The prison tower was silent save for the sound of Mithrin's afternoon nap snores. Meya distracted herself from her looming, uncertain fate by observing the sunlight streaming in through the bars.

The rays hadn't changed color, but their angle seemed to have tilted. How long had it been? An hour? Two hours? Shouldn't take the Hadrian couple that long to interrogate their sons, should it? And wouldn't anyone at all bother to double back and check if she was still talking with Amoriah? Was she, ultimately, alone, as she always was?

The realization rattled her—but it shouldn't. Since she had become part of Arinel's—then Coris's entourage, learned to move—and act—and survive—as a group, she had forgotten what it was to be alone. To rely on herself by default, never expecting salvation nor assistance. What was she doing, waiting for help that would never come? How pitiful, crying for people—men, no less—who weren't even here to save her?

Think! How would I escape?

Meya took stock of all she was left with. She'd have to break these Lattis shackles with the only known method—her blood. She could dig her nails into her palm and let the blood drip onto the shackles. That way, she could avoid Lattis entering her body—but the mixture could still drip onto her bare skin.

How much would she forget this time? Who would she forget?

Arinel, laying her hand atop Meya's as she accepted death, entrusting her name to Meya—embracing Meya as she passed on her clan's priceless charms of luck. Lady Jaise, returning her ancestor's legacy to her as rightful heir. Atmund, the boy she saved—Frenix, the ultimate troublemaker—Philema, tending to and comforting her like a mother—Dorsea—Tissa—

Coris.

Glinting, sly silvery eyes. Faint, melancholic smile. Awkward, bony embraces. Ice-cold lips. Cheeky teasing. Shared laughter. Shared tears. Shared nights and days. Twice she had forgotten him against her will. Now that he was here to stay, she would knowingly erase him? Cherished memories, forever lost. Would she be willing to risk that again? Without even a goodbye?

Meya's fingers trembled. She dug her nails into the flesh of her palms, but she couldn't bring herself to slice through. Yet, there was no other way.

Be decisive. Be ruthless. Be strong. Be free.

Meya gritted her teeth against the grief and pain as she urged strength into her numb fingertips. However, before she could make up her mind, she was distracted by clattering noises from the ladder, rising higher and higher towards her.

Meya hung her head and let herself fall limp from her bonds, the picture of meek defeat. The visitor set foot onto the walkway with steps light and unsure, paused, then resumed in a desperate sprint. Their shadow reached first into Meya's field of vision, eclipsing the light. Then came feet—surprisingly small, wrapped in simple hay shoes, appearing and disappearing under fluttering lace hems. This was no Hyacinth guard. Meya couldn't resist herself any longer. She looked up.

Ice-blue eyes wide with fear and shock. Spotless cheeks flushed from the steep climb. Locks of rich golden hair streaming through her hood. She stood panting before Meya, a snowy hand clutching her cloak at her chest.

"Lady Arinel?"

Meya croaked, her voice cracking from thirst. Arinel surveyed her from head to toe, then raised her trembling hands to her mouth.

"Oh, Meya." She breathed, her voice choked with tears. After a moment of useless fretting, she gathered herself, tugged off her cloak then wrapped it around Meya. She struggled with the clasp—her fingers were shaking horribly.

"Father—he found out—I'm so sorry—" She spluttered, hiding her face in shame and guilt, but Meya was too shocked to care.

"How did you know? How did you get here so fast?"

"Never mind that now." Arinel cut across, annoyed. She leaned close, narrowing her eyes at the shackles as if scanning for weak spots, then rummaged in her pockets, "He'll have you tried for petty treason. You have to get out before his men get here."

The lady resurfaced with something Meya had never imagined she would be caught holding—a set of lock-picks. Noticing the apparent metallic sheen of the shackles, she eyed Meya quizzically, "Why haven't you gotten out?"

Meya watched Arinel jam the picks into the keyhole, then tapped the rainbow gleam on the metal with her fingertip.

"Lattis. Dun feel like burning down the whole danged town yet." Arinel's wide-eyed look of dawning realization morphed into fury. Meya shrugged, feigning nonchalance in the hopes of placating her. "You're Lady Crosset. Just clear things up with Amoriah then send them home."

Arinel froze, blinking at air. She roused herself then shook her head, working the lock-picks ever more furiously.

