The shadow of the sundial had crept over the fifth hour, inching its way towards midday. Lady Jaise, whom Meya had trusted with Healer Hasif's eye, had just rejoined the congregation at the Great Hall, accompanied by Gillian, Ahmundi and Dizadh. She nodded vigorously, sending the beaded curtains of jet on her circlet dancing, as Baron Hadrian relayed Lady Hyacinth's ultimatum to her. Hasif's eye remained clutched in her painted hand, half forgotten.

"We found more eyes than surviving victims. It will take time to match them all. And a few may not find any match."

Winterwen concluded gravely as she rested the lone dragon eye on the dining table with a soft sigh. She met eyes with Baron Hadrian again, then gazed sorrowfully upon the rows of unconscious Greeneyes,

"You need only deliver these poor souls to Jaise. My curators and I will take care of the rest."

Gillian nodded. His glowing eyes surveyed the room; counting, calculating,

"I have fifteen dragons. They can each carry two." He suggested.

"My three Greeneye guards can probably carry one each. And Tissa and Dorsea, if they are up to the task. Then we take the rest in our carriages." Baron Hadrian concluded. Winterwen nodded, yet worry still weighed heavy on her eyebrows.

"We'd still need a few days to prepare. And supplies aplenty." She reminded him. Kellis rubbed his chin as he frowned in dismay.

"Amoriah accepts food or seed in payment." He recalled. Heaving a deep sigh, he shook his head as his frown deepened, "Hadrian needs every morsel of food we can salvage at the moment. And we certainly will not pay with our men."

"Neither will Jaise." Winterwen heaved another sigh. Lips pursed in determination, she turned to Baron Hadrian with an offer, "I can promise her a share of Jaise's harvest, but do your best to haggle, regardless."

Kellis's expression lightened at that, relieved and thankful.

"Very well. Hadrian will compensate you in gold."

"No need for that. This sin is ours to atone." Winterwen waved her hand, adamant.

"I insist."

As the two rulers continued to argue the terms of payment, Ahmundi caught Gillian's eye. The dragon-man nodded, so Ahmundi silently excused himself and his father from the discussion, tiptoeing over to where Baroness Hadrian stood keeping watch with the children.

Ahmundi bowed to Baroness Sylvia, smiled at Frenix and Atmund, then met eyes with his old friend Coris. Out of the folds of his toga, he produced three stoppered vials, each labeled, each containing a glowing dragon eye.

"We found your friends' eyes." He handed them to Coris, watching as the scarred Lady Agnesia lunged for the vial bearing her twin sister's name, then dipped his head apologetically, "But only one each. Lady Jaise said they can take a second eye from the library later. She has some spares no one will miss."

He whispered. Coris nodded along as he studied the remaining two vials, then handed them to Meya. He answered her hesitant gaze with a jerk of his chin, and Meya dashed off, headed to the Hadrians' quarters to return them to their owners. Christopher, ever vigilant, caught the girl's arm and assumed the lead. Meya was forced to slow down to match his gait, much to Coris's relief and her chagrin.

Despite her frenzied scramble for her sister's eye earlier, Agnes didn't follow. She stood rooted, the vial pressed flush to her chest, as her eyes stared unseeing into the distance.

After the ordeal Coris had suffered with his brother, Agnes's dilemma felt as if it were his own. And how could he judge her letting her demented dragon sister slumber for a while longer, when he once chose poison over apologizing to his ten-year-old baby brother?

Coris rested a consoling hand on her shoulder, then turned back to Lord Hyacinth.

"We owe you, Ahmundi."

Ahmundi grinned, his eyes twinkling and his cheeks blushing behind his cloudy spectacles.

"I don't keep tabs for doing what's right." He shrugged. Coris glanced at Dizadh, who bowed his head as if to echo his son's sentiment. He closed his eyes and reciprocated with a deep nod of gratitude.

"So, what next for you two? " Frenix blurted out, looking worried for once. Ahmundi shared a look with Dizadh, his smile tinged with just as much relief as pain.

"Father's leaving for Jaise to work in the Library of Eyes. I'm staying. Amara needs me."

His lowered voice disappeared into his throat. Coris's eyes widened. He hadn't expected such courage from his friend, whom he'd always taken as a timid and passive character.

His eyes strayed to Zier, who was tending to a patient with Arinel a little way away. He found his little brother already watching him with narrowed eyes, suspicious. But, for once, Coris had nothing to hide, so he simply smiled as he returned to his conversation with the anguished Lord Hyacinth.

"Be sure not to lose hope." He peered deep into the blue-black of Ahmundi's eyes, sharing words he himself had come to believe, thanks to a certain little girl who was too stubborn for surrender, "If ever you find yourself in need, Hadrian's gates will always open for you. It's the least we can do for such fast friends of Greeneyes."

