(A few hours earlier)

One night and day had passed since the party arrived at the Dragon's Crossing. Meya had just returned with the Hadrians from a morn-til-dusk butter-and-slobber fest with nobles and merchants from across the land, when a towering man with glowing green eyes burst into their sitting room.

Most of the room's occupants gawked and blinked, frozen halfway through mundane tasks. Baron Hadrian was prepared. He nodded at the Baroness. She sprang to her feet from where she was sprawled on her couch by the fireplace, banishing people left and right with her jabbing finger. Meanwhile, the Baron welcomed Gillian into the room and joined him around the hilariously petite tea-table.

Gillian seemed lonesome without the usual two dozen dragons flanking him. Dockar, Vitrius and Torbald had departed for Amplevale to investigate the drought, of course. Then, three more left for Jaise with Lady Winterwen to assist her with the eyeless. Two followed to guide Old Angus to Aynor. Three secretly remained in Hyacinth to monitor the remnants of Lasralein's cult. Five headed for the Blue Mountains to gather green vitriol for Zier's surgery. If Freda favored them, they'd also find the Greeneyes trapped in the mines, and lay their crumbling bones to rest.

That left four to keep watch over Zier and Persephia, their prize and prisoner, and Gillian himself to negotiate safe passage to Everglen.

As Persephia and Agnes left the room, so did the two dragons flanking them and two of the Blood Druids. Zier stayed, so did his two dragon wardens. Meya was surprised she, Bishop Riddell and Vyrgil were spared the finger, when even Sir Jarl, Lady Arinel and Lord Frenix (after much whining and foot-stomping) were dismissed. Even as the Baroness should've known Zier would share everything with his sweetheart afterwards.

Once the door had snapped shut and the Baroness had settled down, the Baron took his seat and Gillian followed suit. The remainder coagulated around them.

"No word from your dragons?"

Gillian stared deep into Kellis's unflinching blue eyes.

"And none from your humans." He stated. The Baron sighed. Coris clenched his jittery hands into fists.

"Hasn't been a fortnight since they set out. Even you can't possibly find anything," said Christopher tensely. Coris rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder, then glanced out the window at the sun setting on the glittering cobblestones of Aynor, worry weighing on his eyebrows.

"The Council will convene in secret tomorrow night after the feast," he turned to Gillian, then his father, "Perhaps we should discuss our course of action in the worst case scenario?"

The Baron stroked his golden beard, then raised his eyes to meet Gillian's.

"Do tell us exactly what Persephia wrote to her father."

"The Axel is key to a weapon that will allow dragons to invade Latakia and reclaim Everglen. I shall deliver it to you where the Sands begin and Jaise ends," recited Gillian, word for word from Persephia's memories, no doubt. Probably taken without her or Agnes's knowledge, too. Meya bit her lip in dismay.

"When she didn't show, he brought the matter straight to the King," the Baron concluded, his voice so cold, Meya couldn't help but try to defend the absent Lady Graye,

"She didn't mention Zier or Lattis, at least. That's good, right?" She cast her eyes across the congregation, but received no support. Even Coris shook his head.

"Without mentioning Lattis, there leaves only one motive for Hadrian." The furrow between his brows deepened as their eyes met, "We're traitors conspiring with Nostra to take over Latakia."

Ice-cold tendrils slithered down Meya's spine. Coris sighed softly,

"We must prove to the King that our loyalty is to the crown, and an alliance with dragons is our best chance to solve the resources crisis."

Meya chewed on her fingernail as she pondered.

"Maybe we won't need that much. King Edward agreed to help Maxus for nothing in return, didn't he? Or, well, anything to lure dragons away from Nostra, I reckon." She added as an afterthought, then leaned in earnestly, "What's King Alden like? You've met him, haven't you?"

Meya looked to Coris, eyes aglow with hope. To her surprise, Coris averted his eyes. Gawking, she rasped,

"You haven't?"

Coris's pale lips unraveled into a wry, knowing smile.

"Unsettling, isn't it?"

Meya plonked herself down on a cushion, grumbling dejectedly,

"Yeah, that there are people even further up the mountain than you Hadrian folk."

"While I will advise against writing Alden off as an idealist with no grasp of intrigue, the Queen is more of a threat," said Baron Hadrian, one of possibly two souls in this room who had had an audience with the King. "We don't know the reach of her influence on the King, nor the strength of her ties to Hythe so well."

"Selane still hasn't forgiven me," said Baroness Sylvia with a mischievous grin as she met her husband's glance. "She's sure Alden would have picked her if I'd divorced you then."

"He still would've picked Zephyr if she were Lady Hadrian, is what I heard," the Baron smiled back. Sylvia shook her head as she fell heavily against her chair.