"I'm no longer Lady. Father disowned me when I left Jaise." She said, her voice trembling as hard as her hands, her face masterfully hidden behind golden locks. Meya felt her frozen heart clattering in the pit of her empty bowels.

"Lady, you shouldn't have—"

"What should I have done, then? Let you burn at the pyre?" Arinel snapped. There was a flash of glowering blue eyes and fluttering golden curls, then she was back to warring with the keyhole, grumbling,"This isn't working—I'm going to melt this. Be still."

After a long, steady glare, Arinel turned once more to one of her pockets. Out came a jar filled with a familiar crimson liquid. Lady Crosset then produced a knife and dipped the tip into the red. Meya couldn't help herself.

"Where did you—"

"Not now, Meya!" Arinel growled through teeth gritted in concentration. As she sawed through the shackle, she held up her cloak to absorb the amnesiac mixture. Yet, the smidgen of fear in her voice did not escape Meya's ears. Her harried change of subject was further proof. "Where's Coris? How could he let this happen?"

That mere mention wrenched Meya back to the dark place she was in before Arinel's surprise arrival. Meya hung her head, staring at her belly.

"He doesn't know. He's being grounded." She heaved a heavy sigh. Arinel's sawing paused. Meya jerked her head in some random direction, "His parents are here. Seems Zier's been tattling about our planned little detour to Everglen."

Worn away by dragon blood, the first shackle caved under the weight of Meya's hand. Massaging her aching shoulder, Meya glanced up to find Arinel petrified, gawking. She thawed to life, fury radiating from her delicate frame.

"Drown you, Zier." Arinel cursed under her breath. She moved over to Meya's right. The grating noise of sawing lambasted Meya's ear as she took out her frustration on the second shackle. Meya snorted in agreement.

"To think I was growing rather fond of him, too, you know. No offense."

"None taken." Arinel rolled her eyes. There was a clatter, and Meya was finally free. She barely had time to rub blood back into her wrists when the Lady tugged her to her unready feet. "No time for goodbyes, then. They're waiting. Come on."

"They who?" Meya stood rooted, eyebrows furrowed. Arinel whirled back with an exasperated cry.

"Meya—"

"—In nine months I'm going to multiply, my Lady. Are they prepared for that?"

Meya exploded. For a moment, Arinel stood blinking, taken aback. As understanding came over her, her hands flew to her mouth again. Her eyes darted to Meya's middle, then back to Meya's eyes, then welled up with tears.

"Oh, Freda." She breathed, her shrill voice muffled and trembling. Sinking to her knees, she touched cold, soft, shaking fingertips to Meya's belly.

"Coris's?" She looked up, the question barely escaping her lips. Meya turned away from those staring, watering blue eyes at the sharp pang in her heart. Who else could it have been?

"Have you told him?" Then came the inevitable follow-up. Meya closed her eyes with a sigh then shook her head.

"I don't think I'll keep it." She slumped back onto her prison seat. Yet, even as she said it, she found her hand joining Arinel's on her middle, cradling the as yet nonexistent bump. "I'm afraid of becoming my mother. But I'm also afraid I'll regret it. I'm afraid of how Coris would react. But I also don't want to keep secrets from him. I don't know what I'm more afraid of."

She whispered, her voice shriller and more feverish the further she went. Tears burned in her eyes, threatening to spill—she pressed them back with the heel of her free hand. Arinel's hand left her belly and clasped over hers, those smooth fingers slipping in between Meya's rough, warty ones. The feel of her palm as it pressed over the back of her hand was a patch of grounding warmth amid the swirling, chaotic sea of darkness.

"Do you want to keep it?" She asked. Her voice was soothing, like the cool reprieve of a damp herb poultice over heated skin, split open by whip lashes—and Meya found it impossible to suppress her tears any longer.

"Dun matter what I want. Can't have it in this danged life." She muttered sullenly.

"Why?" The lady tugged Meya's other hand away from her face and held it as well. The added warmth urged Meya to set aside the sarcasm, and untangle the chaos in her heart.

"I—I killed hundreds of people in that famine. I robbed my mother of her Song. I brought my family so much shame. I have to make up for all that."

Saying them out loud seemed to have materialized the burden. Meya's shoulders trembled under the soul-crushing weight. She hitched up a sardonic grin.

