The bloodcurdling screeches of a pack of brown bulbuls had infiltrated Meya's dream realm. For half an hour, Meya hurtled around inside a maze like dice in a wooden tube, trying to find the source and clobber it to smithereens, until she crashed through into reality itself.

Cursing Freda for bestowing morning birds with the lament of dying piglets, Meya flipped to the side and opened her eyes to find a pair of beautiful eyes gray as morning light, and Coris's gentle smile lined with crooked teeth as yellow as his sallow skin.

"Good morning, my lady." He whispered a greeting. Meya crinkled her nose at the waft of his morning breath, then squinted at the pouches of grayish skin under his eyes.

"Not so for you, my liege." She remarked, then reached out to caress the tender skin with the pad of her thumb, "You didn't sleep well, did you?"

Coris's smile sagged slightly at the corners. He dithered for a beat, before admitting with a cock of his head and a sigh,

"Seems my body needs time to adjust to less laudanum. As you've said." He covered Meya's hand with his and led it down to rest over his heart. As she caught sight of the gleam in those eyes, Meya couldn't resist the surge of affection and gratitude welling up from within. She strained forth and pressed her lips upon his, drawing apart ten full drowsy heartbeats later.

"What's this?" Coris queried, his voice tinged with chuckles, especially as he felt heat radiating from Meya's crimson cheeks. She coiled a lock of his hair around her finger.

"So you'll have something to look forward to." She breathed coyly, then moved in once more, murmuring against his lukewarm lips, "One for every drop you take less."

Coris slid a hand behind her neck as he sealed their lips in another lengthy kiss. He pulled away with a sigh of sleepy contentment, combing his finger through her tousled hair.

"You spoil me, Anya. But I'm afraid I'll need more than kisses to entice me." His grin became mischievous even as his eyes remained closed, and his hand silently traveled down to her shoulder, "I'm headed for some rough nights, after all."

Before Meya could process his outrageous demand, Coris's fingers tightened on her shoulder and he rolled her onto her back, pinning her under him as he dragged his mouth all over her face, and his hands explored the rest of her.

"Coris, you donghead. Stop it!" Meya gasped out in the seconds when his lips left hers to trace her jawline. Even as she dissolved into fits of giggles, she arched her body so that it fitted snugly against his, then untangled her wiry legs from the sheets to tie them loosely around him.

Coris took his time rousing her drowsy body before his hands slid down to her hips. Through the haze of chaotic sensations, Meya felt something was amiss as he brushed against her.

Oh, no. Not again.

"Coris, stop." She called, same words but her tone now firm and serious. Coris hadn't yet heeded; his face was still buried in the crook of her neck. The pause gave Meya time to select the kindest words in which to break the unpleasant news.

"Coris, slow down. You're still getting ready." She turned and whispered into his ear as her arms withdrew and held him.

"What?" Coris finally resurfaced, a hint of impatience in his voice. It took him a beat before his passion-addled brain registered the entirety of what Meya had said. He swiftly glanced down, then a curse exploded from his lips,

"Oh, Fyr!"

Meya peeled her sweaty back off the sheets as Coris scrambled up to his knees, cradling his head in his pale hands.

"Meya, I'm so sorry. Sorry—"

"—One more sorry and I'll knuckle you, Corien Alexis."

Meya cut across the muffled apologies in frustration as she pulled the trembling lad into her arms. Once she had warmed it with her heaving sigh, she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder.

As she listened to their heartbeats slowing down each in its own pace, she told herself to be patient. Freda knew poor Coris was already under enough strain, body and mind, even before she had confiscated his laudanum. He needed time to cope.

Stroking his lank hair, Meya hitched up a smile and suggested in a whisper,

"How about we just get ready?" Coris shifted guiltily in her embrace, and she doubled down on her proposal to affirm all was well, "There's a library of dragon eyes waiting. Education comes first, isn't that right?"

Coris prompted himself to chuckle, and Meya drew away, finally reassured. She gave his shoulder a squeeze then bounded off the bed, slipping her bathrobe back on as she made her way to the solar.

Coris waited until he heard her bell summoning Agnes and Arinel to dress her for breakfast, before letting out the long, labored breath that was holding him upright. His smile sagged as his shoulders dipped, and he dragged his shaking fingers through his thinning hair.

