"This is lunacy. You're staying—I'm going!"

Once again, Coris stopped his rigorous pacing only to stomp in for a rematch with Meya. With Baron Kellis off to negotiate with Lady Hyacinth for Meya's freedom, Baroness Sylvia heading the door-to-door search for the missing Greeneyes and guarding the rest of the entourage, Meya and company had seized the Hadrians' guest quarters as base of operations, so Meya could prepare for her pleasure session with Dizadh the top courtesan.

Meya bent forth and studied her reflection in the wall-mounted mirror, prodding gingerly at the blob of warm, silvery metal on the bridge of her nose. Perhaps she could do with a little more to work with.

"You've seen those girls at the school, Coris. It's not like you lot have safe passage in there, neither." Sighing, she scrunched up her eyes and concentrated. Instead of piling up on her nose, the liquid metal flowed onto her cheeks like alluvial fans, and she swore in frustration as she reabsorbed all the goo and started over.

Coris's twin in the mirror raised his eyebrows and glowered.

"Well, at least they won't gouge out my eyes and peddle them on the black market!" He snapped.

"Coris, enough! I'm going with you no matter what you say." Rolling her eyes, Meya abandoned her quest for a human nose-bridge and whipped around to the real Coris, frowning in exasperation, "They're just as much your people as mine. I can't just sit by!"

"We've spied in hostile lands before. Enemies who actively seek out dragons in hiding. We're treating this as such."

Gillian, who was mentoring Meya from his spot beside her chair, attempted to help ease Coris's worry. Coris had opened his mouth to retort, so Meya quickly added, gesturing at Gillian.

"Exactly. I mean, I'm a Greeneye myself, and I only knew he was one when I looked closely at his eyes. I didn't even do this nose thingy back then, and you slept with me and you were still none the wiser. The record speaks for itself, Coris."

Coris made to argue, then swallowed his words and resumed pacing moodily, arms crossed, muttering darkly to himself. Shaking her head, Meya turned back to the mirror and concentrated once more. Metal trickled out of her pores and pooled on the flat region between her eyes. With her fingers shielded by thimbles, Meya shaped the cooling, waxlike puddle into a ridge.

As she was about to venture into a brothel known for kidnapping Greeneyes and stealing their eyes, Gillian had decided to teach her to also fashion herself a human nose, in addition to wearing Lattis.

According to the dragon, skilled Nostran spies could change their very appearance by tweaking and shaping the metal underneath their skin. But as Meya wasn't experienced enough yet, Gillian thought it safer for her to practice molding her armor over her skin first.

Adding a few prods as finishing touches, Meya turned left and right as she scrutinized her new nose, then hollered for the human lads to score her efforts.

"What d'you folks think?"

Simon, Christopher and Zier crowded around her chair. Coris ignored her and continued his fuming parade.

"Hard to tell. Guess I'll have to see it with the skin on." Simon cocked his head at the strip of paper-thin, eggshell-colored leather on the dressing table. At that, Coris flounced to the door and disappeared outside with a huff of contempt.

"Coris!" Meya whipped around and called, half-rising out of her seat. Gillian pushed her back down with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Sit. He could never be persuaded."

"But—"

"He's a man, Meya Hild. No man wants to see a woman put herself in danger if he could help it." said Christopher, his voice solemn. Meya froze, taken aback, then bit her lip as a wave of turmoil surged within her.

She couldn't deny she was scared, extremely scared. But she couldn't just stay out of harm's way while her fellow Greeneyes could possibly be suffering a gruesome fate. She might die if she went, she understood that. But she couldn't live with herself either if she stayed.

"So what? I should just sit here and wait for news? So what if he's a man? I can't stand seeing him in danger just as much as sitting by while my friends are being—" She left off, choking on her own words. She couldn't bear to imagine what ordeals her dragon friends might have been subjected to.

"You don't have to sit by. There's a safer option—help Arinel spy on that Hasif woman." Simon suggested, cocking his head at the door.

"It'd make my job easier with one less youngling to watch over." Gillian added, his expression deadpan. Meya shot him a reproachful look, then spun around at the new, unexpected voice from behind.

"I'll—I'll go, too." Zier scurried forward. Meya's glowing eyes turned cold as she examined him. The traitorous spare shrank back instinctively, then summoned his courage once more,

"He'll be safe. I promise—I swear."

