Silence answered her confession. One by one, Meya pried open her eyes. Coris hadn’t moved. He stood there, blinking, his expression blank, then an uneasy smile twisted his lips.

“You’re not.” He shook his head, his voice unnervingly light and calm as he settled down gently before her, “Pregnancy shares many symptoms with common ailments. Have you ruled out other possibilities?”

Meya gritted her teeth to tamp down the sudden surge of annoyance.

“It’s my womb, Coris. I think I’d know.”

Coris blinked, astonished. A flash of hurt flitted by in his eyes, yet he attempted to conceal it behind a grin of derision,

“How? You haven’t slept with other men, have you?” He asked airily, forced laughter in his voice, then glanced away, “Or have you lain with Gillian before you arrived in Hadrian?”

Meya’s head went momentarily blank, stunned, all emotion usurped by white-hot fury that seared her writhing heart. How could he? How dare he? For a beat, she mouthed unspoken gibberish, then found her voice.

“It’s your child!” She cried in exasperation. Coris lost his smile, rolled his eyes then sprang up, pacing moodily.

“How many times do I have to repeat this? I’m barren! I can’t sire a child!” He snapped, arms flailing.

“Oh, you don’t know that!” Meya crossed her arms and whirled away fuming. Coris scoffed,

“It’s my manhood, Meya. I think I’d know.” The little donghead tossed her barb right back at her.

“No, you don’t!” Pushed to the brink of her patience, Meya bolted to her feet. Her nose a mere inch from Coris’s, she let loose,

“I kept track of my monthlies. I took note of changes in my body. I asked Philema for advice. I pissed over wheat for a week. I retch day in and day out. That’s how I know. You taught me! Gather as much information as possible before drawing conclusions. How did you know?”

“The healers said—”

“And how many years ago was that? You were a boy back then! You got your bowels scorched, not your crotch. You could never know for sure. Not until you’ve been bedding your wife for years and she hasn’t become pregnant once!”

Silence descended between them once more, ringing with their combined outbursts. Meya stood panting, her chest heaving as her wide eyes stared unflinching at his wavering gray. At long last, Coris broke away, leaning his forehead against the bars once more with a long sigh, his eyes closed. His hands trembled as he clung to the railing.

Meya had no illusions about his opinion on children, and she gritted her teeth against rebellious tears as she clutched her middle. The poor thing might not have a father. And it was all her fault.

“You’re far stronger than you believe yourself to be.” She began, even as suppressed sobs choked her voice, pleading with his seemingly unheeding back, “Have some hope. Why d’you always have to resign yourself for the worst? Why d’you feel so content with the bare minimum of a life when you could have so much more?”

Coris did not respond. His long, pale fingers tightened their grip around the metal bars. Sapped by the disheartening sight, Meya slumped back down on the sparse mat of hay.

“Acceptance leads to action, you said.” She sighed. Coris finally turned around, eyebrows raised, wary. Meya shook her head, “I know you don’t want children. I just need you to believe me, so we can decide what to do with this thing.”

Meya gestured feebly at her belly. Heaving another sigh, she fell back against the icy wall and closed her eyes. There was a pause, then Coris’s boots dragged across the hay towards her.

Meya hung her head. She knew what was coming. What he was mustering up the courage to ask. Somehow, she wasn’t relieved. Was she actually considering this? Somewhere deep down, had she wanted to become a mother someday?

“I—I only said that because I’m scared I’d orphan them young.”

Coris said, his voice barely a whisper. Meya perked up, gawking in utter disbelief. Coris did not meet her eyes. He stared at the floor, unseeing, his face void of emotion, an air of melancholy and mourning like a cloak weighing heavy on his drooping shoulders.

Her eyes followed him as he settled numbly down by her side. She wanted an explanation. Yet, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to speak further. She was afraid she had simply misinterpreted, misunderstood. Slowly, he awaken from his stupor and reached out a spider-like hand, rifling idly through the smattering of straw at his feet, pinching up a few that caught his fancy.

Meya watched, perplexed, as he twisted the strands together, bent the bundle in half, then tied it in place with a stray piece of hay. At long last, it became clear when he twisted up a second bundle of straw and slid it perpendicular up the first one. He was making a straw doll.

“I have a drawer full of toys back home.” He said softly as he tied more hay on the ends of the straw, marking the hands and torso, then fished in his pocket and produced a knife, “I was hoping I’d live long enough to play them with Aunt Kyrel’s new baby, at the least.”

His voice broke, overcame with emotion. He vented it by hacking off the long straw ends forming the doll’s legs. Meya cast her eyes about the adobe floor and spotted a few stray hay flowers. She plucked them from their snug beds among the straw, then edged close to Coris.

