A/N: I changed the chapter's name because I couldn't end it the way I planned. Sorry!

***

(Two days earlier)

The calm heralds the storm, the bolt strikes out of the blue, as the saying went. Yet, for Arinel, it wasn't even a calm, cloudless-sky day to begin with.

One of her first moves as alchemist had been to recruit Dineira, her mother's accidental murderer, to assist her with recreating and improving on her mother's work.

It wasn't that she'd forgiven Dineira. She'd put aside her grudge if it meant anesthesia could be perfected one day sooner. One less day Zier would have to live in fear. One less day dragons would have to suffer.

Apparently, that was too much for Gretella. Within days of Meya's departure, Arinel found herself no longer on speaking terms with her grandmother, for the first time in her life.

Worse, the progress she had fought her nana for was anything but remarkable. Surgery remained a forbidden practice by the Royal Council, which meant Lady Jaise couldn't provide funding or test subjects. Arinel had had to use her life savings to fund the experiment, yet it was still illegal to even put up bulletins recruiting test subjects from the common populace.

Bishop Riddell and Diamat Sameri helped spread the word and bring in old regulars. However, when Arinel explained in full honesty that they would be put to a sleep they might not wake up from, using a banned procedure, the volunteers would either develop cold feet or demand absurd compensations Arinel could not afford.

That fateful day, Arinel had shuffled into her lab to find Dineira's note, with suggestions and designs for never-before-seen, custom-made equipment needed to streamline the procedure, a schedule empty of appointments with potential test subjects, and no new letters from Zier on her desk. When Lady Jaise summoned for her, she'd entered the Great Hall expecting nothing more could dampen her spirit, only to nearly faint at the sight of her father sitting there in the flesh.

As Meya would often proclaim with a roll of her eyes—typical Freda.

Arinel watched Father's white boots pacing back and forth before her, the hem of his Crosset Green cloak fluttering with each furious step. Every two steps, a swing and tap of his cane. Even with her Icemeet blood, Arinel shivered in the cold. She missed Jerald's warmth at her back, Grandmother's hands upon her shoulders. They weren't allowed by her side. Partners-in-crime were to be interrogated separately.

"How did you find out, Father?" Arinel succumbed with a sigh, unable to tolerate the silence any longer. Father slumped down on the long chair, a hand on his cane's silver knob.

"Rumors, Annetta." He growled. Arinel twitched uncomfortably at the name. Her father preferred her middle name, which he had chosen. If Mother hadn't died, forcing him to honor her memory with the most inconsequential gesture he could afford, Arinel had a sneaking suspicion she would have been named Annetta Arinel instead.

"Them masked merchants, stirring up a crowd in every alehouse. Lady Crosset is secretly a Greeneye, is what they said."

"Naturally, you suspected Meya." Arinel muttered.

"I thought you were dead, Annetta!" Father snapped, glaring into her eyes. Arinel flinched. "Five guards were killed, and I only learned of it a week later! It's not below that wench to take your place when the opportunity arises."

"No, Father." Arinel straightened up in her chair. She glared straight back at her father, voice trembling with emotion, "I made the choice to die. The bandits were willing to negotiate. Meya persuaded me to live. She's brave—loyal—selfless—"

"Just not enough to hand back your titles when it was all over, is she?" Father sneered. Arinel bit her lip, trembling fists clenched on her lap. Father shook his head, growling through gritted teeth, "I should've known better than to let a crone and a bastard raise my daughter. They've raised a softhearted fool! A cowardly liar!"

"How could you—How dare you—" Arinel choked out, winded by shock, grief and rage. Father slammed his cane on the floor.

"No! How dare you!" He snarled, a spindly finger jabbing at her. Arinel could only sit in stunned silence, pale and shivering with cold fear. She pressed her back against the cushions, watching as Father sprang up and resumed pacing, faster this time. Sharp raps of his cane on the flagstones echoed through the charged air.

"When Alden demoted me, I feared the Hadrians' honor wouldn't be enough to persuade them to follow through with the marriage—then Coris fell ill. It was as if Freda was on my side for once." He rambled, then shook his head in frustration,

"If you so desired the little brother, you only needed to wait. I don't give a damn if the boy wasted away in three months, if he managed to sire you an heir before he boarded the boat. But you couldn't wait, could you? Like mother, like daughter. Insatiable whores!"

