The entrance hall to the dragon's lair was only wide enough to allow a single human visitor at a time. With Baron Hadrian leading the charge and Sir Bayne taking up the rear, they walked and sometimes edged forth in solid darkness. They'd had to abandon the torch by the entrance, fearing this tunnel, too, would be one poisoned by invisible, explosive gas the Orientators had warned about.

Seconds dragged on into minutes. The breeze flowing in to supply them with fresh air whistled a high note. Yet, surely this tunnel must open into a cavern at some point. Large enough for twenty dragons and a hostage. Unless they were in the wrong cave, that was—

"Bring The Axel and no more, I wrote. Could you not read?"

Gillian's cold voice echoed along the tunnel to Arinel in the back, and she stuffed her mouth with her fist to stifle a shriek, as Jerald wrapped her in his arms. Zier jerked back so far, he stamped on her foot. Simon swore feverishly, and she heard Christopher grab for his sword. As expected, she heard nothing from the two Hadrians in the front.

Like cursed stars, against solid darkness, glowing green eyes lit up, one pair after another. Five—ten—fifteen—twenty. Then, at long last, came the strike of a match, and a distinguished fire sprang back to life at the heart of the circular stone hollow. Roughly twenty men lined the walls, some on their feet, some on their behind, luminous green eyes flickering with miniature fires, their bare bodies covered by a layer of silvery scales.

Gillian sat on a conveniently-placed boulder by the fire. Behind him stood Dockar, his reed-thin, beady-eyed lieutenant. And there, with her shoulder in Dockar's hand—was Meya. Her hair fell rich and lustrous to her waist, as fiery red-gold as the fire before her, and her skin was similarly coated by metallic scales—she had flown with them here. Relief filled her eyes when she spotted Arinel in the shadows, replaced by guilt and fear when she settled on Coris.

"Twenty dragons against seven humans sedated and blindfolded to a location decided by you. I'm not sure you should be the one to complain."

Coris walked boldly into the fray. Arinel heard the wry grin in his voice. Gillian smirked as he rose to his feet, the lights in his eyes dancing in good fun,

"I've heard much about you, Coris Hadrian. Under normal circumstances, you'd never expose yourself to such odds. Your brother used to be your one weakness. And now—"

"How sentimental." Coris shook his head in pity, "You believe I was there out of love for my brother and my parents. My priority was keeping the Hadrian line from dying out."

Arinel felt as if air itself had thickened on their side. Of course, it had to be a bluff, but with Coris, it was just as likely not.

Coris's smile vanished, leaving only cold emptiness.

"Do what you'd like with the Greeneye. I'm simply here to protect the interests of Hadrian and Latakia."

Coris didn't spare Meya the slightest glance. Meya, for her part, hid her emotions well, but it was impossible to miss that split-second of heartbreak before pride took over. Yet, Coris continued without a hitch,

"You need The Axel, Lattis to reconstruct The Rota, and safe passage for all dragons to Everglen. You'd have better odds of convincing the King of Latakia by working with us Hadrians."

"In exchange, you must provide us literature on Nostran surgery to remove The Axel from its hiding place. You must promise to compensate for the five Crossetian men you killed, spare the citizens of Latakia, and help defend Latakia from Nostra's retaliation." Coris heaved a long sigh, his gaze downcast, "It takes time, but this way, there would be minimal bloodshed on both sides."

Gillian stroked his chin, calculating.

"What about the Greeneyes?"

"Those who choose to stay in Latakia shall be given rights equal to human citizens. Those who elect to join their purebred brethren in Everglen are yours to govern. We shall not intervene."

"And how could we trust you to uphold your end of the deal?" Gillian cocked up a suspicious eyebrow, "What would you get out of this? After all, without The Axel, your clan loses its two-century grip over the king. If the Mining Ban were also dissolved, there'd be a power struggle over resources between the king and the lords. And Hadrian would not be a part of it—your only valuable resource is Lattis, which you couldn't exploit without our cooperation."

"We're already losing our grip over the king and the council." Coris admitted, tilting his head towards Baron Hadrian, "Ever since Alden Corbyn overthrew Devind the Demented and ended the Wynn line, since Father supported Devind throughout his reign, we've made several enemies. We've had to resort to lying and manipulation to keep the Mining Ban running."

"However, as liaison between humans and dragons, we could maintain our influence by assisting in the transition, becoming the foremost authority on dragon matters."

A shadow crossed Gillian's face as his frown deepened—Coris had overstepped.

"Humans deciding dragon matters?" He repeated, his voice icy and deadly, then exploded, "Do you seriously think we would tolerate that? Anything else, human?"

