"Noble or commoner, the role of the lady of the house is similar. The only difference is the scale."

Baroness Sylvia laid her spoon beside her emptied bowl of oatmeal and raisins. One of her maids-of-honor, Heloise, brought Meya a water basin and a towel, and Meya washed Beau's slobber off her face.

"Once Coris becomes Baron Hadrian, you'll take my place as Baroness. Coris will take care of his fief and his people. You'll keep his house nice and tidy for him—manage our staff, supervise the scullery, and raise the children, yours and others'."

The Baroness tilted her head at Heloise, who had passed the basin to a chambermaid. She then resumed her place at the tapestried wall with the other maids, squires and pages.

Meya had seen them in the background since arriving two days ago, but now she studied them more carefully. Heloise and the girl with the brown ponytail looked to be Meya's age, but the pouting little girl with black curls looked not a day above seven.

One of the squires looked like the healthier version of Coris. The other squire was handsome, with a serene expression not unlike Arinel. Beside him, a pageboy who looked around ten years old stood fidgeting. He had the brown skin and curly black hair of the Southern Islanders. Even dressed in plain clothes, they were blessed with unblemished skin and well-proportioned faces, and they had the refined air of the well-bred about them.

Girls of noble birth would be sent to serve older noblewomen as training in deportment, whereas boys would become pages and squires to learn knighthood. Say she did become Baroness someday, how was she supposed to raise them? She was a peasant girl who had both parents to raise her, and she couldn't grow up properly herself.

"Whenever Coris is absent, you must take his place. So, it is imperative that you learn the manor's accounts and law as well."

Meya's spirit was further dampened. Accounts and law? Goodly Freda, she didn't even know how to write numbers!

Despite her shivering heart, Meya smiled and gave her a dainty nod. Being a lady seemed to entail much more than providing the lord with children. Meya was delighted to hear that. Overall, it seemed an exciting job, and she was eager to learn now that she had the chance, but how would the Baroness react when the girl who claimed to be Lady Arinel couldn't even write her name?

The Baroness smiled sympathetically.

"Daunting, isn't it?" She clasped Meya's clammy hand. Meya nodded vigorously, eyes wide in desperation. Sylvia laughed, shaking her head and gazing at Meya with growing affection.

"I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you. I myself trained from the age of seven, but thirteen years later, I was still a lass out of my depth when I married Kellis. And you're barely seventeen!"

The Baroness smiled at her husband, who chuckled in fond remembrance. Meya wondered how she could be so affectionate with the man who poisoned her son half-dead.

"Don't worry. You still have time to watch and learn. And, of course, you'll have the staff to assist you." Sylvia nodded towards the long table, where the staff and servants supped with lower-ranking members of the visiting lords and ladies' entourages.

"That's our seneschal, Sir Emery Nethan. He manages the castle's staff."

Meya followed Sylvia's indicating hand to a suave middle-aged man with long, graying black hair in a ponytail. He was engrossed in conversation with a plump man in his fifties, who had a bald patch surrounded by flaxen hair and a magnificent curved mustache. Meya recognized him from her first day here.

"Across from him is the chamberlain, Sir Rondell. He takes care of our quarters and our wardrobe. And, of course, that's Sir Jarl, the marshal. He's in charge of the grounds, the stables, the men-at-arms and the craftsmen."

Sir Jarl, a muscular, broad-chested knight with suntanned skin, downed his oatmeal as if in a race against time. Zier sent him to fetch Beau earlier, and he needed to catch up.

Meya sneaked a worried glance at the door, where Beau had bounded off when she whispered into his ear to bring the note to Coris. There was no knowing for sure if the message would reach him. To top that, Zier just left to bring breakfast to Coris. Would he run into Beau on the way or in Coris's room? How would he react?

⏳

After breakfast, Baroness Sylvia took Meya to see her daily routine and show her around the castle. She hosted a tea party in the outdoor pavilion to entertain the visiting ladies, while the Baron took the lords out to hunt game in his forest.

A blanket of bright red hexagonal roses embraced the pavilion. As they swayed in the breeze, the silvery-white pavilion seemed to float on a rippling crimson lake.

"These Hadrian Roses are the only ones in Latakia." The Baroness leaned down and caressed their velvety petals, "They bloom all through the year, except for winter. Sir Rondell is in charge of harvesting their petals and making the Hadrian Red dye."