He corrected, his words heavy with conviction. Meya narrowed her eyes, uninclined to respond in either direction. She hadn't forgotten the anxiety, the dread of being trapped in an endless sea of sand, supplies dwindling amid scorching heat and freezing nights. Freda knew she could've easily lost her babe as well. Her forgiveness wouldn't be given so simply this time.

Christopher interrupted the charged silence, then, and Meya broke her gaze to focus on him instead,

"Delegation is a vital part of leadership. You can't always do everything yourself." He leaned closer and lowered his voice, "As the future Baroness Hadrian, you should practice."

Meya blinked as she felt her cheeks heating. Glancing between the two young men, she realized Baron Hadrian would naturally have informed his squires about their new charge. Zier alone appeared just as surprised as her.

"The risk is much lower for Coris; there would be Baron Hadrian to answer to should anyone so much as upsets the ulcer in his guts." Simon quipped, tilting his head towards the dragon-man, "Also, unlike Gillian, you don't have to be there; unless you didn't trust Coris to represent your Greeneye interests. Plus, Gillian's been a spy all his life, he could hold his own should the need arise."

"Also, the Baron's ordered us to safeguard you and your baby." Christopher concluded, "There's no way in these three lands we're letting you go."

In the mirror, Meya watched wide-eyed as her cheeks drain of color. She dipped her head, hiding her face behind her curtains of red-gold hair, picking at the lint on the front of her dress.

"I'm just pregnant. Not dying. I can still be useful." She grumbled, cursing Baron Hadrian in her head. See, this was exactly why she'd decided to keep mum. Secrets spread like wildfire once the first spark had leapt out of one's mouth. As if he had sensed her displeasure, Simon heaved a tired sigh,

"Males are made to protect females. Females are made to protect the young. It's nature, Meya. You have your duty, so do we."

Meya met his calm, somewhat sad gaze through the mirror, then turned to stare at the door. She remembered Baron Hadrian's words. He was right. She was no longer alone. She must consider the consequences to both Coris and their babe. They must communicate with honesty, and arrive together at an agreement. Coris was hurt, and her pride was the culprit.

Closing her eyes, Meya willed the metal back into their glands under her skin. As the boys followed her with looks of mingled surprise and relief, she stood up and took Simon and Christopher's hands, gazing deep into their eyes.

"Be careful." She spared the subdued Zier a glance, then turned to Gillian after the boys had nodded their promise. "You too."

The boys watched as Meya hurried away to find her tempestuous lord, then Christopher turned and raised a disgruntled eyebrow at Simon, who started but instantly feigned innocence.

"What?"

⏳

As the shroud of evening descended once again upon the bustling desert city, rows of purple paper lamps mounted on poles on both sides of the road led curious tourists and seasoned night prowlers alike to peruse the vast array of illicit entertainment.

As to be expected, the man-brothel Dizadh worked for was one of the grandest along Hyacinth's Pleasure Lane, boasting three sprawling floors. The signature purple lamps swung from every inch of the roof. The adobe walls were blanketed with graphic, mosaic depictions of men and women in various stages of passion.

Gillian, with Coris, Zier, Simon and Christopher in tow, posing as his servants, stepped through the arched doorway to find a polished wooden table squatting squarely on his path. Behind the table sat a thin, bald Hyacinth woman with enormous hoops swinging from her ears. Her eyes were downcast, transfixed on the page of her open book. Judging from her finger caressing her devious grin, her glossy eyes and flushed cheeks, it wasn't a difficult guess what she was reading. She spared them a quick sight-over as they approached, then returned to her pastime.

"First door on the right. Leave nothing on. The Madam will see you in a bit." She drawled without a second glance, pointing her thumb in said direction. All the young men in Gillian's entourage were undeniably fairly handsome, their fair skin unmarred by disease nor weather, thanks to their noble blood and upbringing. She'd probably assumed Gillian was a procurer and the boys were hopefuls signing up to work in the brothels.

Coris blinked, a half-smile frozen on his lips. Zier cocked his head, as usual blessed with cluelessness. Christopher blushed crimson. Simon gawked at the woman, eyes bulging. Like the seasoned spy he was, Gillian retained his composure.

"We have an appointment with Dizadh." He corrected her. The woman's head snapped up, instantly alert.

