In what Arinel commended as a prudent choice, Jaise's alchemy labs were sequestered on an islet, tethered to the castle only by a wooden bridge barely two man's breadth wide.

Arinel hurried across the bridge, struggling both to keep up with Bishop Riddell's brisk, long stride, and to maintain sufficient distance from Jerald, so that he wouldn't bump bodily into her.

Two masked figures stood waiting for them at the other end; the tall, thin, gray-bearded one poised, and the shorter, plumper one fidgety. Stirred by the late morning breeze, the hems of their black alchemist garbs rippled to life, brushing the tips of the young green grass at their ankles.

"Sameri!"

Bishop Riddell cried as he scampered down the steps of the wooden platform. Sameri also hurried forth, reaching out to cradle Riddell's proffered hands in his own.

"Riddell! What an honor!" The aged alchemist's vocal chords sounded strained to their limits with his joyous proclamation. Arinel imagined him beaming behind his mask as he shook Riddell's hands heartily, "I've been raring to get my hands on a copy of your treatise on the elements! And here you are in person!"

Sameri gestured with pale, lined and scarred palms towards Riddell's towering physique. Riddell deflected the praise with a frustrated wave of his equally marred hand.

"Diamat, my dear man, the honor is mine. Meriton couldn't thank you enough for sharing your knowledge."

Diamat Sameri shook his head, unfurling a burdened smile.

"Troubled times, troubled times." He mused, his gravelly voice trailing away into a deep sigh, "Elements would have to wait, then?"

He cocked his head at Riddell, then turned to Arinel and Jerald, a smile of polite interest on his lopsided lips. Riddell astutely took it as the cue to introduce his companions, and flourished a hand towards Arinel,

"This is...Haselle. My, ah...apprentice."

Sameri gave an inadvertent tilt of his head at Riddell's pause. Arinel's fingernails gouged at the fabric of her dress. The bishop still wasn't quite at home with Lady Crosset being his lab maid. To deflect Sameri's suspicion, Riddell hurried on to the next guest,

"Sir Bayne, head of Lady Hadrian's guards, insisted on accompanying us. I've instructed them to behave. I hope you wouldn't mind."

Riddell bowed his head in contrition. Sameri waved it aside, cackling in fond amusement.

"Ah, my master—bless his soul—he used to say there's no sin in curiosity. Keeps your brain young." There was a wistful twist at the corners of Sameri's kindly smile as he studied Arinel from head to toe, envious of her youth. He froze as if seized by a sudden notion, then heaved a mournful sigh and continued to Riddell, "Could be true for Tyberne, in a way. Poor fellow's brain hadn't the chance to age! No doubt about that."

It became Arinel's turn to jolt at the unprompted mention of her mother's master. She risked a quick glance at Jerald—too quick to discern any reaction—then whipped back just as Sameri laid his hand on the shoulder of the alchemist next to him.

"My Dineira here set off for home that very day. Left the wife and I on tenterhooks for a fortnight. Not a single letter! We thought you'd died along with Tyberne, you unthinking lass!"

Sameri jabbed his mostly intact finger into his daughter's thick shoulder. Dineira flinched away with a yowl of pain, a wince of playful reproach directed at her father.

"For the umpteenth time, I'm sorry, Dad! I was on the road. Hadn't heard of the fire. And it's been seventeen years! Would you forgive me already?"

"No."

Sameri thrust up his nose in mock petulance. Riddell chortled as Dineira hung her head, then struck up conversation with the younger Sameri.

"You apprenticed with Tyberne, Dineira?" Dineira perked up, then nodded eagerly,

"Yes, sir. I had meant to come home just for a visit, but after such a close call, my father thought it best to never let me out of his sight."

She turned and threw her overprotective father a disgruntled pout, but, by then, Sameri had somehow become intrigued by the peeling skin under his nails. Riddell shook his head in both awe and concern.

"Your only daughter tinkering about in a room full of explosives. I wouldn't have my son within a feather's flight of my lab, you know." He remarked. Sameri lowered his hand and sighed heavily in resignation.

"Best let them play under your watch lest they sneak behind your back." He concluded sagely. Clearing his throat, he gestured at Arinel, returning to business,

"Anyway, I'm glad you brought your apprentice." He pointed a knobby finger at his daughter, "Dineira's studying Greeneye anatomy. Lady Jaise summoned for me last night, said you have a student who might be interested. I take it this is the one?"

Sameri gestured at Arinel, prompting Riddell to whip around to her. Even with his face almost entirely obscured, his surprise was just as evident and immense as that of Arinel herself. For a few beats the alchemist simply gaped, then quickly gathered himself and returned to Sameri.

"Ah, how generous of your Lady! What say you, Haselle?" He turned to Arinel, who realized she couldn't possibly do anything but smile and bow in these circumstances.

Of course, Meya was a dear friend, and Arinel would do whatever it took to further her cause. Yet, even as dutiful as Arinel believed herself to be, it was impossible to be interested in dragons when a longtime friend of the mother she barely knew was standing not a stone's throw from her.