The stones trembled with Gillian's roar. To his credit, Coris never broke his gaze. Gillian narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you even here, if not for this girl?" He gestured at Meya. She ignored them both; eyes roaming the cave floor. Coris raised two bare, bloodless hands.

"All my cards are on the table. I could only hope you take my word for it."

A moment of charged silence stretched between the two men as they stared. At long last, Gillian nodded.

"Very well. Let's prove it, shall we?"

With breathtaking speed, he unsheathed his curved blade and swung it towards Meya. With a scream, Arinel threw her hands over her eyes, not wishing to see her friend's blood. Yet, the sickening sound of blade slicing flesh she anticipated instead became a deafening clang and a smattering of sparks.

Slowly, fearfully, Arinel parted the trembling fingers over her eyes. Another sword had stopped Gillian's blade just in time. Behind it was Coris, purple in the face, concentrating all his meager might on pushing the blade away from his dragon maiden.

Gillian held firm with no outward signs of struggle. Finally, he jerked his blade up and stepped back, breaking the stalemate with a grating shriek of metal on metal. Pale and panting, Meya crumpled on her weak knees. Coris dropped his sword with a clatter and caught her, shivering just as hard himself.

"How do you expect us to trust anything you said, when the first word out of your mouth is already a lie?"

Gillian's seething scold lambasted the clearing. For once, Coris was lost for retorts. Avoiding Meya's eyes, he deposited her on a nearby boulder and wordlessly retrieved his sword, missing twice as he slotted it back in its sheathe. Gillian's glare followed him as he strode back to his old spot in the ring.

"You knew that my weakness is Greeneyes." He continued, more calmly now, "I would gladly make changes to my plan if even one member of my brethren would be harmed. Your weakness is Meya Hild. Since we share the one condition we would not compromise at all costs, we could work together."

At that, Coris and Meya perked up in unison, eyes round and mouth ajar. As if reminded of their youth by the sight, Gillian's gaze softened. He unfurled a tight smile.

"If we are to be allies, I need honesty, Lord Hadrian." He sheathed his sword, then met Meya's glowering eyes with a slight bow, "I apologize. Rest assured, I would never harm you. I just needed to be sure of his motive."

"And yours?" Coris retorted brusquely, still shaken, "What changed your mind?"

"She did." Gillian nodded towards Meya, who silently picked herself to her feet. Coris turned to her, a look of surprise and admiration in his eyes, even as his expression remained neutral.

"At first, I assumed Greeneyes could be easily persuaded to turn against the humans who have oppressed them for centuries. I hadn't accounted for the fact that most of them have love for their human family and friends, and for their land. Enough to betray their own kind to save them." Meya clenched her fists at the reminder of her sin, yet it seemed Gillian had never blamed her; his head bowed, he confessed simply,

"We could perhaps do without human aid, but we at least need the Greeneyes' support if we ever hope to reach Everglen. I can't ignore that."

He turned to Meya. She reciprocated with an apologetic smile, then let her eyes roam.

"We're small people. We couldn't see the three lands. Just what's before our eyes." Shrugging, she stared into emptiness, eyes wide and haunted, then met Coris's gaze for the first time,

"Coris, I understand if you want to avenge Beau. And I still can't forgive him for the five guards who died. I'm just afraid it'd just create more of them. Putting aside grudges and coming to a compromise might be better in the long run. You need us to keep Nostra at bay, and we need you to restore our homeland."

Silence fell as the two held their stare, held back emotions bursting to be expressed, yet must be repressed for the sake of the occasion.

"I can separate private and public affairs, Meya." said Coris sighingly.

"Yes, Coris. I know. So much so that I was afraid you wouldn't come at all." Meya snarked, her expression sour as spoiled milk, "After all, it's just me this time. Of course, I'd be fine. Not that Gillian would hurt me, but you didn't know that, did you?"

She trailed off, grumbling. Perhaps noticing the surreptitious looks being sent Coris's way by the anxious onlookers, she shook herself out of it and returned to business.

"That aside—First, we need to deal with Lord Crosset. Otherwise, you two would have to sail to Everglen while I burn to a lump of metal at the pyre."

Unperturbed by the chill of her morbid joke, Meya turned to Coris.

"Since we're going to the capital anyway, could I ask for the king's pardon?"

Coris took a moment to weigh it.

"You're a peasant under Lord Crosset's rule. I think he'd be reluctant to intervene in petty trials for the sake of a peasant girl—No offense." He concluded with an uneasy grin.

"None taken." Meya snorted.