"Dizadh?" She repeated, eyes wide. After blinking blankly for a moment, she realized her grievous misstep. A look of horror washed over her face, and she hastily dipped Gillian numerous bows,

"Oh. Oh, I see. I'm terribly sorry, good sir. Just a moment."

She dragged over the ledger to her left, set it over her erotic magazine, then began rifling through it, trawling a finger down the list of names and dates.

"We have a reservation here from one Lady Hadrian. Is that correct?" She glanced up, an eyebrow raised, then continued once Gillian had nodded his confirmation,

"We've agreed on the price, but I'm afraid you're going to have to pay additional. You see, we assumed Lady Hadrian would be the client. Dizadh prefers women. He charges a premium to entertain male clients. If you'd feel more comfortable with staff who share your preferences, we could arrange that. If you're actually in the mood for a quick and economic alternative, we also have a vast lineup of dolls you could choose from."

A pause in negotiations followed as Gillian rapidly calculated his next move. At long last, his mouth stretched into a grim, taut line of distaste.

"I'm here for Dizadh. Not any whore. Put it on the tab." He spat, then jerked his head at the gaggle of young men accompanying him, "Show my servants to the dolls."

The woman turned and nodded to the man and woman standing beside the counter. The long-haired man draped in a gold-trimmed blue toga stepped forth and bowed to Gillian, then led the priority client down the hallway to the right with a gracious flourish of his painted hand. The sparingly dressed bald woman approached the remaining young men and beckoned them to the hallway on the left.

"Dolls?" Christopher hissed to Coris as they followed the hulking staff woman down a dim walkway with a low ceiling and walls of paper screens backlit by flickering orange lamps, hosting shadow plays of dozens of men and women in the act of lovemaking. Coris slowed his pace, allowing Zier, Simon and the woman to gain some distance from them.

"I've heard some brothels commission life-sized dolls for low-income clients to satisfy their needs." He whispered back, using the cacophony of moans, screams, creaks and slams as added cover, "You two pick one each then spread out for the search. I'll go with Zier. Gather as much information as possible. We've no idea if Gillian would be able to wheedle anything out of Dizadh."

Out of the shadows, a nondescript wooden door appeared at the end of the hall, and Coris broke off. The door was left slightly ajar, and a dim, brownish-orange light leaked out through the gap.

As they approached, a Hyacinth woman exited, carrying what appeared at a cursory glance to be a blond, fair young man bundled in lavish folds of crimson fabric. His pale, bony limbs dangled lifelessly from her arms, however, jolting to the force of his new mistress's footfalls. His glassy, empty eyes reflected the light of the oil lamps in the hallway. Then the woman disappeared with him into a screen door to the right.

It could've been a trick of the inadequate lighting, but the doll looked eerily lifelike...

⏳

In the meantime, over to Arinel and Meya in Hyacinth Palace, the two girls were cloistered behind a sandstone pillar, eyes fixed upon the locked wooden door set into the wall a few paces away at the junction in the hallway, behind which, they were told, was the alchemy lab owned by Lasralein Hasif.

Like Bishop Riddell, Healer Hasif was first and foremost an alchemist; a prominent member of the prestigious Hasif clan, the very clan that produced the legendary Lashtiri Hasif, who used the curious green crystals to lead the women of Hyacinth to victory in the explosive-gas-filled mines.

The disappearance of Agnes, Persephia, Cleygar and Lors was a conundrum. Despite Coris sending a letter to Lady Hyacinth and receiving a reply signed by Lasralein Hasif, both Lady Hyacinth and Lasralein herself denied any connection to or knowledge of the matter.

There were few possible explanations. Like in Jaise, the Greeneye trade was coursing in the catacombs under the scorching sands of Hyacinth. The disappearances could easily be explained away as unfortunate accidents, and the losses easily paid with a few Hyacinth guards.

That meant one or both women could be the culprit, and the letter was sent from someone else; a courageous defector trying to discreetly alert them. There was even the slight chance it could've been the missing four themselves.

Meya was more inclined towards Lasralein working alone, however. For why would Lady Hyacinth risk souring ties with Hadrian and trade one of her daughters for a meagre six dragon eyeballs? Considering the amount of dates she consumed daily and the hours of pleasure she bought from Dizadh the courtesan, she probably wasn't in any want of quick gold.