He dug his nails into his scalp, praying the pain would distract him from the urge to snatch the laudanum bottle and down a couple of soothing drops, as a lone tear plummeted onto his lap.

⏳

"Behind this veil is the Library of Eyes. Here, for over two centuries, we have accumulated and catalogued dragon eyes from times long forgotten and in living memory, from within and beyond Latakia. "

Lady Jaise had shed her resplendent dinner ensemble in favor of a simple off-white tunic and lace veil. The only dash of color came from the leather belt dangling artfully at her waist, which was the same shade of olive as her skin. Her luscious dark hair hung in a thick braid, which reminded Meya of church bell ropes.

Winterwen's dress seemed to glow before the backdrop of the oily black curtain. Its faint, golden vines-and-flowers-pattern rippled to the soft breeze caused by their approaching footsteps. Next to it, a tall, thin cabinet of black wood stood against the wall of bare stone. Winterwen flourished a hand in its direction.

"Please change into the gum slippers. And take off your cloaks."

Meya could not resist turning to give Coris and Zier a quizzical raised eyebrow at that perplexing command, then she remembered she was wearing a mask and the two brothers obviously couldn't see. Zier was also hanging back, waiting to follow his brother's lead. Coris, however, marched forth without external cues of dissent.

He pulled open the door, revealing a line of metal pegs drilled into the back-pane. Five pairs of simple slippers, clear as glass in material with a hint of peachy tinge, sat in a row at the bottom.

Coris levered a pair each out to Meya and Zier, then took one for himself, clinging onto his hulking brother for balance as he slipped his veiny feet out of his boots.

Meya gave hers a couple of sniffs; they smelled of wood and tar. She plopped them onto the carpeted floor then slotted her feet in one by one. The slippers were cold against the soles of her feet, and their supple, jellylike push unwittingly reminded her of The Substitute.

Once they had re-dressed accordingly, the three teenagers regrouped before Lady Jaise. Yet, Winterwen was still not inclined to let them enter that simply.

"Until I give permission, I request that you refrain from talking, reserve your questions and exclamations, and proceed after me as quietly as possible."

Winterwen's shrouded eye swept across the small throng, pausing at each member equally. A heavy, austere air rolled off her shoulders, a contrast to the laidback, aloof carriage she had displayed yesterday. But, as she elaborated, the corners of her lips relaxed slightly, her voice somewhat melancholic,

"The work of our curators requires complete concentration. It is extremely draining for the mind."

Meya nodded vigorously, ever more curious than intimidated. Sensing her jittery impatience, Coris took her hand and squeezed it gently. Reassured, Winterwen turned around and held up the veil.

After another signaling squeeze from Coris, Meya took the lead. The cool hem of the veil slithered down her hair as she bent and stepped into the gloom. Winterwen was wise to warn her beforehand; she had to bite down on her lips hard to smother her gasp of awe and surprise at the sights on the other side.

Her eyes had been accommodated to the light, and at first, all she saw in the dimness was rows upon rows of hundreds of glowing green fireflies suspended in mid-air, before the brown of the wooden shelves underneath them distilled away from the gray-black of the room.

Settled on cushioned chairs behind long tables between the aisles, were barefaced men and women of all ages. They all sat still as sleep, eyes closed and expression blank, their hands clasped loosely upon their laps, a glowing green eyeball of metal floating in a glass of clear liquid before them.

Winterwen led them down the center aisle. Meya counted roughly two dozens of rows of meditating curators, before she glimpsed another door set into the wall. Winterwen turned the brass knob, and the door fell back to admit them without so much as a whimper.

This room was pleasantly lit with late morning sunshine streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the low hum of chatter swarmed the space like the clouds of dust caught in the light. Masked Jaisians sat in pairs on tables, one doing the talking while the other furiously jotted down their tales.

"Name's Olfred Marsant of Noxx." Meya's ears picked out one voice from the left, and she slowed at the sound of that familiar name. The masked man pushed a glowing dragon eye in a casket towards his partner, shaking his head, "Died of stone liver five summers ago. Fyre, I could still taste the ale—"

"Lady Hadrian?"