“What was your favorite toy growing up?” She asked as she slotted their stalks into the doll’s hay belt, encouraging him. She felt Coris’s start, the phantom heat of his eyes on the top of her head. Meya simply went on with the finishing touches, giving him time. At last, he sighed and his hand joined hers, poking a bit here, yanking a little there.

“I love chess, but I had trouble finding an opponent.” He began. Meya stole a glance at his profile. He was frowning slightly, still concentrating on the doll, “I had this little wooden doll. I’d stand him on a chair across the table from me and pretend he was Father. Or one of my big brothers or sisters. I should’ve had three.”

His voice died in his throat. Meya couldn’t help staring at those gray eyes hollow with loneliness and yearning. By the time of her first memories, she’d already had five siblings. The walls of her cottage were close-set, and they were often forced to huddle for warmth whenever the fire burned low in the hearth-hole. While Coris sat by his lonesome in his quarters, a fireplace crackling at one far end, its heat radiating throughout the room yet not reaching his heart. Then she understood the aching need he had tried his best to hide. He must have wanted to create for himself the one thing his parents could not provide in his childhood.

“I want children. So much so that I didn’t dare hope. The fall would crush me.” Coris whispered. He shook his head, his dead, empty eyes staring aimlessly ahead. Meya nodded as she sniffed back tears. She closed her heated hand over his chilled hand, still holding their little straw doll.

“It’s easier to surrender than fight a hopeless battle. And you’re exhausted.” She stroked his knobbly thumb with hers. Coris reached out his free hand, hovered hesitantly for a moment, then touched his fingertips to her middle.

“Do you want this?” He asked, his voice bursting with guilt. Meya glanced down as he pressed his palm flush to her belly, a patch of tingling cold beating in tandem with the pulse under her burning skin.

An inexplicable warmth blossomed inside her, as she imagined the endless possibilities that awaited her should she walk this new path. She had always been of the thought that she had only one life. And she wanted no road untraveled, no land unexplored. Wasn’t that the reason she lay with Coris that first night? To experience? Could it be that this baby was created in that very night?

And now that the glaring obstacles had been overcome one by one, many of her fears had been abated. Coris’s parents had given their blessing and protection. Coris himself was a wise and willing father, and she trusted him not to repeat their mistakes. And childbirth appeared somewhat less daunting, with the level of care she could expect as a nobleman’s wife.

But she was still so young and unruly. Did she have the right to become a mother? Would it be good for the babe? Would she be able to love the babe the way she had wanted to be loved by her mother?

Meya urged the doll into her grasp then laid it on her lap. The straw doll was the charm of fertility, a prayer for a smooth birth. She remembered Mum clutching one Dad had made to her heart to help her through the pain of Mistral’s birth. Apparently, as with all charms of luck, it didn’t work when it was baby Meya jammed in that birth canal.

“I’m happy. And scared.” She shook her head with a sigh, “I just don’t know if I’m ready.”

“We can be unready together.” Coris consoled her as he gently eased her head onto his shoulder, then froze as he remembered, “But we’re traveling to Everglen. Will you and the babe be fine?”

Meya pouted, disgruntled. Again with all this fuss,

“I’m just pregnant. I’m not sick. I can still contribute.”

“I know. Just give your word that you won’t overdo it.” Coris glowered, his voice sharp, and Meya glimpsed the shadow of pain deep in his eyes. Perhaps she had reminded him of his mother, just now. Ambitious and independent. Putting her own desires before her child. Was she truly ready for this?

Coris eased her head back down on his shoulder and patted her hair, soothing her.

“Perhaps Gillian could weigh in. He must have seen his fair share of Greeneye women in the army. He should know their limits.” He tilted his head, “You could make your choice, then.”

His offer jolted Meya out of her settling calm. Did he say choice? Again?

“My choice? To end it?” She sat bolt upright, aghast. Coris nodded. “But you want children!”

“I do, but there’s no need to have them now, is there?” Coris met her bulging eyes, frowning slightly. He shook his head, “We’re still young. It might not be safe for you. We have a dangerous quest to fulfill. I want the babe to come when we’re both ready. We—we still have time.”

We still have time.

Meya blinked in astonishment. Coris Hadrian, the boy who had accepted death. Ever in a rush to pay his dues, ever restless to fulfill his duty, ever prepared for the end. Reassuring her they could wait?

Was he truly attempting to believe, or was this hopeful promise yet another mask? Was he subtly urging her to end it, sabotage what could have been to save himself from possible pain? Or was he simply putting her needs before his own? If so, should she let him? What should she do? Was she right to bring a babe into this?

Coris turned away, his eyes wandering aimlessly.

“I thought I couldn’t have children. I was wrong.” He muttered. His hands quivered, as if reeling from the force of his snap decision, his wager against Fyr, with his dearest desire on the line, “I think the Raft is drifting near. Perhaps I could be wrong about that, too.”