It was this suspicion that led Meya and Arinel to flatten themselves against the heated stone, waiting for an opening to sneak inside Healer Hasif's lab, or at least tail her around and observe her movements for anomalies. However, Healer Hasif hadn't once left her lab since she returned from Baroness Sylvia and Lady Amoriah's spit-spraying match in the Great Hall.

Either she was that dedicated to her current alchemical pursuit, or she was spooked by the letter from the informant and had decided her best chance was to barricade herself and guard her lair of secrets until the Hadrians had given up and left.

They could use force to bust their way in, of course, but there was no telling if they would find anything incriminating. And Meya wasn't sure how further she could push her luck; her exoneration already riding on the tricky negotiations between Lady Hyacinth and Baron Kellis as it was.

"Are you spying on Hasif?"

A timid voice spoke up behind them. The two girls jolted and spun around, hands over their mouths stifling squeals of surprise barely in time.

Standing before them was a meaty young man who stood as tall as Zier and boasted an ample belly reminiscent of Lady Hyacinth. Like most Hyacinthian men, he had olive skin and wore a purplish toga. His wavy black hair was cropped short, however, and the tired, greasy locks huddled close to his scalp. Silver-rimmed glasses magnified his round, blue-black eyes as he stretched up a rueful smile at the sight of their abject terror,

"Don't worry. I won't tattle. I've been in there a few times myself." He raised two bare, astonishingly slender hands in reassurance. His eyes found Meya's glowing green, then, and he froze, blinking. Meya noticed the rapid calculations scrolling past his round face as he glanced back and forth between her and Arinel. At long last, he reached out a hand in greeting,

"Er...I'm Ahmundi Hyacinth. You look like Westerners. You're guests, right?"

Ahmundi? The name rang a bell in Meya's brain. Ah, Ahmundi! Lady Amoriah mentioned him back when they'd first arrived, said she wanted her son to be as thin as Coris.

But what was Lord Hyacinth doing here? Keeping an eye on them for his mother? Still, he said he didn't mind them spying on his mother's healer. Besides, it wasn't as if they'd done anything wrong. Well, not yet, at least.

Arinel shot a quick glance at Meya. In response, Meya stretched to her full height, regarding Lord Ahmundi with imperious glowing eyes. Arinel took it as cue to play neutral for now. She extended her hand and clasped Ahmundi's.

"I'm Arinel Crosset. This is Meya, the Lady Hadrian." She flourished a hand in introduction, Crosset being Hadrian's vassal house.

"Lady Hadrian?" Lord Ahmundi repeated, blinking at Meya then turning back to Arinel, "Isn't Lord Coris betrothed to you?"

The two girls gawked back at him at that question. The lad spoke as if he had walked straight out of last week into today.

"Haven't you heard?" Meya rasped, eyes bulging, so baffled she couldn't retain her snooty air. Ahmundi seemed used to the reaction, however. He casually slipped his fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp.

"I'm sorry. I don't come out of my lab much these days. 'cept to steal stuff from Hasif's lab. No time to lose, you see."

"Your lab? You're an alchemist?" Meya repeated, eyes sparkling with interest, while Arinel looked scandalized, apparently more hung-up about the other, more worrisome snippet of information.

"Ah, if only." Ahmundi chuckled weakly, then beckoned with an urgent wave of his hand, whispering now, "We'd better come to my quarters. We can talk freely there."

⏳

Behind Ahmundi's door was a room bathed in bright yet eerie acid-green light, radiating from the chandelier on the ceiling and tall, cylindrical lamps made of faceted crystal stood at intervals along the walls. Huddled in between the lamps were piles of books humbly awaiting a shelf.

Magenta curtains were pulled over every window cut into the adobe wall. The bed and wardrobe were shoved into the far corner to make way for a large wooden table cluttered with rolls of parchment and curious paraphernalia, and what appeared to be an enormous, misshapen, slightly deflated ball made of strips of thick cowhide sewn together, sitting next to the table. Meya estimated it could probably house all three of them snugly inside with its size.

Meya scrunched up her eyes against the unnatural, disorienting lighting. Having taken stock of the room, she shot its occupant a quizzical look and began airing her issues.

"Why don't you use normal lamps, my lord?"

Ahmundi nodded towards the mysterious leather ball. He closed the door behind the girls, led them further into the room to his worktable, then rested his hand atop his invention.