Meya jolted to attention at Winterwen's call. She turned around to find Coris and Zier standing level with her, faces turned towards her questioningly. Winterwen was far ahead, a few steps away from a heavy wooden study desk coupled with a highbacked chair. Meanwhile, the masked curator grumbled on about how he could still feel Marsant's three-tiered ale belly. Huffing in annoyance, Meya hurried along.

Winterwen stepped around the table and began rifling through the main drawer, flourishing a careless hand towards the long couch in front for her guests to settle down.

"We are allowed to talk only within this room." She began, lifting the vow of silence, but before Meya could let loose the towering stack of questions that had accumulated in her brain, the Lady Jaise glanced up and raised a tapered finger to point between Meya and Coris.

"I have a certain eye I believe the two of you would be interested in." She glanced back down at her drawer, and a smile curled her lips as she pulled out a small ledger. Straightening up, she flourished her hand at the three of them once more as she swept past,

"Please make yourselves comfortable."

Meya strained in her seat, keeping Winterwen in the corner of her eye as she scanned the room for the pair talking about Marsant, but as the Lady disappeared behind the door to the Library, Coris spoke up,

"Zier, what's the matter?"

Concern for her friends won over, and Meya grudgingly turned back around. Coris was looking past her to his brother, and she followed his gaze to Zier, who sat ramrod straight and stiff as aged oak, staring straight ahead into nowhere. At his big brother's prod, he shuddered to life, clasping his trembling hands on his wobbling knees.

"" He whispered, his voice a mere rasp in the buzzing silence,

"Those eyes. They're all ."

⏳

Meya finally managed to eke out. Zier dipped his head and clutched it in his hands, neither confirming nor elaborating, so Meya turned to his brother instead.

"How come you didn't recognize them, then, Coris?"

Coris shook his head numbly, eyes still fixed upon his brother.

"The Axel was kept inside a puzzle box at all times. Even I have never seen it."

Meya sighed in slight disappointment, settling for her own thoughts instead.

"Gillian's a dragon. Why would he want another dragon eye?"

She muttered.

Soft approaching footsteps alerted them of Lady Jaise's return. The trio whipped around, eyes following Winterwen as she swept past their couch, half-circled the table then reclaimed her seat.

Winterwen laid the small pile of items she was carrying on the tabletop, and extracted the ledger from the bottommost to slide it back into the drawer. Of the remainder, one was a leather-bound codex which made up for its convenient size with excessive pages. The other was a casket of black velvet.

Winterwen slid the nondescript box across the table towards the youngsters, who in their eagerness had scooted to the edge of their couch, then flipped its lid open. Sitting snugly on a bed of stuffed velvet was a metallic eyeball with a glowing green iris, and a minuscule black nametag labeled in silver ink:

"Axel?" Coris breathed, as Zier seemed to have chosen the opposite.

"Hild?" Meya exclaimed, her voice arcing an octave higher than usual. Winterwen nodded. A slow and firm nod as grave as her tone,

"This is the first eye in our Library. Or rather, the origin of our Library."

The Lady inserted a pause, as if to allow her audience to react and digest, before continuing,

"After Prince Philip slayed his father, King Edward II Wynn, and usurped the throne, and the Mining Ban was enforced, your ancestor, Maxus Hadrian—" Her lace veil fluttered as she turned abruptly to the Hadrian brothers. She grasped the box for emphasis, "—brought this eye of your ancestor, Axel Hild," Her attention snapped to Meya, who jolted, "—to my ancestor, Lord Ralon Jaise."

The three children could only mouth half-formed words and exchange bug-eyed glances, then Winterwen's voice recaptured their attention,

"Ralon was also eyeless." The eyeless lady gave a slight bow, acknowledging their unuttered questions, "In exchange for sight, Maxus asked Ralon to record Axel's memories, and keep his eye safe."

Church bells clanged in Meya's brain then.

"Memories?" She blurted out. Despite the interruption, Winterwen nodded with a faint smile of encouragement, prompting Meya to straighten up and clarify.

"I remember, my lady. Yesterday, you said my eye conveyed my memories to you. So that's how you learned my true identity?"

