(Six years earlier)

Never had darkness been more welcome. For hours fire, not dawn, painted the sky glowing red, using Hadrian Castle’s mighty keep as its easel, but they had doused the last tongue of flame. All that remained were blackened stone and snow of ash.

Baron Hadrian staggered down the alley between lines of cheering men, nodding his thanks at their faces swarthy with soot and sweat. The ropes of the pulleys, once pulled taut and laden with swinging buckets of water, lay abandoned on the sodden, trampled grass of the courtyard.

Kellis threaded his way towards the marquee that housed the injured. Healers and housewives bustled in and out the flap-door. He ducked inside and spotted his wife Sylvia sitting in the furthermost corner. She spun around at his approach, then her pale, marblelike face cracked into a sob,

“Kellis!” She launched herself into his arms. Kellis pressed her to his heart.

“Thank Freda.” He breathed the perfume of her hair to cleanse his nostrils of the smell of burning, then his gaze fell upon the two boys asleep behind her, “How are they?”

Sylvia peeled off and slumped beside the mattress, smoothing Zier’s hair. The boy fell asleep with his nose inches away from his big brother’s pudgy cheek, their fingertips just about touching.

“Zee never left his side. I had to put Lexi to sleep; he kept bolting up to go find the other Graye girl.” Sylvia whispered as she fingered the vial of laudanum at Coris’s bedhead guiltily. Kellis’s attention was drawn to the young girl on the mattress next to his sons.

The bridge of her nose, once high, had sunken to level terrain. The fire must have burned away whatever disguise she had molded atop it. Her shoulders were bare. So was her head. Her left wrist peeked out from the blanket. A sliver of purple-black marred her fair skin. He flicked the cloth back, revealing three deep, gaping gashes scored into her forearm, with swollen lips of purplish rot. So, this was the cause of the fire.

Sylvia rose to her feet beside him.

“I asked everyone I came upon. Not a glimpse of Agnes nor Klythe.” She whispered, sharp and collected as ever. However, when Kellis turned and met her eyes, she betrayed a shiver,

“What do we do now? What do we tell Crosset and Graye?”

Kellis turned back to Persephia, hesitant. He couldn’t answer. There were still too many mysteries, gaping holes to be filled with logic and evidence. Facing his wife, he grasped her frozen hands in his,

“Do not let her escape your sight. I must be the first to question her once she awakens.” He hissed, then his voice softened as he pressed his lips to her forehead, “I won’t be long.”

He tore himself from her soft arms and left the tent, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. No one called out to him or stepped in his path as he entered the double doors of the evacuated Keep and scaled the empty stairs to the third floor. However, when he made to cross the threshold into the Graye sisters’ quarters, an arm barricaded his way.

“Milord!”

Kellis reared back in surprise. He whipped around and found the weary face of old Hamlin, eldest of the Blood Druids. In his other hand he held a lamp aloft. His seemingly black eyes glinted emerald in its light.

“You cannae enter, milord; dunno the floor would hold or not.”

Hamlin nodded towards the room’s interior. The fire had melted brocades into the wall in some places, eaten through then cracked the lime in others, and churned the naked flagstones like butter. Kellis reluctantly accepted defeat, sighing,

“What have you gleaned so far?”

Hamlin handed him a broken, twisted curl of iridescent metal; Persephia’s bracelet. He pointed at the open door, which had a hole Kellis could probably slot his head through, then reached inside and tapped at the stretch of stone wall nearby. A mixture of paint, lime and stone flowed to the floor, frozen like cooled lava. Reddish-gray dollops led away from the pool and out through the doorway, then vanished.

“Lattis. Door blasted through. Molten stone. I’d wager a blast of dragonfire from ’round there what did it.” Hamlin gestured vaguely towards the gaping window, then stooped down with a sigh and jabbed a knobby finger at the final drop of molten stone,

“Footsteps end here. Rest must’ve been trampled away in the stampede.”

“No stench of burnt flesh,” Kellis muttered, having taken a whiff of the lingering air, “They escaped.”