He turned back and unfurled a small smile trembling with both fear and hope. As tears burned in her eyes, Meya leaned forth and pressed her lips onto his. They tasted just as cold and lifeless as ever, but she felt the energy, the prayer, the force of life in his reciprocating kiss, and her fear subsided if slightly.

Their lips parted to gasp for breath. Meya sank limply onto Coris’s bony chest, exhausted from the tension and the blissful release of relief. Coris was affectionately patting her head again. She wondered if her hair resembled Beau’s coat too much.

“Have you told anyone? Apart from Philema?” He asked. Meya shook her head,

“Just Lady Arinel. But Zier looks as if he’d seen Fyr, so I guess she told him. And your father stumbled in on me retching, and he told Simon and Christopher, and I reckon he’d already told your mother, too.” She felt Coris’s chest contracting as he drew a sudden breath, and she pressed a guilty kiss to his heart, “Sorry you weren’t first to know.”

“Tisn’t your fault. You know that.” said Coris sharply. He gave her a scolding squeeze, then blew a long sigh, “I’m relieved, actually. You sought out others to look out for you in my stead.”

Meya relaxed, then tensed up at the reminder,

“Still, you were planning to flee to Jaise. Without even telling me?”

Coris’s low voice was stricken with grief. Meya slid her arms around his waist as she burrowed her face into his chest,

“I’m sorry.”

Coris embraced her in return, his cool arms emanated forgiveness even as he shivered in fear of what could have been. A moment of silence, then he spoke once more, his voice brighter now,

“Seems only yesterday we were dancing hand-in-hand around a pigsty. Now we’re having a babe together.” He raised her face with a gentle finger on her chin, then smiled fondly down at her, “Surreal, don’t you think?”

Meya grinned back in reply, then the twosome turned around at the sound of approaching footsteps. The warden was walking down the hallway—with purpose, not simple patrolling. And Meya’s heart panicked. As expected, she stopped before Meya’s cell.

“My lord, it is time.” She spoke to Coris, her voice emotionless. Meya fought the instinct to cling onto her Sir Knight for protection. She made to extract herself from his arms, but Coris hitched her closer to his side.

“Please, she’s pregnant.” He pleaded. The warden met his gaze. She must have seen truth in his beseeching eyes, and the compassion she should not have softened her expression, but still she hesitated. And Coris knew enough to not ask too much of her, “Let me keep her company until she sleeps.”

The warden studied Meya for a moment, then returned to Coris. To their combined relief, she sighed and nodded,

“Thank you.” Coris whispered. She bowed her head, then clomped back to her post. Once her footsteps had died away to be replaced by the scrape of her chair as she settled back down for another game of chess, Coris’s fingers resumed combing through her hair, trembling now,

“I’ll be fine, Lexi.” Meya insisted, then squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered those in worse predicament, “Better worry for those three. What if we never find their eyes? What if Hasif’s cracked them open? What are we going to do with all those dolls?”

Coris remained silent for a long moment.

“You remember that vat?” He finally said. Meya nodded, huddling her shoulders against the chill as she saw those twinkling specks of dust floating in the clear jelly. Just how many eyes had it taken to fill up that container?

“I reckon that liquid came from inside the eyeballs, along with the green crystal.” Coris continued, “If the crystal is the energy source, then the liquid might be where their memories are stored. We might have to sift through it, read every drop, but a life is worth saving no matter the toil. Human or dragon or those in between.”

A glimmer of hope glowed in the midst of despair, and the clenched knot in Meya’s heart loosened somewhat. Coris pressed his lips to her forehead,

“Try to sleep, Anya. You’ll need your best for tomorrow.”

Meya obediently closed her eyes and emptied her mind through her exhaling breath. Lady Hyacinth’s verdict would befall tomorrow, but the true wager was Lady Jaise. If Winterwen’s courage fails, then Hadrian stands alone.

Night has fallen outside the window. Baron Kellis was penning the last paragraph of his letter to Lady Jaise when knocks sounded from the door. He voiced his consent, and his elder son entered.

Kellis looked up as the lad approached his desk. Coris’s complexion was ashen. Judging from his dazed, distant eyes, his mind hasn’t followed him from the prison cell. He must have felt the heat of Kellis’s questioning stare and his raised eyebrows, however; he gathered himself and met Kellis’s gaze.

“Meya’s pregnant.” Coris breathed, his voice hoarse. Kellis blinked. He couldn’t resist a savage smirk at the corner of his lips.

“Not exactly barren, are we?” Coris colored at the none-too-subtle jab. Noticing the wrinkle of worry on his son’s eyebrows, Kellis sighed then gestured towards the chair before his desk, continuing tenderly,

“What troubles you, son?”

Coris drew back the chair then slumped heavily onto it.