He left off with a smile and a tilt of his head. Unaccustomed to Coris's brand of blunt praise, Ahmundi scratched his reddening cheek, chuckling awkwardly,

"Or you could have Meya give me a scenic ride over the Blue Mountains." He added with a toothy grin, then backpedaled for dear life at the sight of Coris's bared, yellowed fangs and gleaming sword, "Easy, old friend. I'm joking!"

The Baroness and Frenix guffawed as Coris's once pale cheeks blushed the shade of Hadrian Red. Behind them, Zier blew a soft sigh of relief,

"Somehow it hasn't occurred to my brother we could just deliver Jerald to Amoriah, and all our troubles would be over." He grumbled, then added sarcastically, "Thank Freda."

Arinel rolled her eyes. With all that was going on, Zier hadn't had a chance to confront Coris about what he'd overheard his brother confessing to Meya; the little talk he had with Arinel at the valley's mouth.

"It definitely has, Zier, but he's changed. He wouldn't do such a thing." Arinel shook her head wearily. Zier spun around and glowered at her,

"He egged you to experiment on yourself!" He hissed, incredulous.

"And for whose sake was that, I wonder?" Arinel retorted, eyebrows raised. Zier mouthed like a fish gasping for breath, having no comeback to that.

Arinel huffed out a loud sigh, then allowed her eyes to stray back to the doors. After Lady Hyacinth stormed out, Jerald, too, swept down the hallway with his hood over his head, ignoring her whispered call demanding to know where in the three lands he was headed, leaving Arinel to enter the Great Hall on her own. Knowing Jerald, he could very well be preparing to surrender himself to Lady Hyacinth as they speak.

Arinel jolted at the weight of Zier's hand on her shoulder. She turned and caught his waiting eye. He motioned at the doors, his face solemn.

"Go. I'll hold the fort."

Arinel melted into a grateful smile. She kissed his cheek in thanks as she rose, then hurried on her way, armed only with a vague inkling of where the long lost heir might be.

Arinel asked her way around until she found the men's quarters. Her guess was right. She found Jerald inside the room, kneeling beside his mattress. He was tamping air out of the few sets of clothes he'd laid atop a blanket, making way for the assortment of food laid out in rows around him.

He glanced sideways as Arinel drew near, then continued as if he hadn't sensed her presence. His hands trembled as he fumbled blindly for the pile of dried dates; if he turned, he'd have no choice but to greet her.

Sighing at his stubbornness, Arinel sank to her knees by his side and gathered up the rolling, scattered fruits.

"I suppose you're my Lord Uncle now?" She tilted her head with a beaming smile. The lines on Jerald's face pulled tauter at her attempt at a joke. Her smile sagged.

"Jerald is fine, my lady." He said brusquely. Arinel shook her head,

"But I'm no longer your lady. I never am, in fact."

Silence fell. Jerald pursed his lips. He knew she was right. Arinel leaned closer and took his rough, lined hand. Not as weathered and hardened as a knight's, yet no longer gentle and warm as a monk's, nor delicate and whole as a noble's.

Throughout his life, he'd been shunted from place to place, whenever Father had a need for him, then left to his devices when he hadn't. From the castle, to the church, back to the castle, to the road, then back to the castle once more. A lonely, meandering river of ice that never finds warmth, or the sea.

Arinel closed her other hand over his, squeezing warmth into it.

"I'm your cousin. We're family." She whispered, then bowed her head in shame, "I'm so sorry for everything I did. Everything Father did. To Mother. To your mother. To you." His hand remained limp in her grasp. She shook it in frustration, tears in her cracking voice now,

"You owe him nothing. You don't have to return. Just come away with us. The Hadrians will give us Zier. The Crosset line will survive."

"Yes, my lady, I must." Jerald burst out at last, his voice harsh and final. His hand clenched into a fist, he faced her for the first time, his bright blue eyes blazing, "I can't force you to marry for Crosset's sake while I still live. I can't bear it."

"But I'm willing, Sir Bayne! I love Zier!" Arinel cried.

"The boy is sixteen, my lady! And so far he hasn't given anyone reason to believe he can protect you. Your father may not care, but I do!"

Jerald let loose a tirade. Arinel bit her lips, eyes wide in defiance as much as fear. For she knew, deep down, he spoke nothing but the truth. Ashamed by his outburst, Jerald averted his eyes with a sigh,

"It's for the best, my lady." He closed his eyes, his head hung in surrender,

"If I take the seat, Crosset's future is secured. You'll be free to live the life your heart desires, the life you deserve. Little Meya no longer has to live in fear. Hadrian will have an ally in Crosset for the Greeneye cause. And if a woman would be saved from the fate of your mother and mine, I guess it's the least I can do."

"But will you be happy?" Arinel pleaded, "You've never wanted to rule."

Jerald unfurled a small, bitter smile. The light had left his eyes as he stared unseeing at the ray of afternoon sunshine.

"What difference does it make when a man has so little left, my lady?" He whispered, shaking his head as he counted, "My mother is dead. My Erina is dead. My father is dead. My uncle will soon follow."