One hand on his kneecap, the other on the crooked doorframe, Hamlin pushed himself upright, whispering,

“Your command, milord?”

The same question as Sylvia. Now, Kellis must answer, based on whatever meagre scraps he had salvaged.

“This fire is a tragic accident,” He began, his voice cold, as he answered Hamlin’s gaze, “We tell Graye and Crosset we missed Lady Agnesia and Sir Klythe in the chaos. We’ll spare men to search for them as soon as we are able, and Lady Persephia will be given safe passage home.”

“But, milord, she’s taken her true form.” Hamlin argued, desperate. Kellis closed his eyes and nodded heavily.

“We have no choice,” He admitted. “We cannot let her stay, and we cannot let them suspect we are any the wiser.”

“It would be near impossible to silence her in Graye Castle.” Hamlin reminded him. Kellis caressed his beard for a long moment,

“It’s been a year. How is the Greeneye in Crosset?”

“Not a glimmer of recognition, milord.”

“Very well. We’ll feed Persephia the potion before we send her home. I’ll have Baron Graye know he sent a Greeneye into our midst, and her misfortune brought about this fire that could’ve killed my sons. Hopefully, he’d rush her off to the nunnery, keep his Greeneye lineage secret. We may be able to seize her back before her memory returns.”

Hamlin nodded, finally satisfied. Kellis leaned close and spoke to his ear,

“We’ll give her a new face and a new name, a new life as my ward. If she shows signs of remembrance, question her, then feed her the potion again. Divide all the eyes we can spare between Graye and Crosset. If Agnesia or Klythe ever surface, seize them as well.”

“For peace.” Hamlin accepted, bowing slightly. Again, Kellis saw the lights reflecting in his eyes, bounding back as if from a void.

How long had the old Greeneye been forced to undermine his own kind, time and time again? How much longer must he? And would his betrayal ever find purpose?

Kellis dipped his head, shame burning on his cheeks, hot as dragonfire itself,

“For peace.”

The send-off party had gathered in Baron Hadrian’s quarters. The silk scroll bearing the King’s summons and seal lay unfurled for all to see on his handsome wooden desk. Yet, all eyes were on the Baron and the resurrected Lady Graye. They glared at one another over the scroll, Kellis in his high-backed chair with his hands steepled on the desk, Persephia standing in chains before him, held at swordpoint by Vyrgil and his Greeneye comrade.

Agnes would’ve squeezed herself in between and shielded her sister, but the third Greeneye guard held her by the arm.

“Perhaps it would’ve been wise to leave you in that brothel. Or that fire.”

Kellis’s voice was soft and calm, but Agnes had never seen such pure fury in his blue eyes. After all he’d risked to save Persephia, she’d betrayed The Axel’s secret to Father. No doubt he’d gone straight to the King, for he was promised the Prince’s hand for Lady Graye.

Persephia’s hand trembled. She clenched it into a fist.

“Why didn’t you?” She smiled faintly.

“My duty is to protect dragons. Unless sparing one harms others.”

“Not if one is crowned queen.”

“Not if that queen is under the thrall of Grimthel Graye.”

“His hand is unproven. Unlike yours!” Persephia finally exploded. The tip of Vyrgil’s blade dug into her neck as she strained forth, sneering, “Two hundred years you’ve taken your sweet time. What have you done for my kind?”

“Do not exploit your kind for my pity just as you’ve sold them for your father’s.”

The Baron hissed, his lips barely moving. Persephia staggered back, shivering. Agnes could only stand there, powerless. Of all the faces surrounding them, few showed compassion. Meya bit her lip, then strode forward.

“Milord, does the King know she’s a Greeneye? He might not want her for the Prince, anyway.”

“She’s still compromised and unpredictable,” said Kellis tonelessly.

“So what? You’d kill an innocent girl who’s just doing her father’s bidding?” Meya cried.

“Meya!” Coris called scoldingly.

“Is it not within my right to execute a spy who has threatened my sons and those I am sworn to protect, Meya Hild?” Kellis raised his eyebrows. Seething, Meya turned to Baroness Sylvia. She closed her eyes and held her nose high. Christopher avoided her gaze and shook his head. Arinel turned to Zier for hope.