“I’ve always wanted children, but perhaps this isn’t the best of times.” He confessed then heaved a long sigh, lamenting, “My fault entirely.”

“And what do you plan to do?” asked Kellis. Coris stiffened, as if surprised by the freedom his father was allowing him, then nodded slowly.

“I’m willing to raise the child, but I feel the verdict should lie with the mother. Meya is seventeen. Far older women have died giving birth.” His voice quivered at the chilling notion, then he raised his eyes and faced Kellis’s serene scrutiny,

“Father, when the time is right, Hadrian will have an heir. I give my word. Please. Do let her end it if she so desires.”

Kellis gazed into his son’s beseeching eyes, and was surprised to see he truly believed in his words, the existence of his future, when days earlier the boy was still as convinced of his premature death as he always had been.

He glanced at the door to the adjoining room; Sylvia had been preparing to tuck in but decided she’d have another look on the Greeneyes and Lady Agnes. Finally, he nodded,

“You’re young, son. And you’ve known the girl for barely a month. Your heart may change.” Coris’s eyes hardened. For a second, he looked as though he would argue, then realized he couldn’t deny the truth in his father’s words, “I’d hate for you to feel imprisoned by your choice for the rest of your days. The child has not a soul yet. You do have time. Choose wisely.”

“Thank you, Father.” Coris deflated with a thankful smile which Kellis reciprocated. His gaze wandered as his thoughts strayed to the dragon girl, alone in her prison cell.

“I should return to her side. Perhaps some gold would persuade the warden.” He muttered, frowning. His mind made, he straightened in his chair, “Shall we discuss Amplevale, then, Father?”

Prepared, Kellis handed his son an opened letter,

“Kyrel’s letter to Simon. You haven’t the chance to read it, have you?”

Coris took it with a quizzical knot on his eyebrows, which soon tightened into one of displeasure. He resurfaced, gray eyes blazing silver.

“Aunt Kyrel specifically requested my counsel! Why hadn’t Simon mentioned this?” He exploded.

“Would you return if he had?” Kellis raised an eyebrow. The subtle coolness laced in his airy voice had Coris biting back his temper. He shook his head, panting.

“She must understand I can’t abandon my work here, but—” His darting eyes snapped back to Kellis, cold with fury. He seethed, “Still, I would’ve known how serious this is. I need every last scrap of intelligence if I were to lead effectively. He had no right to deny me that out of some childish rivalry!”

“Do you actually think that, Coris? That Kyrel requested you because the threat is serious? That Simon is jealous of you?” Kellis challenged, his voice rising.

“If it weren’t serious, Simon would’ve been adequate.” Coris retorted flatly. Kellis was reduced to massaging his forehead.

“Serious or not, she shouldn’t have favored you over her own son, Coris! And using him as the messenger, no less!” He snapped. Coris jolted. “Simon didn’t mention it because he doesn’t want you to have to choose. And he opted out of going because he’s heartbroken. Now that you know, you should have the sense to tell Kyrel off and urge him to return!”

“But have you seen Simon in action, Father? I can hardly blame Aunt Kyrel for choosing what is best for Amplevale.” Coris remained stubbornly pragmatic, “At any rate, we’ve already sent a most befitting replacement. Simon would only slow the dragons down. He shouldn’t—”

“Coris!”

Kellis rapped his fist on the desk in frustration. Coris fell silent, seemingly miffed and confused. Kellis shook his head, sighing,

“Son, the kindest solution may not be the wisest, but the wisest solution may not always be the best. Your test as leader is to decide which a certain time calls for.” He imparted his wisdom, then commanded fiercely, “Think. If it were Hadrian suffering the drought. And your mother asked Simon, the heir of Amplevale, to help her. How would you feel?”

Coris pursed his lips and avoided his father’s narrowed eyes. Kellis fell back against his chair.

“You can’t possibly be this dense.” He observed, shrewd as ever, and Coris tensed, “Be honest, son. Who is the jealous one? Simon? or you?”

Coris met his father’s gaze briefly, then closed his eyes in surrender. Of course, he’d long nursed a secret envy towards Simon. With his skill in combat and flawless physique. As he fought Fyr tooth and nail for every day of his life, how could he not resent how Simon’s unblighted health was wasted on his lesser intellect and flippant attitude towards ruling? And how could he not scheme to keep Aunt Kyrel’s affection for himself, when he was starved of motherly love?

Still, all this was no fault of Simon’s. And perhaps his cousin had suffered just as much, if not more, for Coris’s jealousy, just as Zier had.

Faced with such decision, a logical leader would venture on, leaving his struggling subordinate behind to fend for himself, sacrificing him to preserve the odds of success. A good leader, however, would likely pause to lend him a hand and walk alongside him. Just as a good father would not abandon his child.