Lady Hyacinth’s verdict was as predictable as the morning that came. She revealed she had rejected Baron Hadrian’s offer and sent a letter to Lord Crosset in Jaise, informing him of the successful capture of Meya Hild. She expected the arresting party to arrive in three days, along with the first batch of five prisoners headed for the brothels.

The Hadrians were a half-step ahead of her, however. Baron Kellis’s letter to Winterwen had been signed and sealed since the night before, and by first light was sent off to Jaise with the first pigeon that cooed.

Coris remained in the prison cell to keep Meya’s morale high. Dockar, Vitrius and Torbald continued hibernating, waiting for nightfall to set off. Baroness Sylvia, Gillian and Arinel were occupied with the Greeneyes’ care. Sir Jerald helped Sir Jarl manage the human majority of the entourage as they took up various duties in the Hyacinth court. After a good night’s rest, Simon and Christopher resumed scouring Hasif’s lab for evidence. By late morning, the Baron called them in to report their progress.

“We’re comparing entries in the ledger to the unused eyes on the shelves. We’ve found no discrepancies so far.”

Christopher rested the donations ledger on the Baron’s desk.

“I’m sure most of the cracked eyes in the bowl are from the brothel Greeneyes, disguised as donations from church members in the ledger, but we can’t tell the difference nevertheless.” Simon shook his head, eyebrows knotted in frustration. Kellis nodded with a heavy-hearted sigh,

“I’ve feared as much.” He admitted, then straightened up with resolve, “We need witness accounts. We must persuade church members to come forth. Dizadh and Agnesia must give testament. Then, we use Jaise’s boycott to force Amoriah to close that brothel.”

The two squires sounded their heeding in unison. Kellis met their eager gazes in turn,

“I had Sylvia reserve an hour with Dizadh. He should be here soon. Once I’m done with him, we leave for the Church.” The young men bowed at his command. Kellis turned to the Merilith heir, “In the meantime, see what you can do for Agnesia, Christopher. Simon, you remain.”

Simon blinked. He shot a swift glance at Christopher, his mouth open halfway to object, but his best friend replied with a scolding look then swept away. Once the door had closed behind him, Simon heaved a sigh then turned wearily back to his Lord Uncle.

“This is about the drought, isn’t it?”

“Are you sure you’re not going back?” Kellis raised an eyebrow. Simon rolled his eyes.

“Uncle, please. Chris’s been pestering me about this every chance he gets.”

“As he should.” Kellis shot back, his voice sharp, and Simon begrudgingly pursed his lips, “It’s inconsiderate of Coris to not release you from your post, but you also haven’t thought to ask him yourself. You’re now armed with knowledge about dragons. Your place is by your father’s side, among your people. Tackle the crisis as it unfolds, then send word to me and Coris. Why are you abandoning your duty?”

A spasm shot across Simon’s already stricken face. He avoided Kellis’s narrowed eyes, lips sealed tight. The Baron sighed.

“It’s Kyrel, isn’t it?” Simon tensed. The look in Kellis’s sharp eyes softened. He shook his head in pity, “Your mother favored your cousin’s advice over yours. Yet again. I dare not imagine how that must have felt.”

Simon’s lips twitched, bursting at the seams from emotions fighting to be released. Yet, silent he remained.

“Her heart has been made cold through disappointment, Simon. Long before you arrived. It is no fault of yours. She adores Coris for she sees in him the life she might’ve had, if she were born a man. If not for Karus.”

Simon betrayed a faint, bitter smile. It was a tale told in hushed tones, in huddled circles behind heavy doors of every house in Hadrian. Before Kellis and Kyrel, the late Baron Hadrian had been blessed with another son and heir; Lord Karus. Karus was betrothed to Lady Sylvia of Noxx, Kellis to Lady Sorelyn of Amplevale, and Kyrel was a prodigious young beauty poised to serve in the King’s court.

However, when the ailing Baron Hadrian prepared to pass on the secret of The Axel to Karus, Karus kidnapped Sorelyn and the pair eloped, never to be found again. The fallout resulted in Kellis taking the Hadrian seat and marrying Sylvia. Kyrel was hastily married to old Lord Sytus, Sorelyn’s father, to keep Hadrian’s interest in Amplevale from falling into other hands. Then, Simon was born.

Simon glanced to his left, the direction of the prison cells.

“Mother wishes for me to see that Coris comes to no harm. Carry out his bidding. Be vessel for his mind, for his body is dying.” He explained softly, “I’m of more use to her here.”

“But how would you rule Amplevale, if you do not return in her time of need?” Kellis argued. Simon forced his smile up a little further as he raised his eyes to face him.

“In all honesty, Lord Uncle, I don’t see myself taking the Fortress after Father.” He chuckled weakly, “My sister will marry a worthy knight. He will take the Amplevale name, and I relinquish it.”