He spat. Arinel's head went blank in shock. For a moment, time stood still, then rage consumed all inhibitions.

"You raped her! What choice did she have?" She bolted up, screaming, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I took what was mine to take! My right!" Father roared, a finger jabbing his sunken chest. "My duty to continue the Crosset line!"

"Duty?" Arinel tore up a sneer of derision, even as tears continued to flow from her eyes. She shook her head in disbelief. "Is that the one thing I've been living for? You raped Mother then left her to die in the flames to have me. You couldn't care less if she slept with Sir Bayne behind your back, so long as I was yours! You forced me to marry a dying man I never loved, just so he could leave me widowed with your heir! My womb—is that the only part of me you've ever cared about?"

Silence fell, ringing with her desperate cry. Arinel stood panting, clutching at her middle. Her throat was dry and smarting—she'd never raised her voice this loud, this long before in her whole life. She pleaded with her eyes, hoping for a denial, a shred of love and kindness.

Father didn't deign to answer; he turned pointedly away, glaring stubbornly at the floor. Scalding tears tumbled out of her eyes as Arinel gave up hope. She hung her head, teeth gritted against the pain, and made one last ditch attempt to salvage what she had ruined, to please her heartless father.

"The marriage was held in my name. All that's left to do is consummate it—and I would. Coris doesn't know I've lain with Zier—I could fake my purity. I'm sure he won't object."

Silence. She gathered her courage and raised her face, forcing herself to meet those cold, disapproving eyes. She crumpled to her knees.

"All I ask is that you spare Meya. She kept me alive—a feat even a knight and ten yeomen couldn't match. That allowed me to fulfill my duty to you. She'd done no wrong."

She whispered, shaking her head in plea. Father spared her a glance, then gave a soft sigh and held his head high.

"Too late, Annetta. I've sent word to Hyacinth. She will be brought back and tried for petty treason against Lady Crosset."

Treason.

Strength left Arinel's legs as gruesome illustrations flashed by in her head—women dragged along the streets naked behind horse-carts, as crowds pelted them with stones and filth—then bound to pyres, engulfed by flames, screaming in agony. Meya didn't deserve that. No-one deserved that. Not women who counterfeited coins. Not even women who killed their infants. Perhaps not even the wickedest men.

She must do something. She didn't know what exactly. All she knew was she must go to Meya's side. Warn her. Comfort her. She only needed to be with Meya. Then, together, they would find a solution. They would find hope.

Arinel pushed herself up on wobbling knees, feet struggling to find purchase on the slippery stone.

"Looks like I'm going to Hyacinth, then." She whispered.

She felt the cold of Father's stare on her back as she toddled numbly towards the door, hardly believing what she had meant to do. Crossing a desert. Defying her father. For the sake of a peasant girl—a Greeneye—her best friend.

"One step out of that door, and you are no longer my daughter."

Father warned, cold and sharp as a blade against her neck. Arinel froze with her hand on the doorknob. Fear crept back in, tugging at her dress, yearning for what was familiar, for compromise. Until a realization dawned upon her, a flash of light bright as a snow glare, burning away the mist, leaving only clarity.

If one step out of the line was all it would take, then was it that much to lose?

The door opened with barely a hitch, closed on the only life she had known with barely a whisper. The stones on the other side felt no different under the soles of her shoes, save for the grim knowledge that there was no going back. A feather-light step, a fine line that took seventeen years to cross, and her new life had begun. Lady Crosset no longer existed. She was no-one. And she could be anyone.

After a few deep breaths, Arinel shook herself out of her reverie and eked out a couple more stiff steps. As she approached the alley at the corner of Father's room, a Jaise guard stepped out of the shadows and slipped down his mask.

His hair remained hidden under the hood of his cloak, but Arinel would never not recognize those glowing green eyes, that scar-ridden face, that cold, menacing smile.

"Lady Crosset." said Gillian the Dragon. His smiled widened, "I believe you're in want of rapid transport across the Sands?"

⏳

(The present)

Meya's successful escape came to light soon after the Hadrians had sneaked Arinel back to their guest quarters, when a guard climbed up to refill the prisoners' water bowls. Enraged at the affront to her infallible prisons, Lady Amoriah commanded her guards to tear the Hyacinth Palace apart in search of her fugitive.

