"It's inside Zier, isn't it?"

Coris's first thought was that he must have imagined it. He turned around as slowly as he dared without giving away his fear—that he needed those precious split-seconds to compose himself. First, gather information. How much they knew and what they suspect would determine the recipe for the most believable lie.

"Father, please, we both know for a fact it isn't."

Coris smiled and threw up his bare hands, the body language signaling openness—which Father pointedly ignored. He stood up and resumed pacing.

"He was planning to confess—just didn't have the courage to follow through." He halted his feet. Heaving a sigh, he shook his head.

"All this time." He turned and met Coris's horrified stare. "Why, Coris?"

Coris studied those mournful blue eyes filled with guilt, and knew there was no longer an explanation, or a pithy quip to distract at the least.

It's over.

The realization crashed into him, six years' worth of high tide made up of as much fear as relief. All these years, it was as if he'd been drowning under the weight of the sea, so long he'd forgotten what it was like to have empty shoulders and breathe freely, but the surface air was freezing cold on his bare skin. Cold as that hidden chamber felt that night, as he confronted Zier.

He looked past Father and saw his little brother, as solid and vivid as the present, trembling, hunched in the corner. He tried to speak. His lips were numb from the chill.

"I found him with the puzzle box—open—on the floor. He was holding something—The Axel."

He saw Zier clutching the unseen artifact closer to his heart, saw the anguish in his wide, round eyes. Tears bubbled up in his eyes as he remembered what would follow.

"He saw I was about to yell for someone. He stuffed it in his mouth, swallowed it."

He saw his parents in their nightgowns, pale and disheveled in the lamplight. Memories blended into reality. They hadn't changed much. He lowered his gaze to the carpet, shaking his head.

"When you found us, he—he looked so scared. I—I should've known it was unnecessary, but I—" The cry he'd been suppressing for six years swelled to fill his throat, suffocating him.

"You acted on instinct. To protect him." Father's knowing voice was a mere whisper. Coris closed his eyes. He couldn't face them as he battled the festering emotions fighting to burst free. "I should've seen through that, but I—assumed the worst of you."

Despite himself, Coris looked up. Father had his fingers pressed over his eyes, shoulders shaking. Coris's heart wavered. He turned sharply away, willing it to still.

"It was only natural." He shrugged and hitched up a bitter grin. "Months ago, I was still a monster."

"Lexi!" Mother scolded. There was heartbreak in her exasperation, and Coris finally succumbed. He let his spine curve, his face hidden behind his trembling hand.

"I never imagined it would become—this—"

He gestured feebly, making up for his lost voice. Hot tears fell onto his palm, slid down his wrist, then stained his sleeve. His parents must have noticed, but he didn't dare peel his hand from his eyes and reveal the embarrassment underneath.

Father and Mother fell silent. His sniffling was now the only sound in the room. He hardly dared breathe. Sighing, Father walked back to the chair and settled down.

"The Greeneye girl." Coris gritted his teeth as heat enveloped his face. Of course they would return to that. "Is it true? Do you love her?"

Coris scoffed.

"Why does it matter? Would you let me marry her if I said yes?"

"Yes, I would."

Coris whipped around. He couldn't stop himself. There was no trace of mockery in Father's eyes. Something deep within him sensed the honesty in his words, knew that Father simply, truly meant what he'd said. But it wasn't in Coris's nature to trust that little naive voice when there were a myriad of other, logical explanations.

"Understandable." He shrugged and hitched up a wry grin. "I'm dying and impotent. Doesn't make much of a difference. Plus, she's a Greeneye. Good publicity for the dragon cause without actual commitment."

"For the umpteenth time, Lexi. You're—not—dying!" Mother snapped.

"Coris, that's not the reason." Father argued with simmering frustration.

"Then what, Father?" Coris sneered. He sprang up and paced, arms flailing. "Back when I still had a future, you arranged for me to marry a lady from a powerful house. Now that I'm a sickly addict spiraling into insanity, you're ready for me to marry a peasant girl?"

"I know how it seems, but for once, would you not assume the worst of us?" Father massaged his temples.

"Even with your blessing, I wouldn't marry her." Coris rebuffed coldly. Father and Mother's gawking eyes followed him as he clomped back and forth, moody and downcast.

"All Hadrians—all nobility—married for duty. We've forfeited the choice since the day Maxus accepted knighthood, swore to govern this demesne and protect its people. Father, Mother—you'd never loved each other. You both had your lovers, but still you abandoned them to marry for Noxx and Hadrian. Why do I get to be selfish?"

He clawed at his chest, brows tied over a derisive smile. His parents blinked, speechless.

"What about Zier? If I married below, he'd have to marry above for the both of us. I can't do that to him—to you two—to our ancestors. I was born so that I would give my life to guard The Axel, my blood to continue to Hadrian line, my hand to strengthen Hadrian's influence." As his train of thought faltered, so did his feet. Coris stared wide-eyed into emptiness, shuddering as the chilling realization dawned on him.

"What would I be without that?"

"Our little boy?" Mother suggested, eyebrows raised.