While Arinel desperately kneaded her brain for a way to bring up Mother with Dineira as the unrelated and nonexistent Haselle, Riddell spun back to Diamat with a proposal,

"Very well, then. I shall be discussing the drought with old Diamat. Dineira, if you don't mind, would you show my bumbling apprentice and Sir Bayne around your lab?"

"Not at all, Master Riddell! A pleasure." Dineira accepted with an enthusiastic bow, and the two senior alchemists departed with satisfied smiles, chatting animatedly all the way.

Dineira craned her neck and stared after them. She waited until her father and Riddell had disappeared into the former's lab, before whirling around to Arinel.

"So, you know the secret about Greeneyes, too?" She grasped Arinel's hands and wrung them in excitement. Arinel wasn't sure if she had nodded, or her head had simply bobbed to the force of Dineira's fleshy hands. Much to her relief, Dineira just as soon freed her then bustled off on the lush grass, Arinel and Jerald not two steps behind,

"I've been dying to talk to anyone at all about my experiments. But the Lady made me swear never to tell a soul. Not even my parents! Could you imagine the torture? Yes, I understand the danger to Greeneyes, but my father is an alchemist, too—"

Throughout the brief journey to her lab, Dineira prattled on without the merest pause for breath or thought. She kept up her stream of complaints even as she approached her padlocked door, shutting the floodgates only to fish the key out of her robe pocket. Unlike that of Muldor's disused lab, this lock turned smoothly, and the door fell back gracefully without protest.

"Here we are; my humble lab."

Dineira held the door as she ushered Arinel and Jerald inside. Arinel glanced around, conjuring up memories of the few labs she had seen prior. Dineira's lab had the appearance of belonging to a fledgling alchemist. Compared to Muldor and Riddell's lab, the apparatuses were less varied and rudimentary. The shelves were less populated with bottles bearing eye-catching labels signaling danger.

Dineira was also much more haphazard than Muldor. Piles of papers weighed down by bottles or salt-crusted beakers teetered precariously over the edge of chairs. On her worktable, books closed and open gathered in a pell-mell hill, peppered with soot, dust motes and pie crumbs. Broken quills and ink spatters littered the tabletop around the centerpiece distilling set. Her writing desk was adorned in similar fashion.

As Arinel appreciated the chaos around her, Dineira bustled about freeing up chairs.

"Sorry for the mess. My father's always chiding me about my lack of organization." She rambled as she relocated the papers up to the table instead, holding up a firm hand when Jerald made to lend some aid, "We don't welcome guests that often—wish my father hadn't sprung this on me right on the spot, so I'd have time to tidy up."

With one hand and a clatter, she set a freed chair before Jerald. As he drew it back for Arinel to settle down, Jerald turned to Dineira with a small smile.

"You haven't changed, Dineira." Dineira jumped as if startled by a scuttling cockcroach, scattering some papers from her arms, "It's been seventeen years. Do you remember me?"

Dineira let out a bout of breathy, somewhat forced giggles as she stooped down to retrieve her fallen papers.

"Of course, Sir Bayne. You came to retrieve Erina every evening." She spared Jerald a brief glance before returning to her papers, then steered away, "I wouldn't be surprised if the whole manor is buzzing about last night's spectacle. Lady Hadrian, a Greeneye! Wherever is the real Lady Arinel, I wonder? Does she resemble her mother?"

Arinel froze halfway through lowering herself onto the chair. Before she could mouth anything, Jerald's rough hand clamped around her shoulder and pushed her down the rest of the way.

"I would've loved to tell an old friend, but the Lady's safety is foremost." Jerald seamlessly continued the chitchat, answering Arinel's incensed glare with another firm press. Dineira, still fumbling with her slippery papers, didn't notice.

"Ah, shame." Dineira's response sounded more out of courtesy than actual disappointment. Having gained control of her unruly notes at long last, she straightened up and flashed a wide grin at Jerald, "Still, it's not as if we won't have other things to talk about! I say we share our tales over lunch, shall we?"

"My pleasure." Jerald voiced his earnest agreement, cutting across Arinel yet again. Beaming, Dineira set her jumbled theses on the table, then spun around to Arinel with a clap of her hands.

"Now, dragons. Where to start? You choose, dear. Ask me anything."

Gesturing towards Arinel, Dineira settled atop the nearest vacated chair, abundant buttocks slopping over the skimpy seat. Arinel drew in a deep breath. Swallowing pique down her burning, parched throat, she commanded herself to focus. Dragons now, Mother later. Even as the mere thought wrenched nauseating bile into her gullet.

"What exactly are you studying about dragon anatomy?" She forced out, her voice strangled. Dineira tilted her head and touched a finger to her chin, pondering.

"Well, to be exact, I must say everything. Since there's still so much ground to cover." She began hesitantly, then leaned forth and went on with more confidence, "But, recently, I've been focusing on their blood—components, reactions, practical uses..."

"—Fireproof paint, for instance?" Jerald interjected, his level voice undercut with a rare hint of ice. Dineira tensed, her renewed smile sagging, then nodded heavily,

"I'm involved, yes—but not in the manner you would think." She explained, a pleading note in her quiet voice, then straightened up in her chair, glancing between Jerald and Arinel.

