After a brief cuddle on Coris's chair, Coris was still tired and groggy, while Meya was still jumpy and somewhat lusty, and thus to the bed they retired. Even when it was still broad daylight.

The Sir Knight was too zonked out to do his job and actively satisfy the fair maiden. Instead, he implored her to fool about with their bits and bobs to her heart's fill while he napped with his belly out. And so she did.

Meya was experimenting on the most comfortable position, when something prodded against her legs, and nearly sent her shooting headfirst to the ceiling in a flash of pure bliss. Strangling back a moan, she glared down at Coris, who was seemingly asleep.

"You said you won't be available again 'til tomorrow!" She cried. And she'd been making a fool of herself up here alone when he'd got juice left in him all along?

"Apologies. My middle brother is quite unruly." Coris slurred, eyes still closed. Giggling, Meya patted his cheek then moved back into position.

"Just rest. I'll take care of wee-Coris. Well, not so wee, actually."

Meya chuckled at her little joke. She took his hands as she leaned down and pressed her lips upon his. Coris gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as wave upon wave of bliss coursed through his whole body. Gasping for breath, he stood firmly against it until he felt he would be blown to smithereens if he let one more wave crash into him.

Then, he heard Meya's voice, crying out his name. She tilted her face to the heavens, basking in the sunlight at the pinnacle. She showered him with a stream of warmth so soothing and calming, he finally felt safe to let go.

He laid back and let himself be carried away on the gently pulsating river of clouds into Freda's Caldera, drifting back down to earth like an autumn leaf, knowing he would miss it sorely when his time finally came.

Meya slumped onto his chest, breathing heavily, and he raised a feeble arm to caress her hair. She turned and rubbed her cheek against his palm.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice choked with tears of joy, "D'you like it?"

Meya pulled away to meet his gaze. Coris's silvery eyes were wavering. He had on a strange expression. One Meya had rarely seen on him. He looked insecure, desolate.

"Thank you, too." He whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling. And Meya felt an ominous chill as he slowly shook his head, "I'm sorry I couldn't satisfy you. I know I shouldn't be, but I'm glad I get to feel the Heights before drowning in the Lake."

"Coris, don't say stuff like that. You're not going anytime soon. And not to Fyr's Lake, that's for sure!" Meya pleaded.

"But part of me wished I'd never known how it felt." Coris went on as if he hadn't heard, eyes staring ahead but unseeing, "Now I'm even less ready to die."

"Coris! Oh, Freda."

Heavy tears plummeted down his cheeks, swift as falling stars to their deaths. Meya sat up and eased the frail young man into her arms, absorbing his tremors with her firm embrace.

"I'm sorry. Sorry. So sorry." Coris muttered feverishly. He shook his head, rubbing his flooding eyes on her shoulder. Meya simply held him as she had held her little brothers whenever they were woken up by nightmares. He jolted and bucked, struggling to staunch the leak, but the dam was doomed to burst, and he finally let loose the festering whirlpool that for years he had kept repressed under clear, calm, soothing waters.

"I'm just so scared. Every night I go to sleep, I'm scared I won't wake up again. I'm sorry. I don't want to die. Not this soon. Not like this. But I can't tell anyone. I don't want Zier to blame himself. I don't want Mother to cry. I don't want Father to hate me. Perhaps it'd be better if I just drop dead than live on and on like this. Pathetic. Invalid. Useless. Waste of resources. Can't even pleasure a fair maiden. Can't even give her a babe. At best, they'd cry once and move on. What's the point of dragging it out? What could I possibly achieve from Safyre? But I don't want to die. I'm scared of melting away in Fyr's Lake. I'm scared. So scared. So scared. How would it feel to not feel anything?"

Meya's hand traveled his bony back, passing by her own hot teardrops trickling down his protruding spine, and she dithered on how to comfort him.

Back in the Forest when she had faced down death, it was an intense, yet different brand of fear. Certain. Urgent. Stark white and black. Not the drawn out and murky gray in-between.

She had had control of what she chose to do. She had the choice of fight or flight. But how would you deal with your looming death if it was entirely out of your hands, if your own body was your slow-torturing, whimsical enemy?

True, everyone knew they would die someday. But many wouldn't bother thinking about it until it was blinking on the horizon, and by that time, hopefully they would already be wise enough to deal with it.