"I can only pray Selane is right, then."

"The Queen was once Lady Fratengarde. Daughter of the Duke of Hythe and niece of Marquess Fratengarde." Coris explained, calling Meya's glassy eyes rotating between his bantering parents to him. "Lady Selane is my youngest aunt. She's Lady Clardarth now."

Gillian's narrowed eyes slid to Coris, rapt with attention. Coris caught it out of the corner of his eye. He showed no signs he'd noticed, but continued on the guise of lecturing Meya on Latakian politics.

"In terms of military significance, Hadrian beats out Hythe as guardian of the Zarel Pass, but Father supported the Wynns before Devind's fall. Naturally, the King chose Lady Zephyr for his queen. And he still doesn't trust Hadrian. I even suspect he gave us Crosset's former vassals to spread us thin. Draw our troops away from Amplevale. Hoping we'd fail." He trailed away, his eyes peering into the distance.

"But if he only chose her for politics, it'd be easier to swing him to our side?" said Meya, catching on at last. Coris nodded. At that, Meya's eyes wandered, flitting through memories.

"Marquess Fratengarde said he's with Hadrian on keeping the Ban, but he didn't know what Queen Zephyr thinks." She began slowly, glancing towards the three Hadrians who bore witness to the exchange—who all nodded—then back to Coris, "So, you think she wants to lift the Ban, too?"

"We have no clue, but we'll assume that to be the case. Just so we're prepared." Coris shrugged, shaking his head.

"So Hythe stands to gain if the Ban is lifted?" said Gillian shrewdly.

"It clears the path for them to resurrect their old salt mines. And explore Neverend Heights for new ore veins," the Baron explained.

"The Marquess just didn't agree with stopping the Everglen ships right away," Zier added. "He wasn't the one on the Council, either."

"Pardon me. Who else is on the Council?" Meya raised her hand on behalf of her fellow dragons. Coris strode up to the tea-table, produced his trusty travel-sized map of Latakia and smoothed it on the painted wood.

"There's the King representing Aynor, of course." His long, pale finger stabbed at the flower at the heart of the hexagon, then sliced towards each corner, "Then the dukes representing each of the duchies. Then, we have Baron Hadrian and Baron Graye, representing the manors defending the Zarel Pass and the Galwerth Pass in the southwest."

His finger skidded to a halt at the strip of land wedged between the tail of Neverend Heights and the southern sea, then he braced his hands on the table, leaning forward as his eyes flitted between Meya and Gillian.

"Aquar, Damerel and Easthaven cling desperately to the Ban. They've built their economies on the Everglen ore trade and sea salt. If mining is allowed again, both would become redundant. Hythe, Icemeet and Graye have long fought to abolish the Ban. Their mountains are rich with ore and salt they're raring to mine. And Aynor has always been a proponent of the Ban, of course—Until King Alden."

Coris sighed, then cocked his head at Christopher,

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"Fortunately, Meriton has always followed Hadrian's lead on the Ban, so we could retain our majority. And I believe Duke Merilith would still trust Hadrian to defend the west."

Coris turned to face his best friend, silvery eyes ablaze with honest determination. Christopher nodded, his face solemn, but was that a flash of guilt Meya spied in those sharp brown eyes? But how could Christopher ever betray Hadrian? How could he doubt Hadrian's intentions, after all he'd fought alongside them this far?

Meya kept the Meriton heir within the corner of her eye as she returned to negotiations with Coris,

"'Tis five over four. Teetering on the brink, if you ask me." She lowered her counting fingers. "Should swing one more over to be safe."

"We might soon need more than one, I'm afraid." Coris heaved another sigh. Meya raised her eyebrows. "The prospect of dragons crossing into Latakia might unite the duchies in fear. They'd want to arm themselves to the teeth with Lattis, which means lifting the Ban."

"And how will they know to arm themselves with Lattis?" Gillian growled, rising suddenly and slamming his now-clawlike hands on the table. Meya guessed she would have jumped, if his roar didn't echo the cry in her head. The Hadrians didn't flinch. Had they discussed this beforehand? Were they prepared for this?

Meya's hands balled into fists atop her knees. This again. Coris was putting humans above Greeneyes. Again.

"We may not have the choice, Gillian, but to reveal your one weakness," said the Baron, a note of frustration in his voice as if they were being deliberately obstinate.

"The drought was our one card to play. Without the threat of Nostra, even the knowledge that dragons can be defeated may still not be enough for the Council to grant you safe passage. Even on land."

"Land?" cried one of the dragons guarding Zier, looking incredulous. Gillian mirrored him. "We walk through Latakia? As humans?"

"After all the lands you've burned, you can't in all seriousness expect to fly over us?"