"Say Coris somehow miraculously made me Lady Hadrian, I couldn't be sitting around braiding my hair and cooking and weaving and raising children and making love to my husband while Greeneyes are suffering and humans are starving all over Latakia. I can't be a woman, my lady. I can't be—me."

That last confession robbed Meya of what remained of her strength, but Arinel was there to catch her as she fell, sobbing, spilling tears and her deepest, darkest fears down the lady's shoulder.

"And I'm so scared. And tired. And cold. I wanna go home but I can't. Not like this. I haven't accomplished a thing. I haven't done Dad proud. I'm not a maiden no more. I was an exile. Now I'm a traitor. And now I'm pregnant out of wedlock. And it's all my stupid fault."

Meya buried her face into that mane of soft blonde hair, clinging on like one would the last bollard standing in a storm. Arinel held her throughout the downpour, a soothing yet distracted hand running down her back as she digested the revelations, then her hand began to tremble—

"Meya, this is too much. You're punishing yourself for existing!" She shook Meya hard, hoping to jolt her out of her insane beliefs. Meya remained determinedly limp and listless. She huffed in frustration and tightened her embrace.

"What's wrong with becoming your mother? What's wrong with cooking and weaving and raising children and marrying the man you love if you want to? Why do you have to be so afraid?"

Meya felt twin drops of tears tumbling down her cheeks. Arinel pulled back and stared deep into her eyes, blue eyes blazing with determination.

"You can have a babe. And you can save Latakia." She leaned so close, Meya could almost feel the tip of their noses brushing, "It's going to be double the hurdle and double the work, yes. But I've never taken you for someone who'd settle for second best. And you're not alone. You have Gretella. You have Agnes. You have me. Let us help."

The gleam in Arinel's eyes blazed bright white, like sunlight reflecting off virgin snow, Meya shuddered in gratitude and guilt as her earnest emotions arced through the thick fog into her heart. For she knew she did not deserve such pure friendship and love from the girl she had exploited and manipulated and scorned. She averted her eyes, leaving Arinel to sigh in desperation.

"What's the point of fighting for a better life for every Greeneye in the three lands, if you can't have the life you dreamed of, too?" She took Meya's hands once more, pleading. Meya heaved a tortured sigh as she remembered the other, possibly more worrisome obstacle—

"But even so—Coris—he doesn't want children." She shook her head hopelessly as she blubbered out Freda knew what. Her head was a jumble of half-formed fears and excuses and reasons and facts and emotions, but she was too drained, it was all she could do to unload it all in one go.

"But he's too noble. I'm sure if I told him, he'd take the babe because he felt responsible. And I don't want that. And he kept saying he's gonna die soon. I don't want to make him live for the babe's sake. Just because I can't bring myself to kill it. But what if he wasn't just being a depressed dolt and he just up and dropped dead one day? I don't want to orphan the babe. What if I died giving birth? Or maybe I'd die aborting it. Either way, I know it's gonna hurt. And I don't want that. I dunno what to do."

There was a stretch of silence. All Arinel could do was caress Meya's hands in wordless reassurance. Somehow, the awkward yet earnest gesture gave Meya strength. Even as the darkness surrounding her remained as pitch black as before, at least she was no longer alone within it.

"We still have time, Meya. It's still early." Arinel whispered. She gave Meya's hands one last squeeze—a signal to move. "We'll figure something out. For now, let's get you out of here. One thing at a time, Grandmother always says."

Meya nodded with a deep sigh. Yes, escaping was first priority. After all, she'd only have to worry about all those if she still had a life to live.

"Is Jerald here? Just pretend you're the arresting party your father sent." She suggested as Arinel helped her to her feet. The lady shook her head.

"I tried. Amoriah's under orders to not hand you over to anyone but his trusted men. So we move on to the last resort."

"Which is?"

As if to answer her, the clunk of boot against metal rung echoed up from the ground below. The two girls jolted and spun around, staring, waiting with bated breath as the clunks rose higher and higher up the ladder, the barest of pauses between steps a testament to the climber's strength. A head of straggly black hair emerged, heralded by a familiar cold, no-nonsense voice tinged with that unforgettable Nostran accent.

"Dragons—double the lifetime, half the patience, Lady Crosset. What's taking so long?"