But Coris, under all his wisdom, was only a lad of seventeen. Barely a year older than Meya. The same age as Morel. And he had been living like this since he was Mistral's age. Alone. Terrified.

"Coris, it's normal to be scared. Everybody's scared of dying. You don't have to blame yourself."

Meya had memorized verses from the Holy Scriptures. But none of the hymns lauding the beauty of Neverend Heights, recounting the stoic deaths of Latakian heroes seemed to work to assuage Coris's fears. She decided she'd tell him what she thought. What she knew.

"Zier loves you. Your parents love you. And I need you. You're my liege. My mentor. My good friend. My...whatever it is we have now. Stop saying We still got Zier and, I don't want to orphan my babe and all that. You're getting used to it. You shouldn't."

Meya drew back slightly. Coris's empty eyes in their sunken sockets stared at her, lost in a pool of tears. She cupped her hands to his gaunt cheeks, staring into their depths.

"You asked what you could possibly achieve. You're achieving stuff every day, Coris. You saved Arinel and her men. You're always thinking up ways to help Hadrian and your people. You're giving me the chance to make something out of my life."

Coris bit his trembling lips, as if willing himself hard to believe in those words. Meya shook her head in slight frustration, shaking his face slightly now to get his attention.

"I know you think your father is sidelining you, and you can't do anything about that. But you can try talking with Baroness Norena. Maybe she'd help you with the Ban."

Coris pulled away. He reached under the bed for his chamberpot, then emptied the quagmire in his nostrils into it. Meya edged to the bedside cabinet and poured him a basin of water. He splashed some on his face, poured some through his soiled fingers into the pot, then gulped down the rest.

"I doubt it." He dabbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, as Meya put away the pot and the basin for him. His voice, though still thick with nose gunk, was on the way back to his usual serene croak, "Safyre is neutral on the Ban. It has no resources of its own, and champions living in harmony with nature. Its economy is based on tourism and luxury goods."

"Your father said they're still affected by the metal shortage." Meya walked back on her knees, plopped down then leaned close, "Maybe you could talk Norena into helping you. You're good at talking."

Coris shook his head, a shrug rippling down his bare shoulders.

"I don't know. I don't actually have Hadrian's sway behind me this time, do I?"

You didn't have nothing but dogs during the Heist, neither. Meya opened her mouth to argue, but Coris cut across her with a sigh. He slumped onto his pillows, an arm on his forehead.

"Remember when I told you, my father is now the only one who knows the whole truth about The Axel?"

Meya nodded slowly, still not sure where this was heading.

"When the Baron were on his deathbed, he'd pass on Maxus's Memoirsto his heir apparent. It contains all the secrets surrounding The Axel."

Meya's eyes widened. Coris's pale pupils reappeared, half-hidden under heavy eyelids.

"The truth we seek is here, in Hadrian." He jabbed a finger into the supple bed. "And Father's deliberately sending us away from it. To a tourist town with no military significance. No say nor stake on the Ban."

His pale, thin arm flapped lifelessly onto the bed. He shook his head, jaded eyes boring twin holes in the wooden ceiling of the four-poster.

"I just don't see a way to wring optimism out of this."

Meya watched as Coris took several sighing breaths, her dark, solemn expression set in cold stone.

"Whenever Lord Crosset slaps down some new law or tax, I don't grumble as I plow the fields or join the folks protesting at the bulletin board. I stay quiet, wait for a loophole to open up for me, and exploit it. Sometimes I got away with easy gold. Most times I didn't. But that's what I do."

Coris opened his eyes wearily. Meya propped her arm on the bed and loomed over him, long golden locks trailing onto his sunken, ridged torso.

"If the Baron's word is law, there's bound to be a loophole. Or a way around it. If we can't read those Memoirs, then we find another way. Safyre is closer to Everglen than Hadrian. We're traveling towards the place where it all started. Where the first Hadrians and Hilds came from. At least, if Norena won't help with the Ban, she could help us get there."

Coris's eyes flicked away, contemplating but unconvinced. Meya leaned down further.

"You're always shutting your door all the way. Why not leave it open a sliver? You need to have some hope, Coris."

Those gray eyes focused feebly on her. Meya grasped his clammy hand, squeezing those knobbly fingers.