As they waited for sundown, Arinel explained to her de jure in-laws how Father had come to learn of the switch and ordered Meya's arrest—how Gillian and his twenty men had flown her and Jerald across the desert as dragons—how they had smuggled Meya out in Arinel's clothes and a blonde wig, while she stayed behind with the ransom demand. She also had to recount the ambush in the forest—her deal with Meya—

She stopped short of revealing her affair with Zier, however—when guards came knocking to conduct a search, Coris sprang up and dragged her to the bed. In the precious seconds he had while he helped her crawl under it, he warned in a whisper that his parents knew the truth, but Zier hadn't confessed, before climbing onto the bed himself to feign sleep.

This happened twice more while Coris's parents bombarded her with questions, hoping to know her better, before the Baroness welcomed Arinel as her ward and maid-of-honor.

Arinel was reduced to tears. Of course, the true family she lost could never be replaced, but she had found a new one to shelter her as she weathered the storm, and figured out which path to take. The Baroness held her as she sobbed, and Arinel felt a mother's embrace for the first time in her life.

The last knocks came on the eve of sunset—servants had brought them a light dinner of goat milk and dates (Lady Hyacinth having upended the feast table as the culminating act of her tantrum). They downed the milk, pocketed the dates, then crept through the mostly deserted hallways and up one of the towers under the pretense of stargazing. The Baroness reluctantly stayed behind—they have limited seats on their transport. They also needed to leave someone to deflect suspicion, and protect the remaining members of the entourage.

They emerged on the rooftop to eight Greeneyes—Philema, Dorsea, Tissa, Frenix and Atmund, and three Greeneye guards wearing Hadrian Red uniforms. That explained how the Baron and Baroness had managed to overtake their sons to Hyacinth.

Philema winced as the night wind lambasted them—still leery of the heights. She held Frenix, who seemed even more tense and sickened.

"Dragons, thank you for coming on such short notice. Hopefully, you've had the chance to fill up your metal glands. The Lady Hadrian has been kidnapped from her cell. We need your help to get her back safely."

Coris stepped forth for the debriefing, as usual.

"Amoriah's closed all the city gates, and every house is being searched. We'll fly above clouds to avoid detection, and reach the valley before the stars rise."

Coris turned and met eyes with each Greeneye. That was when he noticed Frenix's dismay.

"Is something the matter, Frenix?"

Frenix jolted. Urged on by pressuring looks from Dorsea and Philema, he reached a trembling hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out two metallic, glowing green spheres. Dragon eyes.

"Jadirah's?" Coris rushed in with a furrow of temper between his brows. He grasped Frenix's hand and raised it for a closer look. "Aren't they supposed to be with Meya?"

"I nicked them from her pocket." Frenix mumbled.

"—And read them?" Coris raised a demanding eyebrow, then rolled his eyes at the Heights. "I warned you, Frenix."

"Well, I want to read exciting eyes, too! You guys keep treating me like a child!" Frenix exploded.

"You are a child." Coris was reduced to pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. Sighing, he asked on, "What horrors have you witnessed?"

The fight drained from Frenix's face along with some of the brown. As Philema gathered Frenix deeper into her embrace, Dorsea heaved a sigh and reported in his place,

"The boy's probably about fifteen. He ran away from home because his father and brothers bullied him for being a Greeneye and unmanly—he hoped he'd fit in better here. His mother was a loving woman, so he believed the Hyacinth women would rule with kindness. He found a bulletin, thought he'd get to work in the fabric trade. Instead, the women who put up the bulletin took him to a man-brothel. He tried to run, but they pinned him down, stole his belongings then lunged for his eyes. That's the last memory."

Dorsea gasped out then pressed her hand to her mouth, holding back a sob. As the newcomers gaped in terror, Tissa rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Idiot. Everybody knows offers like those are too good to be true." She muttered under her breath. Dorsea shot her a glare so venomous, Arinel half expected to see fangs when she turned to Coris and continued.

"I'm sure there are many Greeneyes like him—maybe even regular people. Lured in by lies then trapped here. Please, we have to do something, my liege."

"We will, Dorsea." Coris nodded absently, a hand stroking his chin, then finally met Dorsea's gaze.