"Exactly." Winterwen's tight smile twitched slightly at the corners before falling back in place. She nudged the box further towards Meya, who reached out a ginger hand to retrieve her forebear's eye. As she rolled it between her fingers, transfixed by its iridescent shimmer along with the brothers on her either side, the Lady elaborated,

"As you can see, dragon eyes contain Lattis. In fact, the eyes are the only part of the dragon body that are comprised of Lattis, in its elemental form, in substantial amounts."

In her hand, Axel's eye revolved back to the front, and Meya found herself looking past the deceptive, lifelike glow into the empty depths of his pupil—and doubting the odds.

For seven generations, the branch of Hilds she was in was comprised entirely of humble, faceless farmers in Crosset. What had old Axel done to land himself a role in all this? How did his eye end up with Coris's ancestor, then Lady Jaise's ancestor?

"It has been known that Lattis generates pulses of unseen energy that heal and maintain balance in the human body. Some would call it magic." Winterwen tilted her head. Meya tore her gaze away from the eye and focused on the Lady, waiting with bated breath, even as she had nary a clue where Winterwen was heading with this meandering talk.

"Through decades of study, we discovered that these pulses are not just plain healing power. Rather, they are messages—signals to the brain that help regulate functions of the body. You see, And, instead of physical connections—nerves, like humans—the Lattis in their eyes convey these memories through energy pulses directly to their brains, forming their selves—as philosophers would call it."

Meya's impatience subsided then surged again; as blurry puzzle pieces snapped into place, they birthed more questions as the incomplete picture expanded further into shadows. As if she could read Meya's whirring thoughts through her mask, Winterwen cocked her head and explained,

"Humans are receptive to these pulses as well. And, after a few years of practice, would be able to comprehend them just as a dragon would. As is the case with the eyeless."

Winterwen's smile widened, and Meya was inexplicably sure she was winking with her borrowed eye behind her mask. She blew out a low hum of comprehension, her eyes distant as she formulated her thoughts. At long last, she nodded slowly, a crease of concentration tugging her brows closer,

"So, when Greeneyes go near lumps of Lattis ore that send out signals of their own, they interfere with our brains? That's why I feel ill and confused when I'm wearing too much Lattis on me?"

"Yes." Winterwen nodded eagerly, then cocked her head once more as she listed out, "The first telltale signs are, of course, dimmed eyes and reduced body heat. Prolonged proximity with excessive amounts of Lattis, however, will result in headaches, unconsciousness, lapses in memory, and, in extreme cases, ."

Winterwen concluded gravely, and Meya felt Coris's clammy hand on hers, as her whole body seized up in chilling fear. After a brief yet heavy pause, Zier broke his silence for the first time

"Lattis causes memory loss in dragons, that would explain you." He cocked his head in Meya's direction, then leaned forward and looked past her to his brother, "But it wouldn't explain you, would it?"

It took Meya a few moments to realize Zier was referring to the Crosset Famine. Winterwen, however, remained flummoxed. The flow of new developments thus trickled away to a temporary draught, as Coris segued into retelling his kidnapping. Fortunately, he did so in the most compact manner possible. Hardly surprising, considering the dozens of rehearsals he'd had throughout the years. And Winterwen was also an excellent listener. She listened raptly, still save for the occasional subtle nod.

Once Coris had wrapped up, the Lady took some time pondering, drumming her fingers soundlessly on the tabletop. Finally, she nodded once more.

"I believe that could be a different case altogether. For the both of you. Trace amounts of Lattis in the bloodstream." She suggested, tilting her head to indicate an unseen location,

"Our resident alchemist, Sameri, is also studying the properties of dragon blood. I've instructed her to bring your alchemist up to speed on what she has discovered so far."

Indeed, Bishop Riddell, Arinel in tow, were visiting the alchemist today to discuss the drought. Meya met eyes with Coris. He cocked his head towards the glowing eye still pinched between her fingers, and Meya nodded with a sigh, contenting herself with pursuing the matter at hand. Like the canny observer she was, Winterwen slid the small leather-bound book towards her.

"This is a copy of Ralon's records on Axel Hild." Meya spared the memoir a glance as Coris picked it up and examined it, then turned back to Winterwen, who remained focused singularly on her,

"As the first and only Hild descendant to have visited us so far, I deem it is yours to keep, as well as his eye. Should you wish so."