"Hope got me through the Famine. Hope made me negotiate with Gillian that day. Hope is why I'm still alive today. And it'll keep you alive much longer than any elixir would."

Coris smiled his usual gentle smile, chapped lips glistening with tears. But Meya wasn't sure if he believed her.

⏳

The hours that followed saw them alternating between consciousness and slumber, between passion and serenity. Between budding love and ripe lust.

Sprawled at the foot of the bed, Meya's half-open eyes spotted pale, rosewater-colored patches of blood scattered on the white linen.

My virgin blood? Coris said he'd take care of it.

Meya dragged her fingers slowly over them, then frowned at the young lord. Not that she minded, now that the secret was out. Coris's somber eyes were also fixed upon the stains.

"They say blood and ink are two things that never wash off. Despite man's best efforts." He said. Meya tilted her head, then hitched up a wry smile,

"The laundry maid must have known everything that happened behind our doors, huh." She traced imaginary lines from each minuscule speck to the other, "You probably needed a heavy coin to weigh her tongue down, eh?"

"Not all these are yours." Coris laid a pale, tapered fingertip on a spot of stain. Meya's eyes widened in dawning horror, but Coris remained smiling. "I used to have to scramble in the dark for my chamberpot whenever my stomach acts up at night."

Coris propped himself up and edged away. He sank heavily onto his pillow.

"I slept well these past few days, but thanks to Zier, that's probably all the sleep I'd get." He quipped with his eyes closed, looking tired and gaunt in the late afternoon sun, "What in the three lands should I do with him?"

Meya slithered back to her side of the bed, slumping down face-to-face with him.

"Maybe you spewing blood is your body's way of telling you there's something inside that needs to come out." She drew soothing circles with her rough palm on his sunken middle, as if to hypnotize it into behaving. Coris raised his eyebrows. She stared straight back at him, undaunted.

"You're always smiling, Lord Coris. Maybe the reason you slept well these few nights is because you cried—and talked. With me."

Coris froze, taken aback by the simple notion. His cheeks tinged pink, he averted his eyes.

"I don't have the right to complain. Born rich and noble and all." He muttered. Meya blinked. She churned her lips about as she pondered it, then resurfaced with a wry little smirk.

"Well, from what I've seen, we're both liars by nature. We both have fathers who are near impossible to please. And our mothers don't really help. I'm jealous of my big sister. And your little brother is jealous of you."

Coris blushed harder. Her point proven, Meya gestured at the plate of still-toppling pile of waffles on the bedside cabinet.

"We still have a mountain of syrup waffles to munch through. We can swap tales of our fathers, and I can help you be a better big brother for Zier. How's that, my liege?"

Meya served Coris a toothy grin. The young lord looked unsure, like a shy tyke when his mama introduced him to a new relative. At long last, he creaked up a small, tired smile.

"Lexi's fine."

He muttered, his cheeks faint pink. Meya blinked at the unexpected gesture, as a wave of warmth enveloped her heart. Coris propped himself up on an elbow. His eyes wandered, staring through her to memories both recent and long past.

"You're right, actually. About leaving the door open." He flicked away bits of candlewax stuck to the sheets. Probably from late-night readings.

"Father said I'm always assuming the worst of everyone and everything. Not that I want to, but I'm a Hadrian. My duty is to hide The Axel the best I could. I learned to lie and conceal and manipulate. I've trained myself to predict the worst-case scenario in every situation. The one time I didn't, I lost a friend and my own future."

Once the spot of wax had disintegrated into dust, Coris plopped down on the bed once more,

"I know privilege comes with responsibility. And I've never known another life outside this one. But sometimes, they're so heavy. All these secrets." He sighed, his eyes drooping close in fatigue. "Why must I be born a Hadrian?"

Meya slid a soothing hand down his arm.

"I'm sure Zier must be thinking the same thing. He doesn't know any more than you do why you two must do the thing you're supposed to be doing. But he's not as patient as you. So he did what he thought was right. And he might actually be right, once the truth unfolds. We never know, do we?"

She cocked her head at Coris, then leaned down and whispered.

"Tell him what you just told me. So he'll know it's just as hard for you, too. Might make him feel better if he knows you think the dung-well you're both standing in stinks as much as he does."