"If negotiations went our way, we would have transport back. Once you've dropped us off, fly back here, report to Mother, then read the eyes again. Find the brothel. Get names. Look for familiar faces. Fetch Jadirah and Ozid, get them to talk."

Dorsea nodded vigorously, eyes wide and back ramrod straight. Arinel doubt they'd be able to take it all in with the speed Coris was talking in. Sure enough, she spotted Christopher hastily scribbling his commands onto a scrap of parchment. Zier's mouth was hanging half-open, as always intimidated by the ever larger boots Coris would leave for him to fill. Simon seemed silently disgruntled for some reason. Coris, of course, noticed nothing—

"—And have Mother summon Lasralein Hasif. Agnesia and Persephia should be fine; I doubt they'd dare touch the Grayes, but I want Cleygar and Lors safely under our care by tomorrow morning. We'll be back with Meya as soon as possible."

Atmund stepped forward, then. Coris broke off and blinked questioningly at him. The masked boy drew in a deep breath and clenched his fists.

"I—I want to go with you." He said, determined and grave unlike his usual fretful self. As Coris gawked at him, he dipped his head in shame, "The good miss helped me. That's why everyone knows she's a Greeneye. It's my—"

"No, it isn't. Don't ever think that." Coris cut across him, his voice sharp. He knelt down and held the boy's shoulders, his gray eyes gentle as he stared at the glass sockets on Atmund's mask. "I admire your bravery. You'll make a fine knight one day, Atmund—but it's still too risky now. We can't bear to lose you."

Behind the metal grille, Atmund pursed his trembling lips. Coris squeezed his shoulders.

"We'll bring her back. I swear." He vowed. Atmund finally nodded. He turned and strode out to the wide-open space, bathed blood-red by the setting sun. He shed his mask and cloak, revealing the thin coat of silvery scales covering him from neck to ankle. There was a flash of light. Where the little boy once stood was a small dragon, only slightly larger than Arinel herself.

The remaining Greeneyes wordlessly followed suit. Old Philema hung back and watched in wistful awe along with the rest of them, shielding her eyes from the successive flashes of light.

"Gillian's much larger, isn't he?" A voice whispered up nearby. Arinel spun around to find Coris had retreated to her side. At her look of astonishment, he cocked his head with a sly grin. "You seem disappointed."

Arinel turned back to survey the seven dragons lined up before them, sharp silhouettes against the orange sky, then nodded with a sigh. She could sense apprehension seeping from under Coris's nonchalant facade. A hilarious notion popped into her head, and she hitched up a little smile.

"Size doesn't matter."

There was that anticipated pause of shock, inevitable for one who had experienced her humor for the first time, then Coris collapsed into a fit of laughter.

⏳

Jokes aside, size did matter. Greeneyes were smaller than purebred dragons in their true form. Dorsea and Tissa were slighter than the three Hadrian guards. Frenix and Atmund were even smaller, being young boys as they were.

They decided that Baron Kellis, Jerald and Zier would board the three adult males, Christopher and Simon would go with Dorsea and Tissa, and Arinel and Coris would go on Atmund and Frenix. However, Tissa objected and insisted she could carry a passenger as heavy as the men, so Coris obligingly swapped Zier and Simon.

Tissa spent the whole journey lagging behind the pack, sometimes dropping feet in the air as the green-faced Zier did his best to hold on to dinner and dear life. Arinel could have sworn she saw Baron Kellis shaking his head when he spotted Coris's vengeful smirk peeking over the rim of his cloak.

As soon as they landed, Zier tumbled off Tissa's back and staggered away for a crop of desert grass he could mulch with his bowel's content. Arinel slid off Atmund and thanked him with a kiss on his eyelid. As the little dragon curled up for a siesta, she stepped onto the gravel-strewn road and tipped her head back until she could see the two violet peaks on either side of the valley, sharp as a sword's tip, dark as night against a backdrop of clouds set aglow by the dying sun.

A gust of compressed wind blasted from deep within the heart of the valley. Arinel hastily retreated to the wayside. She peered into the shifting clouds for the twinkling light of a star, strained her ears for a faint song mingled in the gale, but caught neither. Behind her, the men began gathering firewood and setting up camp. They'd have to settle in for the wait.

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