The party's guests were just as colorful. Most of the ladies had brought their teenage daughters, decked out in their clan's unique colors and giddy with excitement as they discussed the upcoming feast—mainly, who the most attractive young heirs would choose to be their pairs for the dance. Zier was the target of many affections.

The Baroness left the guests to their leisure and took Meya to the scullery. Through the dizzying maelstrom of cooks, assistants and maids, Meya spotted Lady Arinel, Haselle and the Crossetian maids standing guard over the stew vats.

Meya fitted herself into the Baroness's shadow, pretending to listen as she discussed tonight's menu, the preferences and food allergies of the guests and the procurement of supplies with Head Cook Apollon.

During the evening celebrations, the scullery would prepare food for the nobles' feast in the Great Hall, and set up a station in the courtyard to cook for the commoners. Thus, the Baroness headed next to the courtyard to supervise the food marquees. Next, she took Meya to the treasury to meet Sir Claptorpe, the treasurer, to review the budget for the wedding.

Finally, the Baroness led Meya to the chapel. Though built of thick sandstone, the chapel's interior was flooded with the light of high noon from rows of tall stained-glass windows. Sunlight filtering through the tinted glass pooled on the granite floor slabs in rippling rainbow puddles.

Meya had never seen this much glass in one place before, much less stained glass, not even in Crosset Castle. The Hadrians really were disgusting rich.

Stone pillars beset with ornate curlicues protruded from the walls at precise intervals. The panels in between were blanketed with paintings of the goddess Freda and scenes from Latakia's war of independence from Nostra. However, the first panel to the door's left depicted a bizarre scene Meya couldn't interpret.

On one side was a mountain with fire rising from its summit. A flock of dragons of all colors flew away from it, crossing the sea towards the mainland. The dragon in the lead was dark green, with glowing green eyes. A human knight in armor clung to it.

Bells rang in her head, then it hit her. The insignia on Dad's old belt buckle. A dragon flying over the sea! There were runes on it, too.

Meya had nicked the buckle from Dad's belt for a closer look one day. Myron told her the runes read We Shall Return. Return where? The seven siblings wondered. The Hilds had lived in Crosset and nearby manors for seven generations, and Meya reckoned their history went no further than that.

A string of elaborate runes unfurled on the banner painted beneath the panel. The Baroness reached out and caressed it.

"Duty and Atonement. Our motto."

The arch of the pillars cast the Baroness's melancholic face in shadow. At Meya's puzzled look, Sylvia brightened her expression. She pointed at the exploding mountain,

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"That's Everglen."

Meya's eyes widened, though she could already guess somewhat. The Baroness's eyes settled on the man hanging onto the green dragon.

"Hadrian lore has it that our ancestor, Drinian Hadrian, was a Glennian. When the Everglen volcano erupted, he stowed away on a dragon to flee across the sea and landed in Latakia, while the dragons flew on to Nostra."

"So, the Nostran dragons came from Everglen?" Meya gawked in disbelief. The Baroness's silvery eyes glinted. "Why don't they just land in Latakia, my lady? Why fly all the way to Nostra?"

Sylvia shrugged and tilted her head in agreement. Having been married into the family like Meya, the Baroness seemed just as skeptical. Meya turned back to the painting, peering at the runes.

Duty and Atonement. We Shall Return. One picture, two names. How were they connected? Had her ancestors migrated from Everglen like Drinian Hadrian?

"And what does atonement mean? What do the Hadrians have to atone for? I get the duty part—that's protecting The Axel, isn't it? Or did Drinian explode that mountain, and that made Everglen what it is today?"

The Baroness seemed impressed. She studied the painting, then heaved a sigh of bemusement.

"That's my guess, too. The lore doesn't say." Sylvia eyed the far side of the long hall. "There's someone here who would be happy to discuss with you, if you'd like."

Meya followed her gaze, and her eyes widened. The front rows of praying benches had been cleared away to accommodate a group of youngsters. An old man stood before them in white and gold robes, mouthing a command to the young ones.

"Our chaplain, High Priest Frey. You probably recognize him."

Meya nodded, still staring at the strange spectacle. Of course she remembered him. That was the lovesick old priest who married her and Coris!