Arinel hid her face behind her hands, her back bent and her shoulders hunched.

"I'm so sorry, Meya. It's the only way." She squeaked as the towering shadow eclipsed her repenting form. Meya raised her gaze to face those emotionless emerald-green eyes. Across his neck, a jagged scar slashed a slanting swathe of dead, bone-white against olive brown. The mark of her betrayal, forever branded on her unfortunate brethren.

"Meya Hild." Gillian greeted her with a mirthless smile.

⏳

The doors closed with barely a sound. The servant's footsteps echoed from further and further away, then finally melted into the soft hum of background noise.

Ensconced on the cushioned long chair, Father and Mother glowered up at Zier and Coris—mostly Coris. Zier sneaked a glance at his brother's emaciated profile. His eyes were void of emotion, but Zier could feel the fury mingled in the usual cold emanating from him, and he returned to his thoughts with a gulp.

He drew in a deep, shaky breath, reminding himself of what he had planned to do. He'd drugged Jetta and all the entourage's horses, stranding them all in the middle of the Sands for a week for this. He couldn't let it go to waste. Yet, every time he filled his lungs and raised his gaze to his parents, his resolve petered away along with blood from his numb lips.

He took too long dithering; Coris blew a soft sigh of surrender then plastered on a bright smile.

"So—what are we working with here?" He flourished two bare, pale hands, raising his eyebrows at Father and Mother. For once, it seemed, the prodigy wasn't able to read the room.

"Not much." Mother shrugged with similarly unnerving nonchalance. She cocked her head at Zier, yet her aloof gaze remained on Coris. "He said you're planning to sneak away to Everglen and bring back the lost ore ships. The rest of the truth is too dangerous for letters. Our guess is it has something to do with The Axel."

The mere mention of the word seemed to have sucked all heat and air out of the room, at least for Zier. He felt his parents' stares honing in on him. Coris followed suit. He knew he should stand tall, but instead he folded in tighter.

"Zier?" Father sent over an impatient nudge. It was time—had been for the last quarter hour—no, six years.

Do it now. End this. Free Brother from your sin.

Zier dragged in another deep breath—hopefully he wouldn't need any more.

"Very well." He let it leak back out, shivering. Fists clenched, he looked up and met his parents' eyes.

"Father, Mother, I—"

He met those eyes. Father—his own blue. He knew Father had never placed much—if any—expectation on him. Coris had always been his hope. The prodigious heir, ever ready to sell his soul if it would benefit the Hadrian cause. Even after Coris fell sick, even after his recent rebellions and betrayals, Father still hadn't given up, had never once spared Zier a glance. The Axel Heist was the one time his predictable sons had defied expectations (—and yet, Father still wouldn't give up on Coris). The one time Zier acted the heir, not Coris. Yet, even that was a lie.

"I—"

He coaxed out another feeble attempt. Mother stared deep into his eyes. Hers were the sharp gray of Coris's eyes. He knew Mother's love was begrudgingly given. She'd wanted little to do with young Coris, with his precocious, manipulative nature and tempestuous tantrums. She'd always fawn over Zier—the quiet, sweet, innocent blue-eyed babe who did no harm. The spare she could spoil and coddle and mold to her heart's desire, while Father claimed Coris for his own. Yet, he was about to shatter that dreamlike doll.

If he confessed, Father's indifference would turn into disgust. Mother's fondness would turn into disappointment. And he couldn't lose them. Those shallow, fleeting semblances were the closest to love he would ever get from them. If he didn't, Coris would resent him, then die with the secret, forever branded a traitor to Hadrian in his place. In other words, nothing would change. And he couldn't have that, either.

Wasn't that why he orchestrated all this? To return justice to his brother who had sacrificed so much for him? But then Father and Mother would hate him, probably banish him—because they could. He was the spare, and a bumbling one at that. They had no need for him...

"I—We know what The Axel is. Coris plans to use surgery to remove it. To save the dragons."

The words tumbled out of him, almost of their own free will.

And there it went. Another chance, wasted. Weeks of preparation, rendered meaningless by seconds of cowardice. He couldn't do it. He couldn't face the consequences. He couldn't lose what little love he had from his parents.

Ari, I've let you down.

Brother, I'm sorry.