Christopher cocked a mocking eyebrow. The dragon seethed, sounding as if flames were clawing behind his gnashing teeth. His eyes never leaving Gillian but for a glance at Meya, Coris flourished a hand at his friend,

"Living proof."

"So, if it is enough, how long would it take them to exploit it as the Nostrans did?" Gillian hissed.

"—Or Rutgarth. Isn't that the reason this entire Ban was put down in the first place?" Meya chimed in. Coris whipped around, pale with trepidation. But did he expect Meya to somehow agree to this? Easy for him to decide—he didn't still carry a hideous scar seven years on from when his arm nearly rotted off. She sprang to her feet, burning fingers strangling the old sunken wound on her arm.

"You don't know how it feels, Coris. Acid speeding up your veins? Your very flesh rotting black as you watch helpless? You can't bet on this. Not when every stinking town we've been through sold us hide, blood and bone for even a copper or two!"

"And for five hundred years dragons have razed kingdoms to ashes! Have you forgotten?" Coris retorted. Meya gritted her teeth, unable to deny, but there was no triumphant glint in his eyes as he hammered his point home, "We both have plenty right to distrust one another. Only the promise of mutual destruction is strong enough to bind our alliance."

"Would you rather be gored by bears and hogs, or be raped, robbed or killed in a back alley?"

"If you betray me, I'll tell everyone where The Axel is, putting Lord Zier in grave danger?"

Their voices rang in her ears. He'd threatened her with ruin, reeled her in with praise and power and riches—and she ultimately rejected his offer. Only once he succumbed at the prospect of her leaving forever, and revealed his true motive—love—did she decide to stay. And the same went for him.

No. Some cannot be bought with fear. Some cannot be explained by coldhearted logic. Some cannot be predicted nor calculated.

Tears burned the rims of her eyes. Meya shook her head as she swallowed them, her breathing ragged from the effort. She mustered her courage and faced his cold, dead eyes.

" 'Tis not. We both forgot." Her lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "A contract of mutual destruction? That's what binds us still, Coris? Where in the Lake is it now, then? What of Old Angus and his wife? Maxus and Axel? Caecil and Seona?"

"Not all dragons are you, Meya." Coris turned sharply away, his eyes shut tight as if his resolve would crumble.

"Well, we can't just live forever like this, either! How long can you live with fear before you just up and slaughter the beast for good?" Meya retorted.

"Fear is not your worst enemy, Meya Hild," a calm voice interrupted. Meya spun around to find bright blue eyes haunted with the ghost of times forgotten, "It was greed that destroyed Everglen. Human and dragon both."

The children stared as one at Baron Hadrian, tense with anticipation for the forbidden tale long sealed away. Kellis turned to his eldest son, his gaze solemn.

"You were named after the man who sparked the war between the races."

"Corien?" Coris whispered, hoarse with disbelief. Gillian narrowed his eyes.

"You were the birth of all our deaths." He hissed through gritted teeth. Coris frowned, as confused as he was scared. He looked to his father, who nodded,

"You resemble him, Coris. Such that it is uncanny." Coris shared a look with Zier, thoroughly spooked, "Not just in spirit, but also appearance—so I've seen in memories passed down through the generations."

The Baron leaned against his chair, looking far tireder than his age. He was soon to begin his tale, so Meya and the Hadrian boys settled down in wait.

"Corien Hadrian was but a little boy, when he found an egg at the foot of the volcano that divided the humans and dragons of Everglen. He brought it home, and it hatched a baby dragon. A female. She couldn't speak, but through her eyes she talked."

"Corien hid her in a cave. For a decade, he'd sneak away to her, teach her the language and ways of humans. A wiser man would have turned the beast free, but he was lonesome for a friend and knew no better."

"One day, he arrived to find the dragon gone, in its place a beautiful human girl with glowing green eyes. She revealed dragons can shapeshift into humans. A gift likely granted by nature to counter the threat of humans. However, the dragon was so grateful that he'd given her a chance at life, so saddened by his loneliness, that she wished to become better company for him. For her name, she chose Meira, bringer of light."

The Baron's eyes found Meya's and lingered awhile, then moved on,

"Predictably, as years passed, their friendship became desire, and Meira fell pregnant. She was more human than dragon by this point, so the two decided she'd have to join human society."

"Corien brought Meira to his family home. Soon, his cousin Drinian discovered her true nature and her weakness to Lattis. He betrayed the secret to their king. Corien died protecting Meira from assassins as she gave birth. And Meira died before she saw her seven Greeneye children taken from her."

Meya trembled as she clutched at her belly. Coris rushed to her side and held her, while Zier mumbled shamefacedly,

"So that's our atonement."

The next part of the tale was, unfortunately, more gruesome.