"He'll be your tutor." The Baroness added. Meya almost choked on her breath.

Tutor? Goodly Freda, I can't read or write! What am I gonna do now?

Seeing the look of pure terror on Meya's face, the Baroness laughed softly, wagging a reprimanding finger,

"Don't give me that look, lass. I know they'd rather not teach girls the letters in Crosset, but in Hadrian, you can't run from school into marriage."

The Baroness glided towards the last row of benches, gathered her dress and sat down. Meya scampered after her.

"When you aren't accompanying me, you are to study Runes, Logic, Mathematics, History, Geography and the Holy Scriptures here with your fellow knights- and ladies-in-training," said the Baroness, whispering now, as Meya settled beside her.

"If you want to sing or paint, I can hire tutors for you as well. And you must hone your needlework with me. No buts."

Sylvia raised a decisive finger. Meya closed her mouth with a shudder. In the few weeks of embroidery Meya endured under Mum's tutelage at seven, she poked her fingers as much as the cloth. Needless to say, Meya's flower pattern was more blood and tears than thread.

Under normal circumstances, Meya would be thrilled to be going to school. Back home, the tuition was so expensive Dad could only afford to send Myron. Girls, in general, weren't allowed to study. Yet, the gift of education had to befall her when she must convince a castle full of nobles that she was Lady Arinel. Typical Freda.

Resigned to her rotten fate, Meya followed the Baroness's lead and observed the small classroom instead. The pupils had divided into pairs and sat facing each other from opposite sides of a board game. They arranged colorful chips on the illustrated wooden board, a screen hiding their opponent's positions from view.

"What is the subject now, my lady?"

The Baroness peered at each student, a tapered finger pushing up her chin.

"Hmm, I'd say Logic. They're playing Heist."

"Heist?"

"It's a wargame designed to train the future Baron Hadrian to protect The Axel, but I'd say heirs of western manors can learn from it as well. If the Nostran army ever crossed the Zarel Pass again, the west would be Latakia's first line of defense."

Her eyes lingered on the brown-haired lad to the left, and she muttered wearily,

"And now I worry for the future of Latakia."

Meya followed her eyes to Lord Zier. While High Priest Frey was distracted talking to another pair of students, Zier quietly stacked his blue soldier chips into tall, wobbling towers. His opponent, the Coris-lookalike, lined up miniature trebuchets and loaded them with his red soldier chips. Judging from their deep red, ballooning cheeks, they were trying their damnedest not to burst out laughing.

"Zier. Of course." The Baroness rolled her eyes—a strategy game wouldn't involve blasting mini-towers with mini-trebuchets, "That's Simon of Amplevale, by the way. The boys' cousin. He serves well as Coris's decoy. His poor mother wishes the resemblance goes deeper than skin."

Meya narrowed her eyes at Simon. He did resemble Coris, except for his healthier build, pale blue eyes and carefree smirk. Lips pursed in concentration, Simon hooked back his loaded trebuchet, then let fly. A red chip sailed over the screen and chafed one of Zier's towers. It lost balance and fell to pieces.

High Priest Frey spun around at the sound of falling chips, then swatted Zier and Simon on the noggin with the copy of the Holy Scriptures he swiped from the altar behind.

Meya stifled her laughter with immense difficulty. The handsome, stone-faced squire High Priest Frey had been talking to shook his head. His opponent, the girl with the brown ponytail, pretended to busy herself arranging her chips to hide her giggles.

"That's Christopher Merilith, second son of the Duke of Meriton. And that's Lady Fione of Cristoria. She's here if ever Cristoria rebels again."

Onto the next table, the little page from the Southern Isles rained fistfuls of red chips onto his half of the board, his mouth chanting die die die. Heloise peered over the screen, trying in vain to talk him out of massacring his whole army.

"Frenix of Pearlwater, the wee devil. And Heloise Dunstaal from Westrell. Poor girl hasn't given up teaching him strategy, Freda bless her."

At the last table sat the sullen seven-year-old girl with curly black hair, pushing pieces onto her board with dejected reluctance. Her opponent was a chapel clerk around Meya's age who kept sweating and dropping his chips.

"Little Amara of Hyacinth. Freda help that poor clerk. She starts pelting chips at you if you're winning. She has a soft spot for Coris, though. But then, he always seems to have his way with children." Sylvia shook her head with an adoring smile as her thoughts strayed to her son, "Oh, and we used to have your brother Klythe, of course."