"Not to mention Lord Crosset and the king aren't on amicable terms. I wouldn't be surprised if Olivis demanded some form of compensation. I doubt the king would be unduly inconvenienced by that, whatever it may be, but it would reflect poorly on his authority."

"Yeah—gotta persuade him on the dragon stuff, too. Might be asking too much."

Meya nodded to herself, but Arinel suspected she wasn't dithering over the issue at hand. Hands on hips, she sneaked surreptitious glances at Coris as she pretended to study her tapping foot, a frown of apprehension and hesitance tugging her eyebrows closer and closer. At long last, she resurfaced with a new proposal,

"What if I'm pregnant?"

Silence swept the throng like a gust of wind. The other men—Coris included, simply blinked, confused. Zier alone shot Arinel a wide-eyed look. Pursing her trembling lips, Arinel jerked out a minuscule nod, yet Zier's knees momentarily buckled as if he'd been hit by a stone from the cave ceiling. Especially at his brother's reaction—

"How?"

Arinel thought the echoes must have distorted what she heard, then she saw Coris's expression of simple, pure bafflement, complete with a bemused little smirk. And she understood Meya's move—its necessity. Yet, even Meya herself probably hadn't prepared for this. Her eyes bulged, her arms trembled, and there was a hint of a sob in her voice as she shot back incredulously,

"You?"

Coris betrayed the slightest flinch, as one would when hit in an old sore spot, then settled into a frown.

"We're barely a month into our sham marriage. It's common knowledge that I'm impotent. And you aren't involved with any other man, as far as I'm aware. Unless you change that, the odds aren't optimistic."

As Meya staggered in disbelief, Arinel felt her shivers speeding down her own back. How could he suggest such a thing, with such an unfeeling face? She longed to satiate this violent impulse in her trembling fingers, but it wasn't her place to step in nor her truth to speak. And she could only watch as her poor, besotted friend tried her best to retain hope.

"I could pretend." Meya shrugged with a feeble attempt at her usual wry grin.

"It's not as simple as you might expect." Coris counted on his fingers, "Pleading the belly means you'd have to return to Crosset, stand trial, receive a verdict of guilt and a death sentence first. And you'd have to be far along enough for the jury of matrons to feel quickening."

"We could bribe the jury."

"They're selected on the spot from women in the crowd."

"I could fashion myself a fake belly with a snake stuffed inside."

Coris heaved a sigh one would when barely refraining from both rolling his eyes and nuzzling the other party's cheek in affection, nodding in surrender,

"Very well. Let's say you somehow fooled the jury. The sentence would be delayed, you'd have to wait in jail until you gave birth to a baby you didn't have. Some women chose to have the warden impregnate them. And true, most women received a pardon once they'd given birth, but not all. And, if you were one of the unfortunate, by that point, it would be too late to do anything."

As Coris remained chillingly unperturbed, Meya's tattered faith seemed to have at long last gave way to his successive, ruthless blows. All attempts at levity abandoned, she huffed in annoyance then propped her hands on her hips, smile morphing into sneer.

"Fine. What do you suggest, then? O Prodigious heir?"

A charged silence stretched across the divide, broken only by pops and sputters of the fire as peasant girl and nobleman locked eyes. Arinel glimpsed the dilemma in Coris's eyes as he shot covert glances at the Baron. She could guess what he'd wanted to offer, but held back for the sake of duty. Being the Hadrian heir, he couldn't offer to sacrifice Hadrian's interests to further his own—even for Meya. She decided to intervene to save him the pain.

"What if you acknowledged the baby, Coris?" Arinel stepped in. Meya whipped around, while Coris blew a secret sigh of relief, "The baby would be a Hadrian heir. Even before it quickened, it would be valued more than a baby fathered by a peasant—no offense."

"But this means Hadrian would have to intervene. It'd hurt the alliance between your clans. I'm not having that!" Meya protested hotly.

"—But you'll burn on the pyre?" Coris raised his eyebrows, incensed.

"It won't be for long, Meya." Arinel hurried on before Meya could aim a snipe at Coris, reasoning darkly, "Father's very old. After he dies, Crosset would fall under Hadrian rule anyway. Even if I bore a son right after I married Coris, he wouldn't grow up in time to take the seat. Father's not looking to get anything. He's just lashing out, out of pure spite."

There was a pause as the unfortunate truth sank in. The answer was in the air, Arinel could sense it; the inevitable solution they could all deduce. Yet, Meya had always been the one to see the light beyond the fog, a better solution. The last, always, to surrender, and Arinel looked to her with hope. This time, however, even Meya had been disheartened.