One of Simon’s younger twin sisters, Serulda, though still small, had shown glimpses of the intellect and drive her mother and cousin possessed. Mother had finally found someone through whom she could channel her unspent potential; her reincarnation as she lived and breathed. This time, she would ensure nothing stood in her path. Especially the son and rightful heir.

Simon wasn’t duly bothered, however. He was half Hadrian to begin with. And he’d spent a good part of his life here. He enjoyed his post in Hadrian, serving his kind Lord Uncle and the delightful Baroness Sylvia alongside his best friends. It was a pleasant, humble life, bought with constant peril as decoy for The Axel holder, and withstanding the ego of the most gargantuan donghead in the three lands. Moreover, it was what his mother desired. The one thing he could do for her. He was happy to oblige.

A series of knocks sounded from the door, breaking the stalemate between uncle and nephew. A servant announced the visitor was Dizadh the courtesan. Baron Kellis straightened up and bustled about rearranging the contents of his desk. Simon made to announce his leave, but the Baron beat him to the last word,

“Simon, you will go to Amplevale to investigate the drought. That will be all.”

Simon stood frozen. As Simon’s liege, Lord Uncle’s command took precedence over Mother’s; he couldn’t disobey. The best he could do was beg.

“But, Uncle—”

“That will be all.” Kellis repeated, his voice like a clap of thunder. Gritting his teeth, Simon dipped a bow and retreated, reeling at the daunting prospect. On average, it was unpleasant to return home. He couldn’t imagine returning in Coris’s place.

Dizadh entered with his usual grace, draped in all his earlier splendor. He appeared unfazed at the sight of Baron Hadrian waiting behind his study desk, fully-clothed and solemn, instead of the Baroness raring to be pleasured.

“I’ve assumed your lady hasn’t summoned me for my services, my lord.” He began quietly after a bow. Kellis unfurled a tight grin, satisfied with the man’s sharpness.

“Lady Hadrian struck the hornet’s nest. Best not arouse further suspicion.” He clasped his hands together on the desk, then cut straight to the chase, “Amoriah refuses to investigate the brothel, so I’ve asked Lady Jaise to intervene. If she agrees, I’d like you to stand as witness and give your testimony before her and Amoriah.”

Dizadh’s black eyes widened, betraying fear for the first time.

“Her Grace?” He sputtered, “But, my lord—”

“Yes, I know.” Kellis placated him, “The brothel will likely be shut down. You and all who serve it will lose your livelihood. You’ll also face retaliation from Amoriah or Hasif’s church.”

Dizadh shook his head, a flash of defiance in his eyes. He opened his mouth, and Kellis hurriedly laid out his offers. Soothing. Reassuring,

“Those trafficked Greeneyes will require long term care. Come serve Hadrian. We’ll protect and provide for you. After all, your time in the trade is nearing its end. Isn’t this the perfect opportunity to escape?”

Dizadh shook his head again, slowly this time. A sardonic smile twisted his ever agreeable lips,

“My lord, you do not know.” His eyes were like obsidian touched by light; hard, cold and blazing, “I do not fear for my lowly self. Lord Ahmundi and Lady Amara are my children. They’ll lose their mother’s favor if I move in the open. I will do what I can for those poor souls, but the Lady must never know.”

Kellis was stumped. He had miscalculated. He must improvise for this unforeseen development. Still, it handed him a weapon he could wield. They may have led entirely different lives, he realized, but they do have a shared experience as fathers to sons.

“In that case, I’m afraid Ahmundi has lost her favor, Dizadh.” He cocked his head, “If he had any to begin with. You do know that, don’t you?”

Dizadh betrayed a flinch, then avoided Kellis’s eyes.

“There may still be hope yet. He may someday wish to change. She may someday relent. I don’t want to be the stone that snuffed out the last light.” He whispered, shaking his head as if in plea. Kellis frowned, disapproving.

“Ahmundi was instrumental in exposing Hasif’s crime. Amara has made fast friends with Greeneyes.” He reminded him, eyes narrowed as he pored deep into those fearful eyes, “They truly are your children, Dizadh. Do you want them to abandon that part of themselves? Embrace Hasif’s ways just as Amoriah does?”

Dizadh didn’t reply, but his pause was one of contemplation, of hesitance. Encouraged, Kellis pressed on,

“You seek to protect Ahmundi from that path, but he’s already chosen it for himself. I may not have been that present for my two sons, but if I’ve learned anything about them, it’s that they’re stubborn as mules. There’s no stopping him, Dizadh, I’m afraid.”

Dizadh sighed deeply, accepting defeat. Kellis doubled down,

“Do stand, Dizadh. If his mother has truly forsaken him, then he’ll still have his father. At the very least, you’ll have done your damnedest to make sure his efforts won’t be in vain. You’ll consider it, at least?”

