The sound of flapping wings drifted further before trailing away into silence. If Meya were to guess, Gillian and his bandits had summoned their dragons and fled, most likely to the western empire, Nostra, from whence they hailed. And with them left her once-in-a-lifetime chance of ever joining the Greeneye folk.

However, when Coris's men lit torches and light flooded the area once more, Meya realized her guess might not have been entirely correct.

Not the Nostra part. The summoned their dragons part.

Scraps of torn clothes lay strewn all over the hilltop where Gillian, Dockar and their twenty comrades used to stand.

Of course, Meya had heard tales of how the Nostran dragon-riders hailed fireballs down from over Neverend Heights to quell Latakia's rebellion, but the bards had never once mentioned those riders were butt-naked.

And even if they were, how could they have torn their clothing to these many shreds in a flash (no pun intended) like that?

The remaining witnesses on the hill seemed to have arrived at the same puzzling conclusion. Sir Simon was staring at Gillian and Dockar's torn clothes on the grass. Sir Christopher had knelt down to examine what seemed to be the hind-half of someone's linen underpants, holding it up for a beagle to sniff.

Coris and Zier had picked themselves to their feet. And, now that the bandits trying to kill them had scrammed, the Hadrian brothers were killing each other instead.

"All this time you've been awake! Why didn't you run?"

Coris bellowed as he shoved Zier's supporting hands off his arms. It was the first time Meya had seen the genial, soft-spoken nobleman this livid. His fingers were twisted in the fabric of Zier's collar, silvery eyes flashing and nostrils flaring. Zier, though a head taller and almost twice as broad, was understandably intimidated.

"I—but—I don't—" The younger brother sputtered, eyes wide in fear and plea. "You heard them. If I reveal I'm awake, they'll know The Axel's—"

"—And I could've silenced them all were it not for your idiotic lollygagging stunt!"

Coris's yell drowned out the rest of Zier's excuse. The younger lord cowered; arms held over his face as his brother shook him by the neck.

"At the least, I could've captured them for questioning. You risked the lives of everyone involved then left me to clean it all up for when Father arrives. Six years, Zier! Have you learned nothing? How many more graves do I have to dig to get through your skull? Haven't you taken enough of my life already?"

"Coris! Enough!"

Christopher shouted, just as Coris flung Zier off and Simon pranced forth to catch him just in time. Zier stood pale, rigid and unfeeling, staring straight ahead. Shocked at his own words, Coris crumpled onto the grass, head in his hands, his silhouette trembling with muffled sobs.

Meya rose and walked forth on unstable legs, hardly feeling the grass crunch under her feet as her eyes stared unblinking at the sickly, weeping nobleman.

So, Coris had lied. Again. The Axel was neither inside him nor hidden somewhere in the castle. All this time, it had been inside Zier, and Coris had played both Meya and Gillian like a travelling bard's puppet show. What for? That stupid Axel? Again?

Meya clenched her hands into fists. The yeomen drew apart and made way as she strode forth, gawking in alarm and confusion.

As she neared Coris's wretched form, Meya drew back her arm, prepared to let fly. Heavy footsteps rushed up to her side, and a rough hand grasped her wrist.

Meya started and whirled around. It was Sir Jarl, the Marshal, master of the stables and kennels. His hand was firm, but his gaze was pleading, and Meya's eyes widened when she noticed the broken figure he carried in his other burly arm.

A white greyhound whose coat was drenched in dark red. She would've called his name, but someone else had beaten her to it.

"Beau!"

Coris's scream was more terrible a sound than that of a knife sinking into flesh heart. With a vigor not usually associated with him, he scrambled over to Jarl as the latter knelt and laid Beau on the grass. He skidded to his knees and cradled up his old buddy, who hung limp from his arms.

"You stubborn old fool! I ordered you to stay home!"

Beau stirred, his chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. His weary eyes opened and focused on his master's tear-streaked face.

"We're heading home now. Get some rest. You'll be fine."

Coris whispered, his voice shaking. However, Beau seemed to have foreseen the fate his master could not yet accept. He nudged Coris with his nose, then his slobbery pink tongue slithered out and caressed his gaunt cheek for one last time, lapping up the tears now tumbling free, before going limp and still.

For a few ominous seconds, Coris simply sat there, staring as if uncomprehending, then it sank in. With a howl of grief, he threw himself over Beau. Patch the wee beagle scampered past Meya over to nudge his master's back, keening, along with a few other hounds that could still get up.