"There's only one solution, then." She sighed, then met Arinel's gaze, her eyes brimming with guilt,

"All this happened because I manipulated you and took your name. And you sided with me. Lord Crosset has every right to be furious. The least we could do to show good faith is to have you two consummate the marriage with us bearing witness. Return things to the way they should be." Seeing the lawfully wedded couple still frozen defiantly in place, Meya blinked, aghast, "Now! Amoriah's men could be here by next sunset. We don't have much time."

"Meya—" Arinel mounted a protest, but Meya had turned away. She bent down and selected a log from the fire, then ventured into a side-tunnel.

"I'll go find a spot for you two to shag."

The gathering stared after Meya and her little halo of light until she took a turn and vanished, except for Zier, who was still reeling from the new developments and sat slumped against the nearest stalagmite, lost in his personal void.

Arinel kept her eyes on Coris for Meya's sake, studying his every twitch. She must figure out what he had gleaned—if at all. What was Meya thinking, anyway? Banking on Coris of all people being tactful when boys could be surprisingly dense when it comes to picking up hints? Not to mention he was already in denial of his own virility, too.

Coris must have sensed her probing; he turned to her with a forced grin.

"You don't second that proposal, do you?" He jested.

"Of course not!" Arinel snapped. Coris accepted defeat with a feeble chuckle.

Silence fell again as the echoes of her voice died away. Baron Hadrian peered into the darkness of the side-tunnel, frowning.

"Persuading Olivis is nothing compared to the king. Is that all she has for us?" His level voice was lined with cool disappointment. Coris clenched his fists. He fixed his eyes on the dancing shadows on the cave floor, cheeks reddening. Perhaps he had realized his blunder. Finally.

"She hasn't given up. She's just—not at her best." He stammered.

"Then bring it out. I'll wait. Simon and I will take over from here. Go."

The Baron's voice remained sharp, but his eyes were gentle. After one last hesitant glance, Coris snatched a blazing log from the fire then hurried away after his dragon maiden. As his echoing footsteps faded, Baron Hadrian settled down on the boulder in his son's place.

"So, Gillian. I heard your men refer to you as commander?"

In the firelight, the lines of Gillian's jaw tensed.

"The title was given to me by humans. For slaughtering humans. The name was simply part of my disguise." He explained, brusque and flat, then tore his gaze away from the fire and met Kellis's eyes,

"Dragons of old did not need names to recognize one from another. Now we do. Our way of life is dying, Kellis. We've become dependent upon the Nostrans for survival. Pledged our wings and flame to their cause, and made enemies of the entire human race in the process."

"We dragons were once creatures of wisdom and adventure. New veins of Lattis emerge at random, forcing us to abandon our home islands every millennia or so. Until time transform it into other harmless metals. We travel the world to witness its beauty, observe its creatures, then share our memories with our young."

"Then, humans happened." Kellis gave a mirthless chuckle. Gillian closed his eyes, as if tempering his contempt.

"Your kind have always railed against the limits of nature for progress and prosperity. The humans of Everglen saw us dragons as pests feeding on their metal. They weren't content with being savages, with their half of the island. They wanted to expand, to innovate."

"However, we dragons also couldn't accept the verdict of nature. We couldn't bear to wait for extermination. Nor could we fight divided and unorganized, like the free creatures we were. A young dragoness rallied the scattered dragons, made herself queen—as humans would call female leaders of creatures—and led us into battle. Yet, in the end, nature still won. The volcano erupted, flooding the land and poisoning the air with Lattis. We left Everglen, seeking a new home across the ocean."

"Unfortunately, Latakia is flowing with Lattis." Kellis continued, frowning at their now grudging ally, "But why Nostra? They're the greediest of all the lands."

"The Nostrans of then were no greedier than any other race. We were grateful that they at least welcomed us, shared their home with us, whatever their ulterior motives may be." Gillian corrected him, and Kellis bowed, humbly accepting his bias,

"Their vast plains were just enough to sustain us, not arm us for war, but we were content; we'd already lost many to fatigue and disease, and left thrice as much behind in Latakia. We simply wanted peace and rest, but it wasn't long before neighboring lands attempt to seize us for themselves. We had no choice but to strike a deal with the Nostrans. We'd see the world with them, and have a home to return to in them, if we fight alongside them."

"Not much to see, anyway. Considering they had us burn everything then rebuild them into miniature Nostras." A dragon grumbled.

"Come now, Vittorius the First was peaceful. And a few others." Another reminded him.

"Don't you dare—He had my mother's whole battalion's fuel nodes cut out for that peace with the Hutinds!" Yet another roared from across the ring.

