the pile of linen paper and charcoal pencils he had just laid out for her. And Coris couldn't resist reaching across to muss up her hair at the adorable sight.

Instead of swatting him away or swiping at him as she usually did, Meya snatched Coris's invading arm, holding it hostage, and childish squabbling ensued between human and dragon. It took a while before study could finally commence.