Coris blinked back tears as he faced her solemn gaze. No, that's Zier. I'm the monster. He shook his head and backed away.

"You've never wanted me." He muttered. "You've aborted three babies before me. I'm the one you missed—"

Coris gasped and bit his tongue, but it was too late. Mother's cheeks blanched bone-white under her dabs of rouge.

"Coris!" Father scolded as he kneaded blood back into her cold hands.

"It's fine, Kellis." Mother squeezed his protective hand in thanks. Her eyes were fixed upon her lap, where tear stains had begun to blossom. Yet, her voice did not tremble. "Of course, I can't expect him to take my love for granted—I have to earn his trust."

Her voice echoed in the deafening silence, and Coris swayed as tremors in the air sliced through him. It wasn't that he resented Mother for what she did. Young and ambitious, forced to be a mother before she was ready, she delayed the inevitable the only way she knew. But he couldn't deny that because of that, he felt unworthy of her love—let alone Father's—on his own. Duty and Atonement—it gave him purpose. A standard with which to measure himself. Something to aspire to be. Without it, he was nothing. So how could he choose something so selfish, so foolish, so—Zier—as to marry the girl he loved?

Father gathered Mother into his arms.

"I as well, Sylvia. I as well." He whispered into her hair, then turned and met Coris's quivering stare, his blue eyes steady and gentle.

"Yes, your mother and I, like our ancestors before us—we all married for profit." He cocked his head. "That doesn't mean it has to always be so for the next generation. Parents should strive to create a better world, a better life for their children. Why force our children to be unhappy the way we once were? That's jealousy. Not love."

Father shook his head. The strict lines of his face relaxed. His eyes were warm and kind.

"Isn't that what you've set off to do, son? Ending the cycle?"

His voice was barely above a whisper, yet Coris swayed as if lambasted by a gale. One by one, Father chipped away at the lifelines tying him to logic and duty. His whole persona. His chosen identity. And he was left grasping at straws.

"But—what about our allies? What about our people?" He threw up his hands, incredulous. "We're not given a life of luxury and privilege so we can do whatever we want."

"I'm sure there are other—perhaps even better—ways to strengthen Hadrian and bring prosperity to our people—than threatening the king with The Axel, and marrying a powerful ally." The corners of Father's lips twitched into a small smile. "With that brain of yours, I'm sure you'd figure something out."

Father's eyes brimmed with confidence. Coris hurriedly dipped his gaze to the carpeted floor, struggling not to tremble. Yes, there were other possibilities, and his heart yearned to hope. But all were roundabout, meandering. Too much of a risk and an effort to justify. All so he could be selfish. He couldn't live with the guilt.

"Wouldn't you like more time to consider, Father?" Coris hastily steered away. Fyr, he'd gladly go back to discussing The Axel. "ํYou've only learned Meya exists just now."

Father froze. As Coris frowned, perplexed, he shared a long look with Mother. Though fearful, she gave him a firm nod and squeezed his hand. Father drew in a deep breath and turned back to face Coris, pale but determined.

"No, we've known about the girl for as long as you have." He lowered his head. An ominous premonition clawed at Coris's thundering heart, then became reality—

"I tampered with your laudanum. To have you forget."

There was a pause, before the truth hit at full force. Memories flashed before his eyes. Seven years, searching for answers amidst the thick fog in his brain which receded then returned, then repeated. Just when he started remembering, he would just as soon forget. All this time—his own father—why—how—what—

Coris sat and gaped at his father, trembling from the effort of staying sane as his head threatened to burst from the screaming questions within. Father stilled his hands by clamping them on his knees.

"There's a unit of Hadrian men, stationed across Latakia. Whenever a Greeneye transforms, it's their job to contain the fallout." He began.

"Erase everyone's memories with Greeneye blood and Lattis?" Coris whispered. Father dipped a sorrowful nod.

"The blood comes from the High Priest himself. The Lattis, our secret mine in Hadrian. The method would depend on the nature and scale of the event. Sometimes, treating a few burns was all it took. Sometimes, we must taint the village well. And, sometimes, a father must spike his son's nightcap."

He concluded bitterly, hands curling into trembling fists. Coris was too shocked to have room for anger yet. He fixed his gaze on the spider-like pattern on the carpet, anchoring himself amid the chaos.

"My kidnappers remember everything." He looked up and narrowed his eyes at Father. "Why were they spared? Because no-one would believe them anyway?"

"Meya's transformation happened in a remote location, with only a handful of untrustworthy witnesses." Father closed his eyes and sighed. "The fire could easily be explained away as a result of dry weather. The people were too busy surviving the famine to ask questions. Since your word carries the most weight, silencing you is much more effective than hunting down a dozen peasant men who already feared retribution and ridicule too much to ever come forth. It'd be a hassle at best. And at worst, it could rouse suspicion."

Coris nodded slowly. He wasn't sure what he felt, or what he should feel. His logical half understood and felt it would have done the same had it been in Father's position, while his selfish half protested it had the right to feel enraged and betrayed. Still numb and undecided, he watched as Father slouched in his chair, overwhelmed by guilt.