"Dragons, we are not here to debate the past." said Gillian sharply. The bickering ceased at once. The offended dragon slumped back down, huffing and grunting blessings for his leader and his friend the sympathizer. Gillian closed his eyes with a silent sigh.

"So, your plan was to seize The Axel and migrate dragons back to the restored Everglen?" Kellis picked up the conversation as if there had been no disruption. Gillian nodded; a slow, melancholic nod of painful longing.

"We may not be able to travel like we used to, but at the least, we would be free from the will of humans."

"Is that why you sunk our ore ships?"

"That isn't us. Though I must admit it was to be our first act after we've taken control of Everglen."

"And the creeping drought from the west?"

Gillian blew a snort of derision,

"Most likely the Nostran emperor. Why would we enrich the soil of the land we wish to escape? Might as well give them our blood and fire to refine Lattis while we were at it."

"Still, none of this is endearing your kind to the average uninformed Latakian." Simon spoke up for the first time. As all glowing eyes pooled on him, he stepped forward and handed a piece of parchment to Gillian,

"This letter is from my mother, Lady Amplevale." He explained as a few of Gillian's younger, less reserved comrades crowded behind him for a glimpse, "She wants Coris there to investigate the cause of the drought, but since lover-boy's got his course set for Everglen, I believe this is your chance to show your worth."

At those closing remarks, the dragons looked up from the letter as one. Simon drew in a sharp breath. What had he done wrong, now?

"Show our worth? We dragons have as much right to the soil of this world as your kind, human!" A dragon who had been peeking behind Gillian stepped back, shaking his head in disgust.

"—Not to mention we precede you by millennia. We won't prove ourselves worthy to live! Never again!" The second dragon raised his shaking fist, eliciting a dozen cries of dissent which threatened to topple negotiations.

"Yes, Vitrius, but you must understand it is necessary to gain their favor." said Gillian placatingly. He rose to full height and turned to face his subordinates, who obligingly quietened down to hear his argument.

"As much as it galls me to admit, Meya Hild is correct. We need them just as much as they need us." Gillian hung his head as he laid bare the bleak circumstances,

"We have no clue in what state Everglen is in, how long it would take to amass resources and rebuild the Rota. Our dragons have grown used to living among humans, and like humans. They've never known Everglen. It'd be hard enough to convince them to live like dragons of old—if that is still possible—even without our new home being a barren wasteland. We need time—and shelter."

Gillian's eyes swept the throng, pausing at each member in turn. Some restless, rebellious dragons avoided his gaze in grudging acceptance, while their more levelheaded comrades nodded in grim determination.

"I'll go, Gillian."

At long last, the long-silent Dockar stepped up as the first volunteer. Gillian's eyes widened as he spun around to his lieutenant.

"No. You lead them to Everglen. I proposed this change of plan—" He jabbed a finger to his chest.

"—And I agree with it." Dockar countered, flat and final as his expression, "That's enough for me."

For a moment, Gillian could only blink. Then, in a rare moment of emotion, he covered his eyes with a rough, scarred hand.

"I swore you'd see Everglen—" He whispered through grinding teeth. Dockar comforted him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Stormy sea and poisoned sky; I don't know if I'd survive the journey." He shrugged with a wan grin, which widened as he met Gillian's anguished eyes, "You'd have to tame the motherland for me first. I can wait a while longer."

"I'll go, too." Hotheaded Vitrius piped in, winking at his disgruntled leader, "Just to double your guilt."

"And I." A cheery-looking older bandit volunteered, "If the emperor succeeds, it'd be millennia before this land would regain its beauty. And I do love sightseeing."

Simon glanced at the three dragons in disbelief. He hadn't expected such earnest support. Only one would have been more than enough to provide insight and assist with the investigation.

"Thank you." He sank into a deep bow, then straightened up and met Dockar's gaze, "The Lady's bound to be skeptical. Tell her Coris requested you come in his place. That should reassure her."

"Why don't you tell her yourself?" Dockar frowned. Simon hitched up a wan smile.

"She doesn't trust my judgment. You'd better not mention me at all." He picked up a log from the fire, then strode back towards the cave mouth, "I'll go get an angle on the time."

"So, you won't be going with us?" Dockar called after his back, perplexed.

"Simon, this is your idea—your home." Christopher snatched his elbow, pleading, "And you miss the twins!"

Simon stopped with one foot on the rim of a puddle. In the silence, the tiny water drop swaying on the stalactite's tip did its best to be quiet, yet failed to hide the resounding splatter as it added itself to the shallow pond below.

"I'm supposed to die in Coris's place if need be." Simon said, staring down at his reflection in the puddle, born of the torch's light, "How could I do that if I'm not with him?"