"One of our significant exports are Borax crystals. We load them onto boats. Sail them all the way to Amplevale and all the far west. They must regularly fortify their towns against a possible dragon attack. Rutgarth was two centuries ago, true. But, like earthquakes and lightning, they could strike whenever and wherever."

Dineira shrugged, tapping a nervous hand on the tabletop, and jiggling her leg in a matching rhythm.

"Before this, the main component in fireproofing was Amiant, which is abundant across Hythe and Easthaven—up until ten years ago, when my father published a treatise uncovering the dangers of Amiant to the lungs. Amiant was gradually replaced with Borax. Picked from the dried lake in the Sands of Caesonai. But the demand was more than we could supply. And the lake is now dug so deep it would soon be classified as mining, and banned."

"And Greeneye blood contains Borax?" Arinel suggested, catching on. Dineira had picked up a quill to twiddle. She tipped it towards Arinel with a smile in confirmation.

"Naturally, considering their high body heat." Having hit her stride, Dineira fell back and slid to a lazy slouch in her chair, spinning her quill between her pudgy thumbs, "Their organs would have to be shielded with Borax to withstand fire (Should they ever need to shoot some!). And their blood transports it around the body."

An uneasy silence filled the gap in conversation. All was still save for Dineira's whirling quill. As awed as she was by the science, Arinel reminded herself of the price this groundbreaking discovery had cost for Greeneyes. She could feel tension rolling off Jerald hanging thick in the air. Dineira churned her lips, seeming just as bothered, then continued after a long sigh,

"The peers are pressuring Lady Jaise to legalize the Greeneye blood trade. She's been stalling the best she could, of course. Apparently, those bastards have grown restless and took the underground road instead. Last night's news shook her. That was her worst fears materialized."

With another sigh and a few shakes of her head, Dineira set her quill on its stand she had just spotted amidst the clutter on her table. Hoisting herself upright in her chair, she chattered on,

"Actually, I've been gauging the effects of Lattis on Greeneyes, but Lady Jaise asked me to shelve that and find a substitute for Borax—or at least, decide a protocol for Greeneyes to sell their blood sustainably."

Lattis?

Arinel leaned forth, her interest piqued. Now, this could be directly beneficial to Meya.

"Do you still have them, though? Your studies on Lattis?"

Dineira was just as eager to pursue the topic. She shot up and edged her voluminous curves around jutting shelf corners and table edges to reach her study desk, a giddy spring in each practiced swerve of her hip.

"Yes, lowered priority but still progressing." She babbled on as she bent down and rummaged through the disarray on her desk, "I have trouble focusing on a single project at a time. Have a bookshelf's worth of half-baked treatises both on paper and in my brain."

"What have you discovered so far? Anything of note?" Arinel stood up, steering Dineira back to the matter at hand and growing ever more restless by the second. Dineira paused scouring and tipped her head back, rifling through her memories, which, if her lab was any hint, were probably just as jumbled.

"Actually, there is something." She said, eyes still to the ceiling, then looked back down at Arinel, "I can't seem to locate my writings at the moment, but I could show you. If you'd just move around here—"

Dineira gestured vaguely as she hurried out from behind her desk. As Arinel and Jerald obligingly gathered at the end of the worktable, with a grunt, Dineira shunted away the pile of books and papers to clear space for a demonstration.

Straightening up, she strode away and flitted about her shelves, bumping chairs and sending papers cascading to the floor as she went. She plucked a stoppered bottle filled with what was apparently Greeneye blood, an ornate padlocked wooden casket, a spare beaker, and a pair of thick cowhide gloves. Noticing her audience gawking at the blood phial as she plopped her equipment down on the workspace, she set out to pacify their fears,

"Not to worry. This blood has been taken willingly from a curator in the Library of Eyes. Towards a better understanding of—and a better life for Greeneyes."

She explained over the jangle of metal as she selected a tiny key from her overloaded keyring, slotted it into the padlock, and popped open the compact chest. Within, on a bed of waxed paper, was a pile of silvery powder which shimmered rainbow in the faint sunlight.

"Lattis." Dineira answered Arinel's half-mouthed question before she could utter it, "It's in powder form, I'm afraid. I've had to reclaim it dozens of times. Budget cuts."

Grumbling darkly a good deal more to herself, Dineira set about preparing her simple demonstration. She pulled on her gloves, poured dragon blood into the beaker, then tore a strip of parchment from one of her nearby stray notes. With it, she scooped up a smidge of Lattis powder, then brought it cautiously over to the beaker, hovering the chest underneath to catch any loose specks.

"Keep a close eye on the blood. I'm pouring this in." She turned and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, so as not to blow away the fine dust. Holding her breath, Arinel steadied herself with her hands on the grimy tabletop, then leaned in, her gaze zeroed in on the magenta liquid in the beaker.

Dineira tipped the paper. Iridescent Lattis motes streamed down and vanished under the surface, as swift as salt in water.

The once Hadrian Red blood darkened to the purple black of Jaise.