Dizadh was still and silent for a moment, then at long last bowed,

“Yes, my lord.”

The hallways of Hyacinth palace were deserted save for the occasional harried servant bustling by. Lunchtime was approaching, and all hands were busy preparing the Lady’s daily feast.

Simon hurried back to the room he shared with Christopher and the other yeomen. Earlier, when he sidled into the kitchen for traveling supplies, the head cook snatched his old cloak, and upon it she heaped a handful of wrinkly dates, strips of dried goat meat, dried prickly pear fruits, and a log of goat cheese. As he was returning home, he didn’t need to pack most of his belongings. Just a couple shirts and water skins, and his bundle would be ready. Hopefully, the dragons wouldn’t mind the added dead weight. Him and the bundle, both.

Sighing for the umpteenth time, he slid open the door. Sudden movement at the corner of his eye startled him, and he dropped his bundle with a curse. Fortunately, the short fall wasn’t enough to burst its knot. He cursed again in relief and annoyance. Thought he’d be chasing after dates rolling like spilled marbles down the hallway. As if he wasn’t enough of a dunce already. He looked up to see who the squatter was, then blinked in surprise.

“Coris?” He strode up to his cousin, now standing beside Simon’s mattress, “Shouldn’t you be with your mistress? She’ll need every ounce of company you can provide after that verdict.”

The crease between Coris’s eyebrows deepened.

“I’ll return later. My wife is enjoying a well-earned siesta after helping me rehearse for my long overdue apology.”

Simon sensed the hint of cold in his airy voice. He felt tempted to retort, so he strode off to the wardrobe instead.

Coris wasn’t his logical self since the peasant girl arrived. It was luck that her Greeneye cause happened to align with Hadrian’s centuries-old quest, for he was no longer sure if Coris would put Hadrian’s—and Amplevale’s—interests first if that wasn’t the case. He could understand him risking it all to protect Zier. But Meya Hild? Even Christopher agreed.

Well, that would teach Mother. Little Coris isn’t so flawless now, is he?

As much as the thought gratified him, Simon chided himself. After all, his days weren’t numbered. He couldn’t judge what Coris should do with what was left of his. And Coris had already sacrificed his share for their people. If Lord Uncle was satisfied, perhaps it wasn’t his place to toss in his two Latts. Perhaps it wasn’t proper of Mother to keep relying on Coris, either. Perhaps it was high time a true child of Amplevale defended it. Lord Uncle thought that was Simon. He was too optimistic in that regard, but what could Simon say?

“Freda bless her.” He snatched up shirts then stuffed them into the bursting bundle. He’d repack them properly later. He didn’t feel like basking in Coris’s presence longer than he must, “Out with it. Uncle sent you, didn’t he?”

“Why should that matter?” For a prodigy, he could be unbelievably dense. Simon rolled his eyes then slammed the wardrobe door shut.

“Because your opinion matters to my mother. And my mother’s opinion is that I should stay.” He spared a moment to enlighten him, then marched back to the door—

“Simon, from my experience, it isn’t always wise to please our mother’s opinion.”

Simon froze with his hand on the doorframe. He couldn’t help but consider it. If their mothers’ opinions were to be pleased, both he and Coris would not have been born. Yet, he digress; it would be wise. Perhaps they would’ve been better off if Freda had planted their souls in other wombs, but these were the ones she’d chosen for them. What else could he have done if not accept the mother he’d been given?

Simon let his hand fall. He couldn’t hold on; his strength spent by the mere memory of his mother, the flash of her cold, judging eyes whenever she must tear her eyes away from the twins to toss a grudging sideways glance at him. The more he resembled Coris in appearance, the more he irked her. For he was his weak-willed father in personality. And she hated them both as the embodiment of her downfall.

“I could only have one mother. Wise or not, at least I have something to set store by. I’d rather have that than naught.” He sighed. Despite himself, he turned back,

“My father’s old, Coris.” He whispered, pleading. If Coris had mercy, he’d accept it and pick no further at his story,

“Fyr will claim him soon. Once he leaves, Mother will be the only one I have left. Until Serulda marries and her husband banishes my arse to secure his seat. And since I’m in on The Axel’s secret, it’s either back to Hadrian for a quiet life or die screaming. Well, can’t say I haven’t been training.”

Silence fell. The only sound was his own panting. Simon wasn’t sure why he didn’t simply leave. Was it because of that skeptical, almost pitying look in Coris’s eyes? Was he expecting Coris to agree first? Or disagree?

“Do you truly want that life, Simon?” said Coris finally. Simon shrugged,

“It’s either that or kill Mother and the twins.”

“Aunt Kyrel is deluded if she thinks Father would allow an outsider to helm Amplevale when a Hadrian male exists. Is she that sure Serulda would never lose control over him?”