Arinel's tears fell free as her heart mourned with him. Jerald raised a shaking, dithering hand, then cradled her cheek for the first time. His lifeless eyes roamed her face, taking in every detail, as if to freeze this moment in time in his memories.

"You're the last blessing Freda has given me, that Fyr hasn't taken." He forced out a smile, his eyes never leaving hers as he shook his head,

"I couldn't save Erina. I've always failed to protect you. This is my last chance. Let me at least try. The day you are wed, I will have lost my last. Nothing left to lose. Nothing left to be taken—"

"—Nothing left to live for, you mean!" Arinel choked out, her throat scalded by boiling tears. Jerald released her as if burned and turned back to his traveling bundle, but Arinel persisted, "You're being ridiculous! You'll still have me after I married. And Grandmother. And Agnes. And Meya. And Atmund. And the rest of us. Or are we not enough to count as blessings?"

His eyes closed, Jerald shook his head slowly with a twisted smile as if to chide her. As if he knew better that her words were naive lies. As Arinel knelt there, panting, seething with helplessness in the suffocating silence, he reached into his collar and drew out a locket carved of jet on a silver chain. He flipped the lid open. Its hollow was filled with woven hair of warm, gleaming gold. The same gold of Arinel's own hair.

"Your mother cut me a lock of her hair, the day she became Lord Uncle's mistress." Jerald whispered. He gazed longingly at the keepsake, caressing it with his thumb, then handed it to Arinel with trembling hands,

"Now that we are to part, it's only fitting that you take it, but you must promise you'll become the beautiful woman your mother had been. You'll marry well to a worthy man, leave Crosset for a worthy place. And never look back."

Arinel closed the locket so her falling tears wouldn't tarnish what was left of her mother. She pressed it to her heart as she shook her head.

"I can't just leave you behind all alone." She sobbed.

"Then perhaps you'll leave me a lock of your hair to remember you by." He suggested softly. Arinel could almost see his sad smile through his voice.

"It's hardly going to be enough, is it?"

Jerald paused as if lost for words. When Arinel pried her swollen eyelids open, he smiled at her even as his eyes were crying.

"It will be." He said, his voice barely a whisper.

Even as Arinel glared back in protest, Jerald chuckled then resumed packing halfheartedly. Arinel was left to hang her head in despair.

She couldn't stand him whittling away at everything that gave his life meaning to please Father. Not again. Not any longer. But she didn't have Meya's brazenness to roil him into action. Nor did she have Coris' eloquence and logic to persuade him to see sense.

She'd traveled the same road, but she had people like Grandmother, like Zier and Meya to pull her to shore while she was still young, before she'd fallen as deep as he did. Perhaps that might have been what Jerald needed, what she did have. Perhaps Arinel could be that friend for him. If it weren't already too late.

Arinel drew in a deep breath and mustered her courage once more. She raised her face, glaring at the defeated, downcast man before her. She shook her head slowly, her voice trembling with exasperation,

"I'm not blind, Sir Bayne. I'm far from your last blessing. Freda is gracious. She keeps on giving, you just never took it! Seventeen years! How many women have you rejected? How many you haven't thought to pursue?"

Jerald closed his eyes and turned away, his lips pursed into a line on his impassive face, unable to lie to his little lady. Arinel huffed in frustration, begging for him to understand,

"You've been more a father to me than my real father ever was. I'm a woman now. I'm safe, and happy, and free. You've more than honored your promise to Mother. She loved you. She wouldn't want to see you bound to her for the rest of your life. She'd want you to be happy, and free."

Jerald whipped around, eyes wide in terror at the mere thought of betraying his beloved Erina, of allowing himself to be happy. Yet Arinel believed—knew Mother was a kind, loving woman. It would tarnish her memory if Jerald insisted on torturing himself, because he believed Mother would want him to stay devoted to her, even after death did them part.

Jerald deserved to live, truly live. And especially now that he was to become Lord Crosset, he needed a loving wife to give him respite, children of his own to give him purpose, hope for the future.

Jerald stared in bewilderment as Arinel reached for his flank. She tugged his knife out of its sheathe, held it to a sheaf of hair she'd pulled taut in her free hand. The blade cut clean through. Her severed hair curled back to tight tresses in a blink.

She held it out to Jerald, but when he reached out for it, she clenched her fist over it. He met her eyes, puzzled and heartbroken. Arinel willed herself to stay firm as she pored deep into his same Crosset eyes.

"I'll give you this, if you promise to accept Freda's blessing this time around. Find love. A family. Happiness. Live for yourself, for once."

The dull gleams in Jerald's wide eyes wavered as he battled to let go of his guilt. Arinel waited, patient, believing. At last, he managed a smile and nodded, his eyes twinkling with life for the first time since Arinel remembered.

"I will," He vowed, his voice heavy with conviction, as he patted her head the way a loving uncle would, "Arinel."