“You’re all fine with this?” Meya rounded on the silent dragons. “You said you wouldn’t take even one Greeneye life lost!”

She shook her finger at Gillian’s nose. He turned away, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. The evil of Laslarein Hasif and her cult have shaken his creed.

“We just keep wiping her memories. Bring back Heloise. There’s no need to kill her!” Zier argued. Beside him, Arinel nodded fervently.

“I’d rather die.” Persephia snarled. Zier threw his head back and swore at the Heights.

“She fooled us once, Zier. What if she fools us again? What if she returns to her father with all the secrets she’s learned?” said Baroness Sylvia sharply.

“We lost this one, Father. You know it. Graye knows it.” Coris broke his silence. He glanced at Persephia, his eyes cold with contempt. “Lay one finger on her, and we’ll have the King to answer to. Whether she becomes the princess consort is irrelevant. Latakia is questioning where our loyalties lie.”

Leave it to Coris to turn it into a game of Heist. As father and son locked eyes, Agnes held her breath so as not to blow away the faint glimmer of hope.

“And what do you suggest we do?” asked the Baron. Coris glanced at the mocking, defiant Persephia, then Agnes with her pleading look, then Meya, who pointedly ignored him. Logic clashed with emotions in his tempest gray—rage, pity, love—one for each of the girls. He sighed and bowed his head.

“We spare her, then head for the capital. We can’t restore Everglen on our own. We need the King’s support. She’s simply hastened the inevitable.”

Although Coris wasn’t one of the triumvirate, his father held his counsel in high regard. Baron Kellis caressed the groove in his chin, then turned to Gillian,

“And you, dragons?”

Gillian eyed each of his subordinates, communicating wordlessly, then scrutinized the three Greeneye guards.

“The Blood Druids failed to silence her.” He said. “You can spare the traitor on one condition—She is handed over to us.”

“Blood Druids?” Meya gawked at Vyrgil and his friends. Baron Kellis nodded.

“The dragons have had secret keepers since they landed on the Easthaven shores. Some dragons wished to reveal their true form and drive humans from Latakia, and must be silenced.” He explained,

“So a handful of dragons dedicated to peace wandered the duchies in human form, as soothsayers from lands afar, serving a nameless faith. Their rituals ward off Greeneye misfortune. Their potions cure tortured souls of Chione’s visions. After the Mining Ban, Uriel IV gathered their Greeneye successors and named their faith—the Order of the Blood Druids.”

“The secret Hadrian unit!” Coris breathed, then shot Meya an insinuating look, “Whenever a Greeneye transforms, they erase all memory of dragon activity with their blood and Lattis—our memories!”

Meya’s glowing eyes widened.

“But then—you must’ve known who I am from the start!” She whirled around to Baron Kellis, grasping the tabletop, “They must’ve told you I was going to Hadrian!”

“Freda must’ve intervened.” Baron Kellis cocked his head. “Around late March, I sent the Druids monitoring you after Klythe—he’d surfaced in Easthaven. Since you’ve shown no signs of remembrance for seven years, I reckoned I could take eyes off you for a while.”

“You do not take your eyes off Meya Hild. You simply don’t,” muttered Arinel. Meya bared her fangs at her Lady.

“Anyway, they must’ve read me memories of that night, dun they?” She leaned across the desk, her voice breaking, “I want them back. ’Tisn’t the same just having them told to me. They’re part of me soul. I’m sure that’s—” She glanced quickly at Persephia, “—that’s all she wanted, too.”

Meya answered Persephia’s blinking eyes, lingering this time. She turned back to Baron Hadrian, panting.

“If you’d just told her the truth that day, milord—gave her a choice before you called in the druids—she might’ve chosen you.” Her trembling voice stilled. “Just as I chose your son.”

Meya turned to the disbelieving Coris, but before he could utter a word, she straightened with a deep breath and returned to his father,

“As third of the triumvirate, I vote to spare her.”

Baron Hadrian locked eyes with the Greeneye, the dragon, then cast his vote,

“Then it is decided.”