“Then better you than me, I guess. Or Zier.”

“Do you truly believe so?”

Simon said nothing. He couldn’t be bothered whichever way. Mother would handpick a pretty idiot for Serulda, one who would be needed simply for his seed. She’d manage fine. Even if she didn’t, there was nothing Simon could’ve done, for he was, obviously, another pretty idiot.

Coris sighed. Hopefully, he would give Simon up as a lost cause and free him from this fruitless conversation. Freda knew he’d himself given up long since. If Lord Uncle desired so, he’d go. He’d endure Mother’s wrath for a few days then carry back her letter of protest. Then, life would return to normalcy. Besides, why starve at home when he could shipwreck on the way to Everglen? Simple, really.

The silence stretched on. Simon toyed with the cloth of his bundle, shivering in the melting heat of Coris’s stare. Perhaps he should just leave. Could he?

“I’m becoming a father.” Coris said. Simon raised his eyebrows, then shrugged.

“I know.”

“That was why you didn’t tell me, wasn’t it?” Coris’s quiet voice was tinged with guilt at his considerate gesture. Simon avoided his eyes. He could guess where Coris was headed. “You know my place is with my family. My duty is with my people. Whatever your mother says. Whatever you may feel. You should return to your father, your sisters, your people. You know that.”

Simon trembled. Yes, he did. He had lost. He couldn’t hide any longer.

“I don’t want to go back.” He shook his head. His voice came out strangled through the lump in his throat as he met Coris’s gaze, begging, “I can’t bear to see her disappointment when she sees it’s me, not you. I can’t bear to hear her predict I would fail and see her proven right. Not again.”

Coris looked pained. His pity burned like white-hot metal. Simon turned pointedly away, his voice harsher now,

“My place is before you. In your harm’s way. Freda gave me your stupid face for a reason. It’s my purpose. It’s not a good one, but it’s the only one I’ll ever have. It’s better than nothing.”

“What if it’s a trial?” Coris suggested, an eyebrow raised. Simon froze, swallowing words on the tip of his tongue. Coris walked towards him, his piercing eyes fixed upon Simon.

“Simon, for seven years I believed I was too weak to sire a child, but my belief is just that—an opinion. It isn’t enough to bend reality. To alter truth.”

Coris stopped an arm’s reach away. Simon frowned, still lost as to where his cousin was going with this,

“Aunt Kyrel isn’t a seer. Her prediction is simply her opinion. You alone have the power to shape the truth. Whether you triumph or fail, you’re the one to decide, not your past defeats nor your mother’s words. Unless you let them. And only once you’ve given your all can your worth be fairly judged.”

As Simon stood frozen, stunned by both the force of his voice and the truth in his words, Coris produced a letter from the folds of his toga then handed it to him.

“I wrote this letter with Meya’s help.” Seeing Simon still listless, he shook it imperiously, “I reprimanded your mother for her spiteful behavior and expressed my complete confidence in you. As you said, my opinion has weight to her. Hopefully, it would keep her out of your hair while you investigate the drought.”

Simon was sure he was hallucinating from desert heat and lack of sleep. It just couldn’t be. Impatient as ever, Coris pushed the scroll into his free hand.

“I left it unsealed for a reason. Go ahead. Have a gander.”

What choice did he have? Simon dropped his bundle then untied the scroll. His eyes grew wider the further he read. It said as much. And more. He lowered it, staring at his cousin in equal parts disbelief and gratitude,

“Lexi—” He began, and ended, his throat obstructed by emotion. For once, Coris understood. He raised his pale, gangly hand and slapped Simon’s shoulder, squeezing the bundles of muscle with all the strength he could muster.

“You won’t be alone, Simon.” He smiled gently, and Simon saw sincerity in his eyes when he met them, “We’re your family, too. Don’t forget that.”

Heat engulfed Simon. That was more honesty and sentimentality than he could handle in one sitting without collapsing into a shameful, smoldering heap. He cleared his throat to banish the dead air, then made a noncommittal jerk of his head.

“I should be off. The Church.” He mumbled. Coris’s eyes darted sideways, no doubt remembering his mis—wife he’d left behind.

“I as well.” He sighed, then turned back and stared straight into Simon’s eyes, his expression forlorn, “I’m sorry.”

Simon realized from the weight of the apology that it wasn’t just for this latest altercation. Heat rose to his cheeks and eyes. A smile threatened to curl his lips, so he swiftly spun away. Had Coris just taken his laudanum? Donghead was unnervingly saintly.

“Just get lost already.” He tossed over his shoulder. Coris chuckled, knowing better.

“Safe journey, Simon.”

Simon paused, one foot through the doorway. He tugged on the sagging bundle, then sallied forth with newfound courage,

“And you, Coris.”