"The king raised the halflings in an enclosure by the volcano. Six males and one female—Mirra. Once she came of age, Mirra was forced to mate with her brothers to create as many offspring as possible. The king needed a constant supply of blood to refine Lattis, and tunnel through the Lattis veins in the mountain to the dragons' side. It took a decade, but he succeeded. War erupted between the races. Followed by the mountain itself."

"The humans fled to surrounding islands, and the dragons migrated after their queen, abandoning the Greeneyes, so the regretful Drinian rescued them. They flew across the ocean to what would become Latakia. Drinian settled in the west and continued the Hadrian line, but Mirra's war wasn't over. She discovered the Dragon Queen had struck a pact with the Nostran Emperor. To level the land and slaughter all humans to make way for dragons."

"Mirra had been destroyed by humans just as much as she was given life by humans. She betrayed the secret to defeating dragons to Latakas Wynn, on the condition that he seal the knowledge with his death, never to be wielded twice. When she bore him a child, Latakas knelt and asked her to be his queen, but she denied and vanished. Never to be found again."

"So how did Rutgarth know the secret?" Bishop Riddell wondered. The Baron tilted his head. As with Meira, there must have been a traitor.

"So that's who She was." Meya breathed, sharing knowing looks with Coris, "Latakas couldn't break his vow, but couldn't bear to erase her, so he turned her into the Goddess Freda."

"And She is your ancestor." That cold voice from the long-silent Gillian had Meya whirling around, eyes bulging, but even the Baron dipped his head in agreement. "One of her young with her brothers, Hilden—he was the first Hild."

The cold glow of the dragon's eyes trapped her like frozen claws. So this was why he seemed familiar with her name back then...

"Seems Freda has her designs for our meeting, after all," mused Coris. They met eyes, and he smiled sadly, "Hadrian and Hild. We began all this."

It hit Meya, then. Her middle name, Aine, meant heavenly glow in Glennian. In a roundabout way, Coris wasn't the only one with a namesake.

Meya hung her head then rested it against his shoulder. All these new revelations, unearthed connections in one fell swoop—her brain was spinning like a top.

"Fear fades, in its place greed only ever grows," the Baron sealed the tale with a chilling token of wisdom. He glanced at Meya and Gillian, then the one man who hadn't offered a word in this entire conversation, "You've made your stance clear, but what say you, Vyrgil?"

Meya blinked, then whipped around. She'd been so occupied with staying alive and out of trouble, she hadn't the chance to talk with Vyrgil. He was a burly young man a bit older than Maro, with freckled, suntanned skin and mud-brown hair. He'd look to all the three lands an ordinary peasant lad—save for his glowing green eyes, obviously.

Used to operating in shadows and lurking in the backdrop, Vyrgil tensed under the room's scrutiny. The Baron was understanding,

"For years you've soiled your hands on my behalf. You've earned your say." He said, as kind as he was sorrowful. Vyrgil eyed Meya and Gillian warily. Gulping, he returned to the Baron, his lips quivering,

"My lord, you've often said—a secret retains its power so long as it remains so." He said, his voice trembling and breathy from years stifled in his throat, "I'm tired of holding, twisting my tongue, and being the only one who must. I must know there'll be an end to this."

He bowed in plea as much as apology. To Meya's astonishment, he turned next to her.

"You were the only Greeneye you've seen for far too long. I've traveled far and wide. We're not as rare as you think." He shook his head, "There are enough of us to make the King and the Dukes listen. If we trust this knowledge to the public, laws can be written to protect us. People would know to be careful with Lattis. That wound of yours came from ignorance, not malice."

"The longer you keep Greeneyes ignorant of their true nature, the more they and the people around them will have to suffer!"

Vyrgil gestured at her arm. Arinel's voice echoed in her ears. She saw long suffering in his glowing green eyes. She knew he was right, but she couldn't shake this deep-rooted fear. She stared down at her lap.

"—But you've never tasted the poison of Lattis, have you, Hybridean?" challenged Gillian. As he stood with his back to the daylight, the jagged scar glowed bone-white on his neck. Vyrgil seemed to deflate, having no counter to that. As tendrils of despair crept in, the Baron broke the silence as if to scatter them,

"We'll reveal the secret only as an absolute last resort." He enunciated loud and clear, then cast his eyes at the hulking healer, who bowed, "Bishop Riddell will do his best to persuade the Council with his theories so far, and I'll stall for time until Amplevale delivers their findings."

Gillian weighed the offer in silence, then swept from the room. The meeting was only seemingly fruitful, for the troubling question lingered in everyone's minds—

If the betrayal of one man—one dragon—could trigger wars and topple civilizations, what could possibly win against the lure of greed?