Christopher and Simon walked in to pat Coris's shoulder. Sir Jarl gave a silent bow to the fallen four-legged old-timer, then retreated to his scattered men, directing them to clean up the battlefield.

Zier gazed on at the spectacle for a moment, his expression unreadable, then traipsed away towards Meya. She caught his eye, and he hitched up a wry, bitter grin.

He gave Meya a wink, which confirmed he had heard everything that had transpired between her and Arinel. However, before Meya could decide how to react, he had turned back to his brother, whispering in a low, lifeless voice.

"It does make one wonder, doesn't it, if he would cry this much for his brother, too."

With that, he strode off towards Arinel, who was just getting up. Meya glanced between the two brothers, one still sobbing uncontrollably, and blinked at Zier in disbelief and anger.

True, Coris might have been too harsh with him, but how could he say such things about his own brother when he'd just lost a dear friend? One that gave his life to rescue Zier himself?

Before she could decide whether she should sock the younger one, too, a quiet voice spoke up beside her.

"Forgive my impertinence, my lady, but please don't judge him so harshly. Not before you have seen what pains him so."

Meya turned and found herself looking into Christopher's sorrowful brown eyes.

"Zier is the one who swallowed The Axel." Christopher continued with a heavy sigh as he gazed upon the Hadrian spare, who was offering Arinel the antidote vial. Meya stared unblinking at the squire, listening with rapt attention.

"He never revealed his motive. Up to this day. Simon and I, we never pressed him. Because we knew." Christopher punctuated with a sad little shrug. "When it comes to governing, Baron Kellis has always favored strategy over the sword. The same applies to his sons."

Meya's eyes widened. She couldn't help turning to study Zier. Remembering the Baron's apparent distaste for Coris, and Zier's boyish joy and liveliness, it was impossible to imagine things had once been the complete opposite.

"Coris was no better himself. He reveled in his superiority, and he enjoyed tormenting Zier. When he returned from his kidnapping in Crosset, he was changed, and he tried his best to make amends, but his love came too late to revive a dead heart. I like to imagine Baron Graye offered Zier a father's love. In exchange for The Axel."

All was silent save for Coris's sobs. Meya could already guess the truth, but the squire continued nonetheless.

"Coris knew the fall would be softer for him as his father's favorite, so he took the blame. Still, I bet he'd never imagined the Baron would turn against her."

"Agnesia Graye."

Meya finished in a dead whisper. Christopher nodded.

"His future. His health. His beloved. It was the ultimate sacrifice that convinced Zier of his love. Or so I'd like to believe."

Meya spun back to him. The Meriton heir turned and met her eyes, then smiled mirthlessly.

"For when it comes to The Axel, one can never fathom the true face of a Hadrian."

⏳

It was no easy feat separating Coris from Beau's lifeless body. By the time he was hauled away by Christopher and Simon's combined efforts, the front of his Hadrian Red tunic was soaked through with greyhound blood.

"So, what do we tell the guests once they're awake? And your parents?"

As the procession of man and dog departed towards the forest, Simon mentioned the most pressing issue everyone was putting off thinking about. He was carrying Baroness Sylvia in a bridal hold.

Christopher and Zier, who supported Baron Kellis between them, turned to Simon, then all three noblemen turned as one to Coris, who was limping along while supported by Meya, with Arinel keeping up the rear.

Coris's pale face had become blotchy. His swollen eyes gleamed with moisture. Yet, he had regained his signature calm.

"Let's tell them the chambermaids accidentally poured my laudanum into the aroma lamps, instead of Hadrian Rose oil." He sniffed and suggested, his voice thick due to his snot-flooded nostrils, then shrugged, "It was a hectic day, after all. Mistakes are bound to happen."

Meya blinked, silently marveling at the slight figure beside her. How could he have come up with that so fast? Simon frowned then cocked his head.

"Sounds convincing. And what do we do with their drinks? And the stew? How did you manage to delay the food, by the way?"

He craned his neck and glanced at Arinel, calling all eyes to the lady-turned-maid. Arinel's steps faltered as she blushed. She averted her eyes, confessing in an embarrassed mutter,

"We...had Head Cook Apollon taste the spiked drinks, sir. He ended up tasting all of them before he finally succumbed."