Meya led a stray sheaf of his dark hair across his forehead and tucked it behind his ear. Coris gazed into those glowing dragon eyes, and saw the sincerity, the genuine care. And he felt safe enough to let down his guard.

"My parents have always told me to set a good example." He couldn't resist a rueful chuckle echoedas he recalled the spectacle he had made in Father's study, "I reckon this must be the first time he ever saw me yell at Father."

"And you should let him see more of that you!" Meya shook his arm in earnest. Coris raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she hastily explained, "Not saying you should yell more at your father, though. He might send us even further than Safyre next time. Though I think he kind of deserves it. And I do want to see more of Latakia."

Meya broke off when she heard Coris snickering. She glanced down and saw those silvery eyes flickering in amusement, and her heart skipped several beats.

"D'you know why I resent Marin so much? She makes everything seem easy. She never complains. Not even once."

She ran a hand down the ridges that were Coris's ribs pushing out from under his skin, a shadow of sorrow over the glow of her eyes.

"Seeing you now, I reckon it couldn't have been so easy for her, either. Being Dad's daughter." She mumbled, her impassive face betraying a glimpse of shame.

"Maybe Zier would understand you more, if you let him know it's not easy for you too. Let him see some Crazy Coris. Not-so-perfect Coris. Silly Coris—Perverted Coris. Hey, stop it!"

Giggling, she sat up and batted away Coris's finger, which was gloomily flicking her nipple. Snuggling back down on her pillow, Meya studied the young man, then shrugged with a smile.

"You're too...good, sometimes. I'd definitely hate you too, if you were my big brother."

"You would?" Coris's smile widened, revealing a sliver of uneven, yellowed teeth. Meya snorted.

"Yeah. You and your oh-so-righteous guts."

They shared a round of snickers. Then, Meya laid her hand on the bloodstains once more.

"Bloodstains. Tears. Scars. Thoughts and emotions. We're not meant to hide or erase them." She whispered, glowing eyes lost in contemplation, "Maybe that's why blood and ink don't wash off. Freda made them that way, so they're meant to be seen."

Silence fell for a moment as Meya resumed drawing constellations with the bloodstains. Coris frowned as he scrutinized her, then landed his blow.

"And your voice. It's also meant to be heard."

"My voice?"

Coris's eyes narrowed almost into slits.

"You've been faking your voice, haven't you?"

"What are you talking about?" Meya made a feeble attempt at diversion. And Coris pressed his advantage.

"You sound different. Back there—on my desk." The young lord raised an insinuating eyebrow as he slid his eyes towards said desk. A familiar scenario played out, with Meya socking Coris's arm and Coris yowling bloody murder. Then, Coris continued matter-of-factly,

"Your voice was higher. Sweeter. Now that think I about it, it fits you more."

"No, it doesn't!" Meya's blurted out in her real voice in frustration. Coris watched as she spun away and sat up, annoyed with herself, "It's too dainty. And all this weird ringing, too. I can't say fart, crap, dung, or dong without folks giving me the weird eye. Now you're doing it."

Meya whipped back and glowered. Coris caught himself staring, and swiftly glanced elsewhere,

"Sorry. That was unbecoming." He rubbed an awkward finger on his cheek, then resurfaced looking serious, "It's not good for your voice, you know. You could lose your Song."

Scowling, Meya propped up her pillow, gave it a vicious slug then flattened it behind her back, as if it were the physical embodiment of her Song.

"Good riddance. I won't have to hide it no longer."

"Why so?" Coris asked innocently, a shrewd glint in his sharp eyes, "It's a beautiful voice. Must be excruciating suppressing it."

It's your song, now, Meya. And if you don't let it define you, it won't. So why are you so afraid?

Arinel's voice rang inside her head, as her blue eyes pierced into the depths of Meya's heart; an unyielding metal cage behind which a wee song thrush, her true self, crouched huddled and shivering. All alone.

Meya hadn't hidden her voice just because it didn't fit her character. That was part of it. Mainly, it was because it resembled Mum's old voice. And thus, a dead giveaway.

Meya had never heard Mum's undamaged voice, of course. But she felt familiar with her voice. Meya reckoned Mum might have sung to her while she was pregnant with Meya, a hand caressing her bump, probably assuming that within was a beautiful baby boy with her ice-blue eyes.