The Baroness spun around, eyes twinkling. Meya blinked, taken aback at the comment that came out of nowhere. Oh, right! She was supposed to be Arinel. One brother missing, two sisters decomposing, right?

Meya adopted what she hoped was a wistful smile. She turned back to the young lords and ladies, casting about for anything to ask that would steer her away from dangerous waters. Her eyes fell upon Zier as the only one she had actually talked to, then something out of place caught her attention.

The other lords and ladies came from other towns to train. Why was Zier home? Not to mention Coris as well?

"My lady, why aren't Lord Coris and Lord Zier training elsewhere?"

The Baroness tensed. Meya glanced at her in alarm. Sylvia stared into space, eyes unblinking but unseeing as she gulped air down her throat. At last, she nodded,

"Well, I guess it's obvious in Lexi's case," Her face bone white, she twisted the crimson silk of her dress with trembling hands, "They both trained under Baron Grimthel of Graye. Up until the heist."

"When Coris swallowed The Axel?"

Sylvia whipped around, eyes wide.

"Lexi told you?"

Meya hesitated, then nodded. A new name had joined the ever-growing Must-remember list in her brain, and her interest was piqued, but seeing Sylvia so troubled, she wasn't sure if she should let her continue. The Baroness nodded to herself, then heaved a sigh,

"Yes, around the time your brother disappeared. Kellis suspected Baron Graye was behind it, that he set his daughter, Lady Agnesia, to charm Lexi. So, Lexi tried to steal The Axel to please her. He pulled the boys out of training after that."

Meya gaped. Coris told her he swallowed The Axel to keep it safe, but his mother was painting a much different picture, one that made much more sense.

Coris was lying?

Meya wondered how the possibility had never crossed her mind. She felt as if she were sucked down a quicksand hole on the road of time. The world around her seemed to slow.

"Coris was protecting The Axel, not stealing it!" She heard her voice as if from the end of a tunnel. She wasn't sure if she believed it.

"Only Freda and Lexi himself know the truth of what transpired that night." The Baroness whispered, her voice dead, her eyes haunted with sorrow born of a mother's love for her child.

"Of course, I don't love my son any less, but my husband is a born Hadrian. So is Lexi. And the Hadrian men's duty is to The Axel alone."

Sylvia's voice trembled with bitter fury. Perhaps she begrudged her husband just as she blamed herself. Meya didn't know what to think. Coris had seemed so sincere, so honest and kind. He didn't look the type that would cook up elaborate lies to make himself look good.

Although they'd known each other for mere days, it pained her that Coris would see the need to lie to her, when she could understand why he'd want to steal The Axel. How frustrating would it be? To sacrifice everything one held dear, not even knowing why.

But did Coris lie? Did he mean to steal The Axel? He didn't seem bothered while he told her of the heist. The way he said it, it was as if it had happened to someone else. Or, at least, he didn't believe he was in the wrong.

Meya had just let Coris in on her secret. This revelation couldn't have come at a worse time. Could she trust him? What would she do now?

"What happened to Lady Agnesia after that?"

The Baroness frowned as she shifted uncomfortably.

"She—was staying in Hadrian as my attendant." She wrung her hands, her eyes downcast, "There was a nasty fire in her quarters. We couldn't save her."

The Baron ordered Agnesia's death!

Strength left her legs when the truth sank in. Meya was thankful she was sitting. The two women locked eyes, mourning silver upon fearful emerald.

"I tell you all this because you are now part of our family." The Baroness whispered as her cold hands rested upon Meya's, "The Axel is now your duty as well. I must impress upon you how important it is."

Meya met the Baroness's intense stare, her emotions in turmoil. The Baroness's dress, like Meya's, was Hadrian Red. She felt the weight of the ruby Hadrian Rose brooch pinned to the chest of her undershirt. She remembered the five guards and the decoy entourage Gillian and his men killed. She remembered Coris's haunting eyes as he recalled his three nights of torture. And she must now add Lady Agnesia Graye to the death toll.

She remembered the white pavilion on the sea of Hadrian Roses. The rippling lake of vivid red flowers was now a sea of blood, and Meya wondered how many more would die in the name of The Axel.

And would that include her as well?