The four boys blinked in bewilderment. Meya struggled to stifle her laughter as she pictured hulking, copper-bellied Head Cook Apollon growing tipsier and tipsier, yet still managing to stay on his feet, as Arinel and company grew ever more desperate.

"You really do know your herbs, don't you." At long last, Simon managed a comment. Arinel replied with a dainty smile and bowed.

"My mother was an alchemist's assistant, sir."

Simon nodded slowly. Christopher gave a rare smile as he studied Arinel, a curious look in his blue eyes.

"One of our priests, Bishop Riddell, is also our resident alchemist." He began as he turned back to look ahead, "He's looking for assistants to help out in his workshop. I could put a word in for you, if you're interested."

"Exactly. Would be a waste for one of your skill to drudge away in the scullery. You've done Hadrian a great service, after all. Consider it your reward." Simon concurred.

Arinel looked as if Miracle Fest had arrived three years early. She beamed at Christopher and Simon, her blue eyes gleaming with tears, faint and speechless with joy. It wasn't that she hated the scullery; more that she was raring to practice alchemy, Meya reckoned.

Meya answered Arinel's excited smile with a grin. Recalling Coris's earlier proposal, she turned to him with a careworn frown,

"Say, what would you need laudanum for?"

"For when my bowels act up at night." Coris turned to her with his usual small, sad smile. Seeing her bulging eyes, he shrugged with a chuckle, "I wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise."

Meya bit her lip at that worrying revelation. Coris, however, didn't bother to linger on the topic. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice as he turned to address the whole throng.

"We'll go first to the Great Hall to deposit my parents. After that, Chris, you go with Meya here to the scullery."

Sharp silvery eyes darted to single out Christopher and Arinel, who straightened up, alert.

"Get rid of the stew and the spiked drinks, wake Head Cook Apollon, give him the true story, and dispense the antidote to the Crossetian maids."

After both had nodded, Coris turned to his father's other squire.

"Simon, take these boys back to the stables and have Bishop Riddell tend to them." He tilted his head towards the two-dozen-or-so dogs trotting along with the yeomen. His gaze set next upon Beau's corpse in Sir Jarl's arms, covered in his own cloak. He swallowed hard before continuing, his voice choked with a sob,

"Sir Jarl, prepare the fallen ones for burial. I'll go with you."

Meya felt Coris tremble, and she hitched him closer to her as they walked on. She spared a glance at the bloodstained cloth bundles in some of the yeomen's arms. They lost no man tonight; six hounds were taken instead.

Good boys. You're braver and stronger than any of us here. There'll be miles of green fields for you to run around and roll about on Neverend Heights. So sleep for now.

Meya beamed the still bundles her silent, heartfelt prayers, then turned around at the sound of Coris's voice, this time directed to his (not-so-) little brother.

"Zier, you pacify the guests."

Zier stopped dead in his tracks, bulging blue eyes gawking at Coris's dead serious expression. That didn't stop him objecting, however.

"What? But—you know I—" The young lord stammered.

"—Zier, when you become Baron, most of your speaking will be done before a gathering. If you're uncomfortable, then best start your training early." Coris cut through, his narrowed eyes boding danger.

"But, just this once, can't you do it?" Zier seemed more terrified of the prospect of lying to a whole crowd of nobles than his brother's fury. Coris swore under his breath.

"I'm supposed to be sick in bed, Zier! And I'm covered in dog blood! It blends well with Hadrian Red, true, but nothing reeks like blood. It's got to be you!"

He burst out, exasperated. Zier pursed his lips, eyes wide and defiant, but Meya was sure she caught a glimpse of fear in there. As Coris turned away to address the yeomen, he hung his head in melancholy. Arinel walked up and silently took his hand, squeezing it in encouragement.

"Guards, you have done well tonight. As soon as the celebrations are over and the guests have left, I'll have my father reward you accordingly—"

At long last, they reached the edge of the forest. The shadows of the canopy fell upon their faces. Even as she held Coris upright, out of the corner of her eyes, Meya studied Arinel and Zier. Especially when Zier clasped his hand around Arinel's in return.

Goodly Freda! They knew each other well? Then Zier must have known from the start that I'm not the real Arinel? Why didn't he say anything?

Meya could only keep those worrying thoughts to herself, however, as the scent hounds pranced up to take the lead, beckoning them forth into the wall of trees, and darkness swallowed her once more.

🐉🐉🐉