"I'm so sorry, Coris." He said, his voice labored and trembling, shaking his head, "All this could've begun seven years earlier. It was the perfect opportunity. I saw your eyes that day, I knew you would repay that dragon girl if it was the last thing you'd do. I had a choice, and I chose to be the selfish coward. To keep the status quo. I've wronged you. So unforgivably."

Father broke off, his back bent so low, his hair grazed his white, trembling knuckles above his knees. Mother squeezed his hand as she pursed her lips against tears. Deriving strength from her touch, Father resurfaced.

"You have our blessing, son. If your destiny lies in Everglen, I'll do everything in my power to get you there and back home safe." He vowed.

Once more, Coris thought he had dreamed his hallucinations into life. Yet, Father's eyes were so understanding, so gentle, so loving—he knew he'd never have dared imagine it.

"Wh—what about Lord Crosset?" He whispered, as if loud noise would scatter the illusion.

"We'll figure out a compromise—together." Mother moved to his side and took his hand. It sounded so foolishly simple. Coris licked his dry lips, itching to protest, and she shook her head, "We won't stop you, Lexi. We just ask that you trust us a little. Give us one more chance. Let us know. Please."

As Mother pinned him with her eyes of wavering gray, Coris knew he was out of excuses. The lies he cooked up to mask his one true fear. The actual reason he'd shied away from his heart's desires for all these years.

"She still has a future. I—don't." He choked out. The harsh, unchangeable truth. Mother rested her free hand on his shoulder.

"You have the present, too, Lexi." She shook him gently, tears glistening on her cheeks, "Don't forget that."

It was the final stone. As he remembered for the first time in seven years, his wall collapsed from within, and the human trapped inside burst free with all his flaws and emotions and dreams and wants. Coris fell into his mother's awkward embrace, clung onto her as her arms encircled him. He buried his nose into her shoulder and sobbed, for once not caring for the stain of tears and snot he had created. Mother didn't shush him nor scold him. Father's rough hand joined hers on his head.

Sylvia met her husband's eyes, sharing the dilemma of parents of doomed children. The stubborn hope that Fyr would have mercy, that healers would err, that Freda would perform a miracle. The undercurrent of despair, brought on as one saw the cold light of reality. The frustration of not knowing what to say, what to do. What was right and what was best. Should they help ease this poor boy's transition to death, or urge him to fight and cling onto life? Or do nothing?

However, that would be for another day. For now, they would celebrate Coris's breakthrough, and plan their next move on Zier.

One down. One to go.

After a few minutes, Coris exhausted his pent-up grief. He pulled away, dabbing at his face with his overabundant sleeve. Sylvia was reaching for her handkerchief when the door flew open and bounced off the wall with a bang.

"Brother!" Zier fell in with a cry. He hurtled over to the nonplussed Coris, revealing little Lord Frenix standing in the doorway.

"Meya—she—you gotta come—now!" With one vicious jerk of his arm, he dragged Coris to his feet and towards the door.

"Calm down, Zier. Explain." Coris commanded, sharp and cold. He pulled his hand free. The mere presence of his brother must have snapped him back to his public self, which only served to intimidate Zier more. As Zier gulped and mouthed and trembled, Frenix rushed in.

"Lord Crosset heard about the switch. Amoriah had Meya locked up. She'll be sent back and tried for treason." As what little color drained away from Coris's face, Frenix snatched his arm and tugged.

"I know where she is. Come on!"

⏳

Fast as a cornered cat, Frenix scaled the ladder and disappeared onto the landing. Dozens of rungs down, Coris urged himself up another step, then another, then another. Zier was right behind, ready to retrieve his dangling corpse should his feeble heart gave out halfway through the climb. Father and Mother remained on the ground, eyes on the coast.

With a final push on the tush from Zier, Coris hoisted himself onto the stone bridge. He scrambled to his feet, turning wildly around. A pillar of dark brown caught his eye—Frenix. Young Lord Pearlwater stood paralyzed at one end of the four-pronged walkway. On the seat before him sat a young woman wearing two curtains of long, curly golden hair and a chemise. Her bare shoulders, arms and feet were snowy white and slender, unmarred by freckles, veins nor muscle tone. Empty, mangled shackles dangled from the wall on either side of her.

For once, Coris didn't pause to analyze the oddities. He couldn't think. He hurried towards them, his echoing footsteps distracting the girl from Frenix. Her ice-blue eyes widened, not by surprise—but fear. The sight slammed into him like ice water over his head, waking him—

"Arinel?" Coris rasped, stumbling to a halt on numb feet. Her eyes flickered away momentarily, staring past his shoulder at Zier, who must have been frozen a few steps behind, then returned to his. She shivered and dipped her head once more.

"She's safe, Coris. She's with him." She extended a trembling arm. "I'm so sorry. He left you this."

In her hand was a folded note. As Coris took it, his heart sank even lower. He remembered the feel of the paper. He opened it. He knew the handwriting. He could guess the demands:

Wait at the Valley's mouth.

When the first star rises, follow the Song.

Bring The Axel and no more.

🐉🐉🐉